A Promise of Fireflies (5 page)

overdrive.”

EVAN’S WHITE CIVIC
was parked in the drive and the house brightly lit, a sure sign her son—one with little sense of utility costs—had arrived. Ryleigh closed the garage door and Kingsley pranced around the corner, greeting her with a hearty meow, followed by footsteps.

Kingsley darted as Evan approached.“That cat hates me, I swear,” he said as he wrapped her completely in a hug. College life had added a few pounds to his lean frame, and at an inch over six feet, he’d matured into his father’s features, the line of his jaw as strong as his will. But his blue-green eyes were hers. They too smiled when he spoke. A lump welled in her throat. When had it happened? When had he crossed the delicate line between boy and man? “Damn cat disappears every time I walk into a room. Shoulda named him Houdini.”

She smiled at Evan’s cheeky comment. “I’m glad you’re home. And Kingsley doesn’t hate you.”

“Kingsley hates everyone except you, Mom.” An artful smirk curled his mouth. “His face is squashed, he’s fat, ferociously finicky and arrogant. And he sheds.”

“Animals can sense how you feel about them.”

“Now that we’ve established your cat officially hates me, how are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.”

Evan turned his head a fraction in silent question.

“Really.” The words stumbled from her mouth. She swallowed and took a seat at the dining table. Evan followed. “Gram’s apartment is clean, your friends will be here Sunday to drop off the desk, and once the funeral is over tomorrow, maybe things will return to normal.”

“What about Dad?”

Discomfort inched its way over her skin at the memory of the previous night’s encounter, and she rubbed her arms. “He stopped by last night.”

Evan considered this with a dramatic raise of his eyebrows.

“Don’t even go there.” The glimmer of hope in his eyes extinguished itself. “And there’s something else.” She shifted her weight. “He and Della have been together for awhile now and things are bound to happen.”

Evan stiffened. “Don’t expect me to congratulate him if he’s dumb enough to marry that nympho.”

God, how she wished it were that simple. “They aren’t getting married. We have to be divorced first.”

“That’s a positive on top of a negative. So, if not that then what is it?”

Her internal voice screamed it loud and clear, but the voice she relied on to form the words vanished. She smiled a little, only to have it shrivel before it had a chance to mature. It hadn’t been easy for her to hear, and there was no easy way around telling him. The words burned past her hesitation. “Della and your father are going to have a baby.”

Evan shot to his feet. The chair flew backward. “This is bullshit.” He plastered his hands to his hips. “What a fucking idiot!”

She bristled. “Evan!”

“Sorry.”

“He’s still your father.”

“Doesn’t make him any less the idiot.” His nostrils flared. “He’s almost fifty years old. Doesn’t he know what causes that?”

“That’s the only thing that makes this almost comical. He should be thinking about grandchildren—don’t get any ideas,” she said, pointing a critical finger at him, “not having one of his own.”

Mischief peeked through the anger that moments ago smoldered in his eyes. “No worries, Mom. I’ve got too much on my plate and I
do
know how not to make a kid.” He paced a few times, shrugged, and grabbed the back of the chair. “Looks like I’m going to have a half-brother or sister.”

Even in anger her son seemed to find a positive, and she relaxed.

“I’ll talk to Dad after the funeral. Has he mentioned anything about divorce?”

“Nope. He came by to personally deliver the headlines. God, I can’t imagine her being a mother.”

“Hell in heels with a diamond-studded shovel.”

Ryleigh pressed her fist to her mouth but failed to stifle a snicker.

The haggard croak of the doorbell interrupted their discussion, and Ryleigh met the waiting courier at the front door. He handed her a large envelope with her name and address typed neatly across the front. Her heart stuttered.

Though she’d been expecting it for weeks, she hesitated, turning it over and then over again, the unbound paper, ink, and words a heavy weight in her hands. Conflicting thoughts wrestled with her better judgment. A few swipes with a pen and it would be over. Or there was the option of using it for kindling. Or toilet paper. Accidents happen.

She opened the envelope to documents dated weeks ago.

Evan sat next to her with his palm glued to his forehead while she signed her name where indicated—the shaky squiggles dissolving their marriage. She prepared the return envelope in the artificial light of her kitchen and in the presence of the somber stare of her only child—her tiny family of two.

With a funeral looming, a divorce imminent, her soon-to-be ex’s girlfriend pregnant, and questions without answers surfacing from a small shoebox, Ryleigh counted along with the ticking second hand like the condemned walking the Green Mile.

SHE COULDN’T DECIDE
which was worse—burying her mother or burying her marriage—as if it mattered which one took top prize. By the end of the day she would finalize one life and begin another.

Both terrified her.

Morning broke with a menacing layer of dark clouds suspended over Hidden Falls, a Thursday bleak enough to match the slow churn of dissidence inching itself through her belly. The drive through the mountains seemed to take forever.

An hour and a half later, Evan took hold of her arm as they filed past the gates of Pinewood Cemetery toward the plot where Eleanor Endicott would rest.

