Seth breaks the silence. “How’s she doing? Has she changed?”
A tightness unfurls across my stomach. Images flash in my mind before I can push them out. Sedona in her old doorway. Sedona dropping to her knees for Boone, her hands deep in his fur.
Sedona’s breath hitching when I hugged her, the faint scent of citrus on her cheek. A flush that rose along her neck when Clara appeared on the stairs.
My body remembers all of it, whether I want it to or not.
I grip the armrest. “She seems fine. She’s here with her friend Clara. She looks like she’s coping.”
Seth nods slowly. “I don’t think Billy’s coping.”
“I know.” My voice tightens. “He’s the one who found Dr. Archer. He had to call the ambulance. Then he had to talk to half the town about it. I still can’t believe the old man’s gone.”
I stare out the window. The pastures blur. I try to push the image of Billy’s face from my mind, the way his eyes tightened the moment I mentioned Sedona earlier this morning.
Seth shifts in his seat. “How’s Joey doing?”
A grin cracks across my face. “He’s good. He’s competing in bull riding down near Austin. Big rodeo. He took second place last weekend. Nearly got thrown in the semis, but he held on. Crowds love him.”
“Damn,” Seth murmurs. “I need to call him.”
“You always say that.” I laugh. “Then you forget. Shitty excuse.”
He holds one hand up. “I know. I’ll try harder.”
The church comes into view at the end of the street. Cars fill the lot, their bumpers lined up in crooked rows. People gather along the steps, dressed in black and dark browns, talking in hushed tones.
The bell tower looms above us, its cross glinting against the pale sky. A cluster of mums sits beside the entrance, orange petals bright against the stone wall.
“We’re here,” I say.
Seth pulls in and parks. We step out and adjust our jackets. I spot a family I grew up with, then a few ranch hands from the neighboring property. Faces blur together with grief and sympathy.
All of them came for Dr. Archer.
Inside, the church carries a thick air of reverence. Not the stiff kind. The kind that settles between people as they gather under something bigger than themselves.
The pews fill fast. Seth nudges me toward the back row where there’s enough space for us without crowding anyone.
The service begins with low organ notes. Voices blend softly. My throat tightens in a way I haven’t felt since my father’s funeral sixteen years ago.
I was sixteen then. Seth was sitting next to me, so shocked by the whole thing. Billy sat between us and gripped our hands so hard his knuckles turned white.
The memory rises sharp enough that I blink against it.
I look toward the front rows. I find Sedona sitting beside Clara, their knees touching. And next to Sedona is a man I have never seen before.
Blond hair neatly combed. Crisp shirt. His arm is stretched along the back of the pew, his other hand closing around hers, his thumb grazing her palm in a way that feels intimate.
My jaw tightens without permission. Something unpleasant knots deep in my stomach. Jealousy pulses under my ribs.
I tell myself to look away, but my eyes keep drifting back to them, back to her, back to the way she leans slightly into him when her breath stumbles.
The pastor speaks about loss and second chances, about living the kind of life someone would want carried on. People murmur their amens, their palms pressed together.
My hands curl into fists on my thighs. I try to listen, but my focus keeps slipping.
Then Sedona stands.
