Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(83)

Dakota barreled inside the house, practically dragging me along with him. We stopped in the entryway to take off our coats.

Koko and Rozene stood close watch, no longer blocking the door, but they weren’t inviting us farther into the house either.

As I unwrapped the scarf from my neck, I stole glances at them both.

The women were beautiful, much like their older brother, with striking features. Their mouths were set in a natural line that was intimidating.

I steeled my spine, refusing to cower.

Rozene must have noticed because she stood taller too, crossing her arms across her chest and resting them on her belly.

A woman’s voice called from down the hallway. “Koko, where is the diaper bag?”

“In the kitchen!” she called over her shoulder.

“No, it’s not.” The voice came closer. “What are you . . .”

Dakota’s mother pushed her daughters aside and saw us by the door. Her eyes flared as she recognized me.

“Mom.” Dakota bent and kissed her cheek. “You remember Sofia?”

“Hi.” I extended my free hand. “I’m so sorry about your loss, Lyndie.”

Koko scoffed and spun around, retreating into the house. Rozene kept her stance firm and unwelcoming as Lyndie looked me up and down until I finally dropped my hand. Her stare wasn’t as harsh as her daughters’, but it held no more warmth than the air had outside.

When Lyndie’s inspection was done, she planted her hands on her hips to address Dakota. “Take off your shoes if they’re wet.”

He nodded and toed off his boots. I followed suit.

When we were both down to our socks, he clutched my hand once more and followed his mother past his sister and through the house.

We walked down a short hallway. The two-story home opened up into a great room on one side and a long kitchen at the end of a hallway on the other.

In the great room, cartoons played for the three little kids rolling cars and stacking blocks on the carpet. A baby girl in a pair of pink leggings and a matching tee crawled around the coffee table.

It had to be the same baby who’d been born after New Year’s. She’d gotten so big. Had it really been that long?

The endless months apart from Dakota had gone by in such a blur. Without him around to mark each day special, they’d all melded together.

Dakota waved at the older kids then turned away from the great room and took the hallway that led to the kitchen.

Lyndie was waiting. She stood on the far side of the center island, wearing black pants and a black sweater. Her eyes darted to the stools under the island, quietly commanding us to sit.

Once we were settled, the air in the room got heavy as we waited for her to speak. I kept my mouth shut but let my eyes wander, mostly to escape her scrutiny.

The Magee home was older, probably built in the seventies, but they’d done some remodeling. Maybe Dakota had helped. The white cabinets looked new. The quartz countertops were a soft gray. The maple floors had been sealed but left in their natural tone.

The kitchen reminded me of the farmhouse style popular on a dozen home interior shows at the moment. It went perfectly in this home.

A compliment came to mind, but I kept it to myself. I doubted Lyndie wanted to hear how this New York City–trained interior designer felt about her home.

The uncomfortable silence lingered, until finally Dakota stirred the room with a long breath. He let go of my hand, leaning his forearms on the counter. With a gentle tone he used often with me, he asked, “How are you doing, Mom?”

“How do you think?” she snapped. Dakota’s tone must not work on her like it did on me. “Your father dies, I ask you to move home, to be with your family, and instead you stay away.”

With her.

The unspoken words boomed in the kitchen.

Lyndie’s eyes flooded and she turned her back on us, taking a Kleenex from a box next to the sink. Her shoulders shook as she wept.

“I’ll let you talk.” I touched Dakota’s forearm and slid off my stool.

He’d asked me to come along, but this conversation was not for my ears. Me sitting here would only make it harder on him. And his mom.

So I walked out of the room, glancing over my shoulder as Dakota stood too, walked over to his mother and pulled her into his arms.

Lyndie collapsed into him, clinging to him as she cried.

Wanting to give her that privacy, I started down the hallway, planning on joining the children in the living room. But three steps away from the kitchen, Rozene came into view. She shot me a glare and shook her head, trapping me in my place.

I wasn’t welcome in the great room. I wasn’t necessary in the kitchen. So I loitered in the hallway, stuck in limbo.

With nowhere else to look, I examined the walls. They were full of collaged photo frames. Most of the pictures were older from when Dakota was a child. He’d been a handsome boy, lean and lanky as a teenager before he’d filled his broad frame with muscle. In most, he had a basketball in his hand.

There was one photo that caught my attention, drawing me in. Dakota was standing at the free-throw line, poised and ready to make his shot. His dad was standing off to the side, a proud smile on his face.

When had Joseph stopped smiling at Dakota? Maybe he never had.

The saddest part was Dakota would never know. Their conversations would remain unfinished, their wounds unhealed.