Page 12 of Three Steps Behind

“But . . . she was far more athletic than me.”

“Me too,” Susan said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Harper shook her head, feeling like she was trapped in an episode of The Twilight Zone—everything eerie and surreal. “But that’s what the ME said?” Harper continued, wanting concrete facts. That was, if the ME even had time to get to Taylor’s autopsy yet. They were always slammed. “I can call my friend Cassie. She’s an autopsy assistant at the ME’s office. She can tell us what’s going on.”

Susan cleared her throat. “There was no ME.”

Heat flushed Harper’s bruised face. “What do you mean no ME?”

“Nick said he found her collapsed at the base of the stairs, all sweaty, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. He called for an ambulance. They came, but she didn’t make it. They said it looked like a heart attack.”

“Looked like? Why didn’t Nick have the ME make certain?” If she had a husband who died at thirty-four, she’d want to know beyond a shadow of a doubt what had killed him.

“Nick said he couldn’t stand to see Taylor all cut up like that and forwent the autopsy.”

Harper swiped the tears from her cheeks, then winced as her hand brushed a swollen bruise. “When’s the funeral?” She could at least say good-bye . . . in a way.

“On Sunday, but it’s a life remembrance ceremony at the house.”

Taylor’s funeral. Her sweet friend’s funeral. Shock riddled through her—the kind that holds your body tight and steals your mind. “Wh-what about the graveside ceremony?” Harper wrapped one arm around her waist, seeking comfort. How she longed to be wrapped in Deckard’s strong arms during this excruciating conversation, but her body wouldn’t allow it. It shrank back the minute anyone got close.

Susan’s tear-filled voice strengthened. “I’m afraid there isn’t one.”

Harper narrowed her eyes. Had she heard Susan wrong? “No graveside ceremony? Why not?”

“Nick had her cremated.”

“Cremated? It’s been less than a week. I mean, there’s paperwork to be filled out and a permit to be given, and by law you have to wait at least forty-eight hours to cremate in most states. He must have filed the paperwork right away if she died on the nineteenth.”

“I guess.”

“If he filled out the paperwork on the twentieth, he couldn’t cremate her until the twenty-second at the earliest.”

“That’s when he did it. On the twenty-second.”

“That seems like a snap decision, and worst of all, it isn’t what Taylor wanted.”

“Nick insisted it was, but Steve thought she wanted to be buried in the family plot with their parents. There are already gravestones placed there for her and Steve—the death dates just have to be filled in.”

“Then why did Nick cremate her?” she asked, charley horses gripping her legs as she clutched the phone. Not now. The stupid things came on as fast as they left—a reminder of the night of her escape—racing for the river so hard despite the spasms seizing her legs. Yet she’d made it.

“Nick said Taylor changed her mind not long ago.”

She fixed her flighty concentration on Susan—focusing on the sound of her voice rather than the terror of that night, though this terror didn’t seem much better. How? Why . . . ? “Why would she even be thinking about her death in the first place, being so young?”

“I have no idea, but Nick said it’s comforting to have her at home. He’s got her ashes on the mantel.”

Her ashes might be there, but she wasn’t home. No more vibrant Tay. Her laughter was contagious, and she’d never get to hear it again. Sorrow anchored in Harper’s chest, plunking its weight onto her lungs, belaboring each breath. Hot tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t even get to say good-bye to her friend.

At least Nick was taking it hard despite Tay’s concern he’d been cheating before Harper left for Syria. Tay didn’t have physical proof, but her gut said he was, and Harper trusted her instincts.

“Nick is such a mess. We tried to help with the details, but he wanted to handle everything.”

“Details?”

“The cremation.” Susan hiccuped on a sob. “The remembrance details. We tried to help but the poor guy just wanted to be left alone.”

Harper swallowed, needing to leave this conversation, to have a minute to think, to breathe. “Thanks for letting me know.”