The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)(109)

Faith had never blamed him, not really.

She walked through the field, the brittle grass crunching softly under her feet, and came to the tree that had stopped their car. She remembered that sound, that final crunch, the shiver of the car, the patter as the splintered safety glass let loose.

Running her hand over the rough bark, she felt the smoother place where the tree had healed from the gash their car had left. The wood was still strong and smooth, all these years after that long-ago afternoon when the sky had been so blue.

She sat under the tree, distantly noting the cold, unyielding ground. It was so quiet tonight. No crickets, no coyotes yipping, no night birds. Just the quiet.

Maybe her mother had been planning to divorce Dad. Maybe not. Maybe, Faith thought, her mother had just been having a bad day and vented, inappropriately perhaps, to her youngest child. Maybe, for some reason, she thought her frustrations would be safe with Faith, that for whatever reason, Faith would understand. Maybe wanting more for your child than you had yourself didn’t mean you were unhappy.

That was the thing with a sudden death. Some questions would never be answered.

Faith would keep her mother’s secret. She’d let the guilt slink away, but she wouldn’t sully the memories her family held. The truth was, they all probably knew Constance wasn’t perfect; they were all intelligent, sensitive people, more or less. Maybe their beatification of St. Mom was more a choice than ignorance, and each one of them had tiny shards pricking their hearts, memories of Mom’s imperfections kept to themselves.

Mom had loved them all. She’d been a good mother, and John Holland had been a happily married man. Nothing could ever erase those truths.

Faith looked over to the spot where she’d thought she’d seen her mom standing that day, telling her she’d be fine.

Mom had been right, hadn’t she? Faith had survived the wreck, had turned out pretty well for a girl without a mother. Had found a profession she loved and had become successful, had survived heartbreak, had created a life in a strange city, had become somebody who loved the life she was living.

Too bad Mom couldn’t see her now.

“I miss you,” Faith whispered.

Then she blew a kiss into the air, the same gesture she thought her mother had made to her, that last time she’d ever seen or imagined her. Connie’s kiss for her littlest girl, returned, finally, after nineteen and a half years.

And this time, the heat of tears in her eyes was welcome.

When Blue appeared, having apparently wriggled his way out of the car window, she was glad for his furry head in her lap, his silky ears and big heart.

* * *

FAITH APPEARED ON her father’s doorstep at seven that morning. She’d gone home, slept for a couple of hours, then awoke twenty minutes ago, sure of what she had to do.

“What’s the matter, sweetpea?” Dad asked, ushering her in. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Hi, Daddy, I’m fine. Hey, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Heavens, she needs coffee,” Mrs. J. surmised. “She, with her hair in a snarl and yet appearing in public.”

“This isn’t public, Mrs. J. It’s home. Is Honor up?” she asked.

“Honor is up,” her sister said, coming into the room, dressed for work, hair band firmly in place.

“Good,” Faith said. “Um...I need a minute with you all.”

“I’ll leave you alone,” Mrs. Johnson said.

“Oh, stay,” Faith said. “It’s not like you won’t be eavesdropping, anyway.”

“You are in my kitchen,” the housekeeper said with a hint of a rare smile, “even though this monstrous house has eleven rooms, half of which nobody ever uses.”

They all sat around the table, Mrs. J. handing Faith a cuppa joe. “Thanks,” Faith said. “So here’s the thing.”

At that moment, the back door opened, and Pru and Jack came in, bickering. “So what?” Pru said. “Who cares what you think? Just because you’re the boy—”

“You sound like you’re eight years old,” Jack said.

“And you sound like the ass you are. Hey, guys! What’s everyone doing here?”

“I live here,” Honor said. “As does our father.”

Faith waved her hand. “I need to tell you guys something.”

“You pregnant?” Pru asked.

“No,” Faith said, even as Mrs. Johnson clapped her hands together in joy.

The housekeeper’s expression fell back to thunderous. “Is it really out of order?” she said. “Four of you adults now, but only two grandbabies, and they nearly grown at that. It’s not fair. The three of you are wretched children, and Prudence, why did you not have more?”

“She has a point,” Dad said.

“And back to me,” Faith said. Such was the way of family gatherings. She should’ve emailed instead. “This is important.”

“Shoot,” Pru said, rummaging in the cupboard. “Where’s that mug I made in fourth grade?”

“I’m starving, Mrs. J.,” Jack said.

“So eat something, you rude boy,” Mrs. Johnson said, cutting a muffin in half for him. “I see hands attached to the ends of your arms. Am I expected to feed you like a baby bird?” She handed him the plate.