Traci sat erect in her seat, eyes straight ahead, clenching and unclenching the wad of tissues in her hand.
She wasn’t surprised that the Woods family had literally given her the cold shoulder, and hadn’t been surprised when she’d learned that morning, strictly by accident, that Parrish’s funeral was being held later that day.
Charlie had arrived in her office that morning, holding the thick, buff-colored invitation in his hand. “Did you get one of these?”
Traci took the card in her own hand and read:Celebration of Life: Parrish Helen Eddings, beloved daughter of Frederic Eddings and Heather Eddings Goldstein. Wed., June 14, 5 p.m., Chapel by the Sea.
She ran a thumbnail over the engraved words. “This is the first I’m hearing about it. As you know, Ric isn’t speaking to me.”
“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed…”
“What? That Ric would do the decent thing? I’m afraid you overestimate him.” She patted the older man’s arm. “It’s all right. But thanks for letting me know in time. I’ll clear my afternoon calendar.”
He looked startled. “You’re going anyway?”
“Yes,” Traci said firmly. “Don’t worry. I won’t make a fuss or a scene. Today isn’t about Ric or me. It’s about honoring Parrish. I won’t let her father’s petty grievances keep me from that.”
She held up the invitation. “May I keep this, please? I think Parrish’s dormmates would want to honor her memory too.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Is that really wise? I mean, I’ve talked to Ric, and he seems to think… well, with Parrish and that party…”
“None of them would have harmed her,” Traci said flatly. “They’re kids. Good kids. And they cared about her. I’ll ask them to be discreet, and I know they will be.”
Soft organ music was playing something vaguely ecclesiastical. A white-robed pastor appeared on the altar and led the congregation in prayers and scripture readings. Traci zoned it all out. The tears had started with the first chord of organ music, and she’d had to choke back her sobs, ignoring the pointed side-eye given her by Jolene Woods.
Charlie was right, she thought. This was a mistake. She felt panicky and would have fled the church, but one look at the stubborn set of Jolene’s jaw let her know she was trapped.
She closed her eyes and tried to meditate, tried to slow her breaths and focus on better, happier times. But the church was packed, and the warmth from all those bodies and the scent of Jolene’s overpowering perfume felt suffocating.
The pastor began his eulogy, and it was all Traci could do to stay seated and not run screaming out of the chapel. Working from notes, he mentioned Parrish’s family, talked about her beloved dog Patches, her love of the water and the beach, et cetera. She deliberately zoned out, catching only random phrases, but it was clear that this man, although well-meaning, had never met her niece.
This chapel had been Helen Eddings’s idea. She’d commissioned the architect who’d drawn up the design, and Fred had paid for the construction. He’d dutifully attended services there, but after his wife’s death had abandoned any pretense at being a man of faith.
Traci was fairly sure that this was Ric’s first time back in this church since his first wedding two decades earlier.
She gazed around the church and easily spotted the uncomfortable- looking dormmates, Olivia, Felice, and KJ. Garrett, she assumed, must be working in the restaurant.
As she looked around the sanctuary, she saw dozens of familiar faces—old Eddings family friends, some of Parrish’s classmates, longtime hotel staffers, and club members. Some gave her sad smiles. A few turned away quickly, refusing to allow their eyes to meet hers.
It was a small town, she told herself, and Ric had been vocal about blaming her for his child’s death. Still, the snubs stung.
There was another reading. More organ music. Traci relaxed, sensing the service was over. But then, the pastor stepped aside and a lone woman, clutching a guitar, took a seat on a high stool in front of a mike stand and started strumming and singing in a pure, clear voice.
She recognized the song at once, Eric Clapton’s poignant “Tears in Heaven,” but it was the singer/guitarist who was the surprise. It was Heather, Parrish’s long-absent mother.
Traci heard a soft, barely suppressed gasp from the congregation as they recognized her too, when Heather started to sing. She glanced to her right and found grim satisfaction in noting Jolene’s shocked expression.
She almost didn’t recognize her former sister-in-law. Heather’s once long, lustrous dark hair had been chopped short, and was now entirely silver. And she was at least thirty pounds heavier than the former rock goddess Ric Eddings had been transfixed by all those years ago.
When Heather played the last plaintive guitar chord and sang the last verse, the church fell silent, and then, the artist was met with scattered, restrained applause.
Jolene grabbed her husband’s arm. “Come on,” she said in a stage whisper. “We’ve got to get over to Ric’s so I can start putting out the food for the reception.”
It was a relief, watching everyone else leave the chapel. Traci lingered, not wanting to get caught up in the logjam of mourners who she knew, from painful personal experience, would be filing past Ric and Madelyn, expressing their condolences.
Finally, she slipped out a side door and was headed for her car when she heard a woman calling her name.
“Traci?” She turned and saw Heather hurrying toward her, the leather guitar case slung over her shoulder.
