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Her fingers had unconsciously sought out the smooth surface of the moonstone pendant her mom had left her. Without even looking, she could imagine the milky-white crystal threaded through with ribbons of clearer minerals and the speckles of black. When moved, it would shine with a subtle rainbow sheen, even in the miserable gray daylight. Bunny couldn’t remember a time when her mom hadn’t worn it. Being able to wear it now brought her comfort, and she liked to think her mom would have approved. It didn’t quite match the last-minute funeral attire she’d dug out of her closet. The cut of the pants was a little too boyish for her tastes, and made her petite form look blocky. Off-duty, Bunny was one for skinny jeans and band tees, and she strictly avoided anything that looked like it might need to be intimate with an iron.
Bunny looked back in the direction of the stranger, but he was gone.
She shrugged, not bothering to answer Ben. She’d always been the zany older sister; the one who was too ambitious, too determined, too ‘out there’. She’d learned a long time ago to roll with the crazy that seemed to follow her around on a daily basis. But she didn’t want Ben seeing the spark of concern in her eyes now.
* * *
They’d electedto hold the wake in the Hand of God Southern Baptist Church. The chapel itself had been recently been rebuilt by the townsfolk after a devastating fire had burned it almost to the ground. If there was anything Bunny could relate to, it was rising from the ashes. She’d always been different, ever since she could remember. She’d wanted bright lights and excitement—both of which were things the relatively quiet folk of Mosswood seemed to resent.
The well-wishers had started to break off into smaller groups heading for the Church as soon as the final prayers had been said. Bunny politely rejected every tray of canapés brought past her, choosing instead to stand mutely by her father and nod placatingly at anyone who stopped to offer their sympathy, as though they were almost glad to see her in town. Phonies. Bunny had no intention of kissing ass—not at such an occasion as this, where half the gossips in town were rubbernecking to get a good look at her.
Bunny lifted her wrist, consulting the smartwatch that was blinking messages at her. Each of them was a perfect little excuse. She edged closer to her father, who was still talking with Pastor Bishop.
“I gotta go, Dad.” She smiled apologetically before slinging an arm around her father’s neck. She needed to seem okay if she didn’t want him to worry about her. Even though she was fifty-two, it wouldn’t take much for her dad to remind her that she was still his little girl. But it was him she was worried about.
Ben was the owner of a very successful convenience store in town, and any time he didn’t spend there was spent out at the local plantation house doing volunteer work and Civil War reenactments. He had his own life to lead, and though she knew he would never not look out for their dad, Bunny knew all too well that life had a habit of picking up and taking off. Once the genteel Southern hospitality petered off and well-meaning Mosswood housewives ceased delivering casseroles, what would to happen to her dad then?
Marshall’s expression flattened, his lips slanting down into a thin line of disappointment. Bunny felt a pang of guilt, but she shooed it away.
“Alright, Flopsy,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of her smooth blonde locks before she pulled away from him. “You drive safe. Text me when you get back to the big smoke.”
“I’ll do even better than that and call instead,” she promised. “Look after Ben?”
“If he’ll let me.” Her dad shrugged as she started to back away, injecting some of the characteristic Major humor into the situation. He was a shadow of his former self now and it broke Bunny’s heart to see it, but she needed to be back in Atlanta.
Mosswood was okay in small doses, but any longer than a day in town made her start to itch. The easy devil-may-care existences of the general populace just seemed so humdrum—so mind-numbingly boring—that she was scared it was infectious. She’d get in the car, thrash some of her favorite death metal songs to disinfect her mind, and then get back to reality.
Bunny wound her way through the crowd, nodding in acknowledgement to anyone she couldn’t avoid eye contact with. She was almost through the gauntlet when she overheard a slow Southern drawl, dipped in disbelief and sprinkled with scandal for good measure.
“I still can’t hardly believe it,” cooed Prissy Bishop, a tiny blonde woman who was every bit as much rattlesnake as she was former debutante. “I saw her down at the Moon Café about a week back and she looked as healthy as a horse!”
“Only just had a clean bill of health from Doctor Goode,” LeeAnn Coombes confirmed with a sad shake of her head. “And then gone,” she snapped her fingers demonstrably, “just like that!”
Both women looked up as Bunny passed them by, taking in her raised brows and pursed lips. LeeAnn had the decency to look embarrassed at Bunny overhearing the bluntness of her comment, but Prissy dropped a shoulder and tilted her head to one side.
“So sorry for your loss, Bernadette. Your mother was a Mosswood matriarch.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “Maybe you could take her place at the Bridge Club? You’re about the right age, aren’t you?”
“Thanks, Priscilla,” Bunny sniped back, proving she was just as good at throwing down a Christian name or two. But Bunny wasn’t bound by small-town etiquette. When she bit back, it would be harder than she’d been bitten. “I was sorry to hear about your loss, too.” Bunny glanced in the direction of the handsome young pastor, who was now Prissy’s ex-husband. “Though I suppose you have the alimony to cushion the blow. Excuse me.”
Bunny pushed roughly past the two women, steam about ready to burst out of her ears. Good. She focused on the anger, letting it bubble up inside of her. As long as she could hold on to that, she didn’t have to worry about the grief seeping slowly and steadily into her bones like a chill creeping across a field. With no intended direction other than away, she felt relieved to see her brother just finishing a conversation.
She increased her pace, a tired smile slanted on her face as she approached him.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked, glancing over Bunny’s shoulder to jokingly check if she was trying to outrun the law.
Bunny followed his gaze. “Under Prissy’s backside, hopefully,” she muttered, turning back to Ben with pursed lips.
“Wondered how long it’d take for you two to lock horns,” he mused, offering her his plate stuffed full of canapes. “You never did have any patience for the woman.”
Bunny shook her head at the food, countering Ben’s jibe. “You always had too much.”
“May-be,” Ben drawled with a casual shrug. “But life’s too short to hold grudges. You goin’ somewhere?” He stuffed a deviled egg into his mouth.
His question reignited the flare of guilt she had fended off when speaking to their dad. “Sorry.” She glanced down at her smartwatch, shrugged a shoulder and shook her head in defeat. “My shift starts at six. No rest for the wicked, apparently.”
“That’s crazy,” Ben said, his tone smoothed into an empathetic drawl. “Couldn’t they even give you the day off to attend your own mother’s funeral?”
“They probably would have, if I’d asked them,” she admitted, earning herself an exasperated glare, “but it’s hard to get someone to cover for me, and it’s not fair to my colleagues or the patients when they’re down a nurse on the floor.”
