Can't Let Go - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,16
called the Sheriff’s office once again. His secretary directed her to the small funeral home within town. Abby found it easily—Allensville really was a small town and it was easy to navigate.
Hayley and Blake had fallen in love with it’s charm. Never had either of them experienced the kind of life they could have here—both having grown up in large, urban environments as opposed to the beautiful rustic area they had moved to. Hayley and Abby had grown up in Beverly Hills, while Blake and Logan had grown up in Boston.
Early on, the four had often joked of moving out to the middle of nowhere—living in log cabins in the woods. All were tired of the fast-pace of the city—even Hayley and Abby.
The funeral home was a small, family run business. She could tell as soon as she pulled up. The building was actually a house, with a simply-stated sign out front. She took a deep breath as she turned the ignition off. This was it—she needed to hold it together now.
Abby emerged from the rental vehicle, her golden hair blowing in the breeze. A pair of sunglasses she had purchased from a gas station along the way adorned her face, but she still squinted from the brightness of the sun. She wore a pair of black dress pants and a plain white top—she had spent quite some time trying to decide what to wear before leaving L.A. A matching black jacket was draped over her arm—a simple precaution, in case the weather was chillier than she’d thought.
It took her several long moments to gather the nerve to continue forward. Finally, though, with a deep breath, she pushed her shoulders back and made her way across the yard, opening the front door and walking in.
She was greeted by a subtle smell of flowers and very quiet music. It was meant to be calming, but the instant she walked in, she was aware of how wrong all of this was. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be in this position.
“Hello, Miss,” she was a young girl, sitting at a desk to the right. Abby smiled uncertainly before stepping forward.
“Hi,” she paused. “My name is Abigail Lewis—I was told I should—”
“Of course,” the girl rose to her feet, quickly making her way around the desk. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Abby nodded, unsure of how to respond to such a comment. She’d heard it over and over again when her mother died, and she never knew how to respond. “Hayley and Blake were wondeful people.”
“They—” Her voice caught in her throat. “They were,” she finished, swallowing hard at the ball in her throat. “I’ve never really done this before—”
She was too young to have had to plan a funeral, wasn’t she?
“That’s fine, sweetheart. That’s what we’re here for.” The girl was very pleasant and obviously willing to lend a hand. “Most of the details have already been taken care of, but we’ll just need a few signatures—”
“Taken care of?” Abby questioned. “By who?”
“Well, of course we were waiting for your approval—”
“Who?” Abby questioned again, confused. Hayley had made clear that her family was no longer welcome in her life—Abby thought she had made that clear last night. They wanted nothing to do with her in life—why should that change in death?
“Well,” the girl looked over Abby’s shoulder and instinctively, she turned. “By Mr. Sheppard, of course.”
And as her eyes landed on the familiar shaggy haired figure, she felt her heart drop in her chest. “Hello, Abby.”
“Hello, Logan.” She whispered.
Chapter Three
It was hard to control the wave of emotion that passed through her as she stood there, staring at him. It had been at least six years since she’d seen him last. The morning he’d left her was probably one of the worst experiences of her life—and the pain had not lessened with time.
She cursed herself as she stood there, wondering exactly why she hadn’t thought of this. Surely she should have expected Logan to be there—Logan was Blake’s best friend. She knew the two had remained close. Even if she had doubted it, Hayley made certain to remind her all about Logan Sheppard every chance she had.
Abby found it difficult to breathe for a long moment. She watched as he rose to his feet and walked toward her. It was obvious he didn’t know how to greet her. “You doing okay?” His voice was so warm—so comforting, even though she knew it shouldn’t be. She wanted to be angry—she wanted to