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One
Earthworms squirmed at the edges of the freshly dug grave, stretching their squishy pink bodies out towards the forest of lilies sitting on top of Connie Major’s coffin. Bunny watched one wriggle, extending itself, her attention completely focused on the imaginary David Attenborough voice-over that was rolling out in her mind. The common earthworm, or lumbrius terrestris, is a large red-colored worm common in Europe but considered an invasive species elsewhere…
That was her. An invasive species. You’d think that strategically limited visits to her hometown over the past thirty-four years would’ve softened the way the place bristled whenever she came near, but you’d be wrong. News of her arrival in Mosswood had spread like butter on a hot day, running ahead of her through town. By the time she’d pulled up outside her parents’ place, her dad had already been waiting for her in the driveway.
The prodigal daughter returned.
The January sky was a pale blue that was almost gray, heavy with clouds that threatened rain. Mosswood Cemetery was behind the only church in town, nestled quaintly among a grove of ancient oak trees that hosted trails of Spanish moss swaying in the cold breeze. A large group of people had turned out to pay their respects, huddling together for warmth, sympathy, and good ol’-fashioned gossip. More than one pair of narrowed eyes had darted in Bunny’s direction.
She shook back her blonde waves and straightened her spine, filling her space with the confidence she usually reserved for work. Folks frowned on the fact she’d wanted more than backwater Georgia could provide. Her going to college had been the first shock. The only other people she even knew from Mosswood who’d thought about college were Veronica—the local vet—and Larry Holt, whose family had been quite without the means. It wasn’t common in the county, that was for sure.
The second shock for everyone had been Bunny moving to Atlanta. Permanently.
The worm overestimated itself. The drying dirt crumbled around it, and it slipped from its pole position to tumble down into the bottom of the grave. Another one bites the dust.
She looked up.
Pastor Bishop was speaking in his smooth, calm baritone. His solemn words were seemingly directed at the congregation, his hands moving every so often for emphasis as though he were conducting an invisible symphony of prayer. But when he glanced at Bunny standing next to the open grave, his kind blue eyes were crinkled at the corners with the weight of heartfelt understanding.
“Mr. Marshall Major would now like to say a few words,” he announced, stepping aside from the temporary pulpit to make room for Bunny’s father.
Marshall was a tall man with wide shoulders, well-suited for his long and industrious career at the local timber mill. Despite his outwardly stoic appearance, he was well-suited to being a husband and father. He took his place behind the pulpit, drawing a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. He pinned his gaze to that paper, and Bunny instinctively knew it was so he wouldn’t have to look at the faces in the crowd.
“My wife, Connie, was a woman beloved by everyone she met.” Her dad’s voice was strong, his characteristic stubbornness a boon at times like these. “She was a warm and loving partner in life, and a nurturing mother to our children, Bernadette and Benjamin. Lord knows that things weren’t always easy, but Connie and I always worked together as a team. Going forward alone is gonna be about the hardest thing I’ll ever do…”
Even steel could bend, and Marshall Major was living proof. His voice wavered, making Bunny’s eyes snap to his proud jaw. A tear had collected there. She made a minuscule movement, as though ready to go to her father’s side, but a steady hand on her right elbow stopped her in her tracks. Ben, her brother. She moved against his grip, and the fingertips holding her in place gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
Marshall had wiped his face with his handkerchief and gone on while the going was good.
“I’m ready to spend the rest of my life makin’ my time with our children count for the both of us. I wanna thank y’all for bein’ here today to pay your respects,” he said with a wan smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “I know Connie’d be touched to see so many folks. Thank you.” He moved away from the pulpit, coming back to stand next to his daughter.
Bunny felt like she was underwater, floating in a current of ice-cold water that had numbed every nerve in her body. Vaguely aware of the warmth of other people on either side of her, she drifted along through the rest of the service like a log in a river. The huge ultra-dark sunglasses that made leaving the hospital at the ends of her long shifts bearable now allowed her to stare blankly at the grave that cradled her mother’s coffin. But not because she was sad.
Because Bunny knew that something was up.
It had been so sudden. Her parents had the kind of lifestyle that was the envy of retirees the world over. But a comfortable home, healthy diet and twice-yearly vacations hadn’t done Connie one iota of good. She had dropped dead in the kitchen of the family home from a suspected heart attack, leaving her loving family behind and a hummingbird cake in the oven.
One day, maybe, she’d be able to make the joke that at least her mom had died doing something she loved. But it was not this day.
Today was the day when a world she hadn’t realized she missed had imploded. Today, Bunny said goodbye to a mother who had nursed her through childhood illnesses, who had comforted her when all her teenaged friends had been out dating and she’d been home. Who had called just a week ago, larger than life, leaving a voicemail on Bunny’s machine that had gone unanswered in favor of pulling a double shift at the hospital.
In fact, working extra shifts at the hospital had gotten Bunny through the worst of the shock. Her apathy at this point—her inability to cry about it—was one of her natural coping mechanisms. The other was tuning out.
Her dad was standing next to her, talking to Pastor Bishop in a low, measured tone. Bunny wasn’t listening. She could have made an effort, but she knew his words would be full of love and heartache, and she’d had her fill of both in the week and a bit since this whole nightmare had unfolded. Instead, she focused on the moving shadow beneath a large oak on the other side of the cemetery, right behind her dad’s shoulder.
A flicker of movement had caught her eye. The shadows beneath the oak shifted, and a figure emerged, the edges blurry at first but coming into focus like the lens of a camera auto-adjusting. Bunny had felt half-asleep until that moment, trapped in a surreal haze. But now she was on high alert.
If that guy had come to pay his respects to her mom, why was he doing it from across the cemetery?
She frowned as she stared, bridging the space between them with her scrutinizing glare. His eyes were dark in a way that spoke of mystery and moonless nights; there were no coffee-colored flecks of golden highlights to break the intensity of his gaze. His face would have been handsome, had it not been for the stubborn set of his jaw. She thought she saw a flash of recognition in his expression, and she frowned more deeply at the implication before turning to her left.
“Who’s he?” she whispered under her breath, pulling herself out of the numb water as her eyes darted back to the stranger. He hadn’t moved an inch. The biting winter wind ruffled his black hair, the long black coat he wore buttoned up to ward off the chill.
“Who’s who?”
“The guy under the tree.”
Her brother Ben craned his neck to peer past her, his gaze flicking to her face after a couple of moments. There was a note of worry in his look. “Which guy, Bun?”
