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“If you had bothered,” my mother continued sagely, “you would have changed her mind.”
“Is that what she told you?” My voice was dry.
“Oh no. We never talk about you.”
I went to the decanter and poured myself a drink, stung by the statement, though I had no idea why. It wasn’t like the thought of them exchanging girlish confidences about me was palatable in the least, but the knowledge that Allie didn’t care enough to talk about me was far worse.
“I don’t want to talk about her either. I came to see you, mother, and to talk about tomorrow.”
Her face clouded, and she took a deep breath. “I’m ready, Braden. I won’t get hysterical or scream and shame you and your father.”
I took her in my arms. “You can do anything you want, and neither Dad nor I would ever be ashamed of you.”
Her body shook. “I have no idea how I’ll survive.”
“You will.” I smiled down at her. “And I’ll be here.”
She nodded. “I don’t have much of an appetite, but if you want to stay for dinner, Clayton will arrange something for you and Allison.”
“No need.” I didn’t have much of an appetite either, and I wasn’t sure I could spend the evening in the same house with Allie without saying or doing something we would both regret. “I’ll send a car tomorrow.”
She nodded and patted my cheek. “I never even asked you how you were doing.”
I smiled. “It’s okay, Mom. For now, let me take care of you.”
She walked with me to the door and handed me my coat. “You really should say good night to Allison and try to talk about…things. She’s a wonderful person, Braden. You shouldn’t…”
“I’ll see her tomorrow,” I interrupted. “We can talk then, though I’m sure she’s not eager to talk to me.”
“You’d be surprised,” my mother said cryptically.
I didn’t ask her what she meant as the door closed behind me. I raised my collar and indicated to McGuire with a wave that I intended to walk. I told myself it was because I needed to think—about the funeral, about the many arrangements that still needed to be made to settle my father’s affairs, about my mother—but really, I just needed the time alone, to get my mind off the only woman I’d ever loved, the woman who, more than anyone else, was unreachable to me.
Nineteen
Allie
I told myself I didn’t care if Braden spoke to me at all. I was only there for his mother, after all, not for him. I held Celine’s hand through the church service. She wept a little during the sermon and also when Braden and other people who’d known her husband talked about the admirable man he’d been.
She held herself together until the priest said his words at the cemetery and the coffin slowly lowered into the ground; then she started to shake uncontrollably. I held her hand on one side while from the other, Braden put his hand around her waist and supported her weight.
Later, there was a reception at her home. Braden had arranged everything with Clayton, and the food and arrangements had been set up while we were in the church. He stood with his mother and greeted guests while I hovered in the background. A few people spoke to me, but not Braden; I might as well have been invisible to him.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
The older woman dressed in solemn black was a more somber version of Celine. Braden’s aunt Corinne was the opposite of her sister—severe, arrogant, uncompromising, and suspicious. She’d never liked me and made no secret of it.
“Surprise, surprise,” I said drily.
She made a sound in her throat. “I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked. Celine is fond of you. She always had a fondness for the strangest things.” Her eyes went to a picture of Braden’s father now occupying center place on the mantel, and she snorted. “Frankly, I’m surprised his heart didn’t give out sooner. Being married to Celine couldn’t have been easy for a man like him.”
“A man from the wrong side of the tracks, you mean?”
“What could a struggling journalist, a small-town dentist’s son from the boonies have had in common with my sister?”
I closed my eyes. Braden’s father had been an award-winning journalist and bestselling author, yet his achievements had never been enough for this woman whose claim to glory and wealth was a great-grandfather she’d never even known.
“What could your husband have in common with that waitress?” I enquired with a sweet smile, inclining my head toward where her husband was standing much too close to one of the servers. “He just handed her his card—you think he likes young things?”