Cemeteries fascinated her. Covert clues engraved on the headstones offered glimpses into the mysteries of those buried beneath the stone. Where most people found sadness and apprehension crossing from one grave to the next, Ryleigh’s curiosity heightened.

Today promised something different.

A light breeze rustled through the trees, and bronzed in red, orange, and gold, leaves fluttered from above and stirred underfoot. An odd uneasiness plucked at her as she crossed the cemetery, but Ryleigh’s eyes remained glued to the casket perched next to a mound of soggy dirt. Simple in style, the casket seemed overly large for a body diminished by a silent, arbitrary thief.

Not far from here, Ryleigh had brushed through her mother’s hair as white as the roses she so loved and held her misshapen hands for the last time. It seemed peculiar how quickly the memory had become engraved on her mind like the names carved in granite.

Evan guided her as they approached the gravesite, his grip unwavering. Natalie and Mitch stood arm in arm under the scarlet umbrella of two immense white oaks and the couples nodded to each other, their somber message understood.

Artificial grass covered the soggy earth and leaves speckled the white casket with the burnished shades of October. A small wreath rested against it and ivy formed the word “Mom” across a circle of wildflowers and two perfect white roses. Fireflies danced among the flowers. It seemed an odd choice to her, but her mother had been specific in her wishes. The roses and “Mom” part she was sure of, but more in the forefront of a growing list of questions was why there seemed to be so many pieces missing from a simple woman’s life. Fireflies? Why? Why didn’t she know?

The pastor excused himself from a small knot of people and took his place across from Ryleigh and Evan. He scanned the gathering and then nodded modestly to her. He blew a breath across his fingers and opened his Bible, tucking the frayed ribbon into the binding. A familiar melody murmured with the voice of the breeze as a small choir of ladies quietly sang “Amazing Grace,” and Pastor Edwards spoke fondly of one of God’s children—a wife, mother, and grandmother.

The service was short and thoughtful, yet uplifting, exactly as Eleanor would have wanted. The small crowd filed past and conveyed their condolences before moving on to pay their respects to loved ones. Ryleigh didn’t envy them. On any normal day, imagining the lives of the deceased was fascinating, but she didn’t take much pleasure in visiting her family here. One had been too many. Now there would be two.

“Excuse me, Ryleigh?”

The pleasant voice pulled her from her thoughts. Ryleigh turned. “Pastor Edwards.” She smiled and extended her hand, and he accepted it warmly with both of his. With round cheeks flushed from the October chill and ears that took up more space than they should have, he wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but his expression was compassionate and kind, his handshake warm and comforting. Prerequisites that surely came with the territory. “The service was lovely and I appreciate the kind words about Mom.”

“Your mother was quite explicit in her wishes.” The pastor reached inside his jacket. “And she left this for you,” he said as he handed her a worn, yellowed envelope.

Ryleigh frowned. “What’s this?”

“It’s an insurance policy your mother asked me to keep until after the funeral.”

“Life insurance?” She glanced at Evan, and then back to the pastor. “I’m afraid I’m finding there’s a lot I don’t know about my mother.”

A subtle smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Some folks aren’t comfortable sharing their lives,” he said, still holding the envelope, “and some want only to protect those they love.” The pastor pressed his Bible to his chest. “And she valued her privacy.”

Ryleigh nodded. “Thank you, Pastor. You’ve been most helpful.”

Pastor Edwards smiled and tipped his head in thankful acknowledgement. “Eleanor was special to God and to us.” He patted her hands politely and offered a firm handshake with Evan. “She was a strong woman and I sense her strength in her daughter as well. Yours will surface, Ryleigh, once healing has surpassed your grief.” Pastor Edwards took her hands, his engulfing hers in a warm cocoon. “If there’s anything I can do, you have my number.” He gave her hands a squeeze and then turned. The questions he’d raised disappeared with him into the crowd of mourners.

“You ready to go, Mom?”

She glanced around as the last of Eleanor’s friends filed through the entry gate. “Can you give me a minute, Son? Alone?”

He squeezed her arm. “I’ll wait with Nat and Mitch.”

The unpeopled silence filled the cemetery. Grief’s darkness pulled at her, yet life penetrated its thickening fog. Birds chattered. Tires splashed on wet asphalt. Wind murmured its song. A child laughed in the distance. Time passed in lethargic motion, stalled in the air heavy with the musty dampness of rotting leaves, and weighted in sorrow. To remain in the shadows of grief seemed effortless. To move forward, an unwelcomed burden. Yet life drifted by—air, light, and sound.

Only she stood lifeless.

Ryleigh blinked and the mental fog lifted. She removed a plastic bag from her purse and brought the roses to her nose, the scent a promise of sunshine and warmer days. Placing one white rose on top of the casket, she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the wood. “Sweet dreams, Mom.” With the second rose in hand, she turned to her left and paused.