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Truth be told, it still didn’t seem completely right to feel that way about any guy, but it was especially true about Egan. So, wide berths and avoidance would continue even though she suspected he could very well be just one corridor away if he was visiting his father.
She jolted when there was a quick knock at her door, and for one heart-jittering moment, she thought it might be Egan. But it wasn’t. The door opened, and her aunt Loralee stuck her head in the room.
“Just checking to make sure you weren’t with a patient,” Loralee said, stepping inside. “There’s a big fellow just up the hall reading some papers and complaining about you.”
Alana nodded, not surprised by that, and she tamped down the heart jittering while automatically checking the time of her next appointment. Not for another hour, but she wouldn’t let Aunt Loralee know that or she’d settle in for the entire sixty minutes. Alana would need to work in lunch and go over the client’s record before the hour was up.
“I thought I’d stop in and check on you since I was just up the street at Harlow’s,” her aunt explained, referring to the beauty salon. The mention explained why Loralee smelled of the hairspray that kept her graying curly hair anchored firmly in place. Even monsoon winds wouldn’t ruffle those locks.
Loralee took a plain brown paper bag from her purse and glanced around as if checking to make sure they were alone. “It’s a blueberry scone. I baked them fresh this morning.”
“Thanks.” Alana smiled and didn’t question her aunt’s furtive look or concealed packaging for the treat. No need since Loralee would have heard all about the banana split and any other such goodies.
“Figured you could use a little pick-me-up.” Loralee sat, eyeing her the way a doctor would look at a trauma patient.
“I’m not stressed out because of Egan,” Alana volunteered, figuring that she knew where this was going.
The sound her aunt made conveyed that she wasn’t buying that. Perhaps because there was a smidge of truth to it since the tingle Alana had felt for Egan was definitely a stressor.
“Have you talked to Tilly in the last day or so?” her aunt asked.
This wasn’t a change of subject. Nope. Alana also knew where this was leading. “I called Tilly after I found out Derek’s diagnosis, but I’m guessing she told you about me speaking to Egan in regards to the life celebration.”
“She did,” Loralee verified, “but Tilly totally understands that the timing isn’t good to bring all of that up with Egan. I advised her to wait until Derek was out of the hospital, and then Tilly can talk to Egan directly. That’ll get you out of the loop.”
And there it was—her aunt’s bottom-line reasoning. Loralee would have almost certainly preferred for Alana to have no contact at all with Egan. In part because she believed that her being around Egan would stir bad memories.
And it did.
But there was also the other side of this coin. That Loralee thought Egan was somehow responsible for Jack’s death. One day, Alana was going to have to confess that she, not Egan, was the culprit for that, and if Loralee wanted to assign blame, then she had to look no further than her own niece.
“Speaking of the life celebration,” Loralee went on. “I’m worried about it. Not for the obvious reasons of it being a sad, hard reminder for you but also because of the painting itself.”
Alana frowned. “What do you mean?” She had no idea what the painting would look like because Tilly had guarded it at a top-secret level, wanting to keep it a surprise until the unveiling.
Loralee pulled up something on her phone and handed it to Alana. “That’s the artist’s web page,” her aunt explained. “Just look at what he calls art.”
Alana did look, and even though she didn’t want to judge, her frown deepened some. The artist’s name was Javier Cartier, and there were a half-dozen photos of his work on the page. All the paintings were composed of what appeared to be barbed wire, tiny concrete chunks, assorted trash and paint blobs. She picked out a partial Coke can in one and a crunched Pringles’ can in another and tried to imagine how such things could come together to create a memorial painting. Then, she remembered who’d commissioned the work.
“Tilly would have given him specifics about what to paint,” Alana said. No doubts about that. Tilly wouldn’t have wanted any raised eyebrows over the tribute for her fallen son. She would have aimed for reactions of oohs, aahs and throwback memories to happier times.
“Let’s hope,” Loralee muttered. “If not, you’ll have to steel yourself up not to gasp or anything since all eyes will turn to you to see your reaction when the painting is unveiled.”
Alana wished that weren’t true, but she knew that’s exactly how the event would play out. She’d be expected to express both happiness and tears. And she would. It’d be impossible to get through something like that without yet more crying. But Alana was hoping this would be some kind of catharsis for the town. That Jack would finally, finally be laid to rest which in turn would lead to Tilly, Egan and her getting on with whatever their new normal turned out to be.
This new normal wouldn’t be the end of the tears, that was for certain. Wouldn’t be the end of the grief, either, but Alana was hoping beyond reason that it would allow her to move on without carting the wagonload of guilt with her.
“Speaking of Tilly, Jack and such,” Loralee went on, “you didn’t ask what your sister had written to me in her letter, but she talked about Jack and his mom. About how she regrets she hadn’t been there to help you through your grief.”
This was boggy ground, for sure. Alana had mixed feelings about Colleen. Yes, they were sisters, but Alana hadn’t been a fan of Colleen’s cheating and walking out on her husband. Especially since Egan had had to deal with that and get slammed with Jack’s death just a couple of days later.
Still, Alana hadn’t been an insider when it came to Colleen and Egan’s marriage; she had no plans to disown Colleen for what she’d done. Alana just preferred not to have a lot of interaction with her since Colleen’s actions were now part of the mix of what she felt over losing Jack.
“Did you give Egan the letter Colleen wrote to him?” Loralee asked. “Or did you just forward it to him?”
“I gave it to him in person three days ago when I went to the base to tell him about Tilly’s plans.” She paused a moment and came clean with the rest. “Egan tossed it unopened in the trash.”
Loralee’s mouth tightened in disapproval. “Figures. I doubt Egan’s the forgiving sort.” She continued before Alana could maybe point out that Colleen hadn’t actually earned any forgiveness. “I just hope Egan doesn’t upset Tilly. She’s all excited because she thinks Egan will be doing the painting unveiling, after all. I mean, since he’s in town and can’t get out of it.”
