Page 7 of From West, With Regret

He’s already closing the gap between us, ready to follow.

“Change of plans.” I swallow thickly, knowing that, despite how I feel about today, I won’t risk losing her again. Not when I’ve been given this chance.

London’s drawing burns a hole in my pocket.

I button the top three buttons of my shirt, ensuring my necklace is tucked safely beneath it.

“Where to, Mr. Knight?” Alden lifts his chin, waiting for my direction.

I close the last button of my shirt and swipe my jacket from the back of the barstool. “My brother’s funeral.”

THREE

LONDON

The rain stops the second I step beside my husband’s casket.

An entirely too large bouquet of black, purple, and white roses rests on the top of the lacquered walnut. The scent of rain mingles with the polyurethane, as though the funeral home insisted on adding another layer of protection to preserve my husband’s body before lowering it into the ground.

My dress clings to my damp skin, and I cross my arms over my chest, afraid my peaked nipples will be noticed beneath the delicate fabric of my dress. My mother-in-law stands on the other side of Heath’s casket, unable to take her eyes off her son’s final resting place. She reaches under the toile shielding her face and dabs at the tears spilling through her lashes with her black handkerchief. When she briefly glances up at me, I squeeze my arms around myself, worrying she’ll somehow be able to see my nipples through my dress. I may as well be naked as she sizes me up.

Does she know this was her son’s favorite dress? Does she know he relentlessly begged me to wear it?

My mother-in-law and I haven’t formally met before, only ever speaking over the phone, but I know she recognizes me,since Heath sent her pictures from our wedding day. Or so he told me.

The corners of her mouth twitch in acknowledgement before she moves on and settles in her seat in the first row.

I take a deep breath and do the same.

After sitting in the white, fold-out chair beside Glenna Hall, I hold my breath and keep my focus on the lone lectern placed in front of Heath’s newly dug grave.

The seat is dry—they must have wiped them down as we were paying our respects to Heath—and my still-wet dress sticks to the plastic, pulling it farther up the back of my thigh when I shift in place.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” Glenna says to the man moving to sit in the seat on the other side of her. “This seat is reserved for my other son. He should be here any minute. Seems he’s running a little behind today.”

“Oh.” Wyatt frowns. “Of course.” He glances between us before settling back on Glenna. “I’m sorry for your family’s loss.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She grabs his hand with her gloved one. “At least he’s with his father now.” Glenna nods to the elaborate headstone several feet away from where Heath is being buried.

I hadn’t realized Heath’s father was buried here as well. It must be why he requested to be here. To be with his father.

“Richard Hall was an exceptional man,” Wyatt says to Glenna. “You and he contributed so much to this city. You’ve raised a wonderful family.”

“Thank you, Wyatt.” Glenna pats the corner of her eye and inhales deeply. “It’s just the two of us now.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, knowing Glenna isn’t talking about me. She doesn’t consider me family anymore. How could she when she’s never met me until today?

Glenna squeezes Wyatt’s hand before letting it go. He leaves us, taking a seat in the row behind instead.

I force myself to keep my gaze trained on my husband’s casket but can’t help focusing on the opposite side of Glenna, to the empty seat. I didn’t even know Heath had a brother.

“Heath would have hated that it rained today.” Glenna leans into me, whispering. I turn my head and catch her sad eyes looking up at me. “He always loved it when the sun was shining.”

Her lips are perfectly painted a deep shade of burgundy, her makeup flawless. The crow’s feet at the corners of her blue eyes are barely noticeable, even if it weren’t for the mesh fabric shielding her face. It’s obvious she’s had several sessions of Botox, at least, but she’s still beautiful.

I give her a small smile, pretending to agree. I don’t know what type of weather Heath preferred, much less whether he enjoyed the sunlight. We never discussed those types of things. But the grief and kindness is Glenna’s expression makes me keep those thoughts to myself.

My mind wanders back to the bartender at The Veiled Door. My truths rest on the tip of my tongue, begging to be set free. I swallow them down. The bartender was right. The truth is easier to tell than a lie.

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