Emma had perfected a process for surviving funerals when she was little and it automatically kicked in when the opening prayers began. First she started by counting the light fixtures in the chapel, then the windows, then the pews, then the people. When that was finished, she started all over again. She had made numerous passes around the room when she looked up to see Brant watching her. At some point, he had started following her eyes and she could have sworn that he knew exactly what she was doing. Next to her, Boston, too, stared off into the distance. Farther down the pew, she saw tears trailing silently down her mother’s cheeks as she stared sightlessly ahead, and her father, who had been strong through the entire process, looked more in need of his wife’s support than at any other time since Robyn had passed.
Emma almost made it through the entire service without breaking down. Her mother had insisted on the final songs, and Emma should have anticipated how difficult it would be to hear them. Her mother wanted Robyn remembered for who she was and what she loved. The lights in the chapel dimmed and images started flickering on the screen in the front of the chapel. The song “There You’ll Be” by Faith Hill played first as images flashed by of Robyn holding a surfboard when she was barely old enough to walk.
If you could show a life in pictures, then their mother had certainly managed to do it. Emma had always hated having so many pictures taken by their parents. Now, as she saw her sister’s life played out before her eyes—even though it was incredibly painful to witness—she was happy that their mother had never let an important moment pass without capturing it. When the last song, “If I Die Young” by The Band Perry, started playing, their father finally broke down and hastily left the chapel. The song had been a favorite of Robyn’s, and their mother had wanted it included even though it wasn’t exactly a traditional funeral song. Neither Emma nor her father had thought it was appropriate for a funeral, but her mother was adamant and Boston, of course, sided with her.
Now, to Emma, it felt like her sister was in the room for the first time. Sobs could be heard from all over the chapel as the slide show ended. She hadn’t even realized that she was quietly crying until Brant pressed a tissue in her hand. On her other side, Boston wasn’t doing much better. She gripped his hand tightly as Brant squeezed hers in return. I love you, sis, and I always will, she whispered in her mind.
She remembered Brant telling her that morning, “This is the worst day you’ll ever live through. You may not believe it now, but there will never be another day like today. Each new day will be better than this one.” She clung to those words like a promise as they left the chapel for the burial. For once she hadn’t argued with him because she wanted him to be right with all of her heart.
At last the house was quiet and everyone was gone. Emma sank gratefully into the tub of steaming water that Brant had insisted on running for her before going back downstairs to check on her parents. She suspected that he was really intent on cleaning up any messes left by the barrage of people who had visited earlier.
As the water eased some of her tension from the day, Emma’s mind started to drift. To say that she had been surprised by Brant the last few days was an understatement. Despite how mad and disappointed she was in him when she arrived in Florida, she had to admit that he had been the glue that had held all of them together. She had never doubted his organizational skills; the man had some serious OCD about stuff like that. Those same traits had been her family’s saving grace. She figured he had taken one look at them when he arrived and realized that he needed to take control. Her father, who could usually be counted on to keep an even keel, had looked to Brant for assistance with making the funeral arrangements. Both her mother and Boston had looked to him for everything from their clothing for the service to the gathering of friends and family at the house before and after the service. Emma had just needed his support. He knew when she wanted to be alone, when she needed to cry and when she just needed to talk. He had been their rock and regardless of what happened next, she would always love him for that.
She knew that he needed to return home soon, and she felt a pang at the thought of him leaving. Her friends from Danvers had dropped by the house after the service. Jason and Claire had pulled her aside and told her to take the time that she needed with her family and assured her that her job would be waiting when she was ready. She had been truly touched. She counted Claire as a friend but hadn’t often been in a social setting with Jason. When she had started to thank him, calling him Mr. Danvers, since he was, after all, the president of the company, he had gently stopped her, insisting that she call him Jason. Truthfully, she had been tongue-tied to have their support. She had promised Suzy that they would catch up soon. Her friend looked wonderful after her ordeal, but you could hardly miss the protective arm that her husband, Gray, kept around her.
Emma shivered, realizing that the water had grown cold. She had been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed that almost an hour had passed. She stepped out of the bath, toweling off before grabbing her robe. In the bedroom, she dressed for comfort in a long T-shirt before sliding into bed. She was still staring at the ceiling when Brant walked in. She hadn’t protested the first night when he had stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed, pulling her against his chest. She needed him and they both knew it.
Obviously thinking she was asleep, he crept quietly across the darkened room, going into the bathroom. She heard the shower running and a while later, the bed shifted as he settled in beside her. Without hesitation, she curled onto her side and he settled his big body around hers. “I thought you were asleep,” he murmured against her head.
Suddenly snuggling back against him with all of the unknowns between them seemed wrong. Despite her mental and physical exhaustion, she needed to know what had been going on with him for the past few weeks. Pulling away, she reached over and snapped on the bedside light. They both blinked like owls for a moment until they adjusted to the artificial glow. Brant gave her a wary look before rolling over onto his back. He ran his hand through his hair, a habit that she had come to recognize was caused by stress.
She settled back against the headboard and said, “I need to know, Brant.” He pulled himself into a sitting position beside her, not bothering to ask what she was talking about.
Without hesitating, he started to speak. “You know that Alexia and I were once engaged.” At her nod, he continued on. “When she came to see me weeks ago, I was shocked. She and I hadn’t stayed in touch at all after we parted. Alexia was very quiet and shy when we met. Her father and I were business acquaintances. We fell in love, or what I thought was love, and were soon engaged. Looking back now, I can see that she was never truly happy. Her father was very controlling, so she basically traded one prison for another one with more freedom. Things took a real nosedive when she made a new friend who was heavily into the drugs and party scene. Without betraying Alexia’s trust too heavily, I’ll just say that Alexia got involved with the wrong sorts of people and ended up using pretty heavily. She left me standing in a parking lot after dinner one night and took off. That was the last time I saw her until she showed up in my office that day.”