Page 4 of Sing with Me

A whirlwind? What on earth did that mean?

And she never returned to the States.

Within a month of their last conversation, she was gone.

Since then, Diehl had been at the bottom of an emotional well that affected everything in his life until now. One year later, and Diehl was still underwater.

I have to get out of this funk.

“What have I done wrong, God? Help me. Help me.”

Chapter Two

It wasn’t Skye Langston’s job to fill the bird feeder in the side garden outside the kitchen window, but standing at the farmhouse-style kitchen sink, rinsing out the dishes for her assistant to put into the dishwasher, she could clearly see that the feeder was empty and that someone ought to feed the birds.

The birdbath next to the feeder under the shady live oak trees looked like it needed to be refilled as well. The water had all but evaporated from the tiled top on this hot June day.

Where did Brinley get that bath?

Seven months pregnant, Brinley Brooks-McMillan spent more of her time indoors at her other house. She hadn’t been to this beach house in a while and had mentioned that some day she might sell it. The cleaning lady had aired out the place before Skye came the day before to fill the refrigerator and pantry.

However, no one had filled the bird feeder or birdbath. Probably in days.

Skye didn’t recall if it had rained in a few days.

Her feet felt tired. She had been working non-stop for the last two weeks driving from house to house on St. Simon’s and also Seaside Island, cooking for vacationers. They came in droves about now, and their summer life was easier if they didn’t have to cook for themselves.

Most of the time they ate out in the local area restaurants, but Skye was glad to accommodate some of their special preferences and dietary requirements. Some people had food allergies, and if not them, their kids.

She often planned the menus after consultation with her clients, but not this one. Brinley simply told her that Diehl ate “anything” but was partial to peach cobblers. Brinley asked her to cook some mushroom risotto, which Skye had made for their Women’s Bible Study Group on some Tuesday nights.

Last night, Skye made a peach cobbler as a welcome present.

She and her assistant Marlo had been here since ten o’clock in the morning because Brinley told her that Diehl liked to eat his lunch at noon, but that he might be late.

Well, his truck was parked outside. He was probably still upstairs somewhere. She hadn’t heard anything.

When Skye and Marlo arrived, the door was not only unlocked but the alarm wasn’t set. In retrospect, she should have called Brinley and asked if Diehl was here, but Skye had so many containers to haul into the house to cook lunch and prepare for dinner that she had forgotten all about calling anyone.

Besides, it was relatively safe on the island, as everyone knew. And most importantly, Brinley had given Skye a key to the beach house so that she could come and go any time. Apparently, Diehl had signed off on that too.

In fact, Brinley said to walk right in. She said her brother wouldn’t mind because Skye was like family.

Am I like family?

Skye wasn’t sure she wanted to have much to do with Diehl. She had heard things about him that unsettled her.

Skye and Marlo made quick work of the prepared ingredients—Skye liked to get everything ready before she arrived at the client’s house—and the mushroom risotto was soon in the oven. Then it was out of the oven.

And still no sign of Diehl.

Skye glanced at the clock on the wall. It was past noon. She had to leave soon because she had a final rehearsal this afternoon with Brinley and their friend from church, Avery Chung. Avery usually played the trumpet, but she was singing a duet with Skye this time, while Brinley played the piano accompaniment.

She dried her hands, and messaged Brinley and Avery in their group chat, while Marlo finished loading the dishwasher.

Other than mushroom risotto, they had made cucumber sandwiches for the afternoon. Skye had no idea whether Diehl liked that or not, but since he hadn’t returned her calls when she tried to find out what he wanted to eat, she decided that he was going to have cucumber sandwiches with his tea this afternoon.

Skye chuckled. He probably wasn’t the tea and finger sandwich sort of guy—considering the giant gas-guzzling charcoal-colored Ford pickup truck in the driveway—but it was his fault for not returning her call or replying to her email. She even attached a link to the menu software she had paid a lot of money for to simplify her life as a personal chef.

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