zipper. I get a glimpse of a deep turquoise material. “I think you should have this. It matches the beads in your hair.” She pulls out a fifties-style dress with wide straps, a tight bodice, and full skirt. The material is a luxurious Shantung silk with large, dark green, tropical foliage and an occasional deep cherry flower on the turquoise background.
“It’s beautiful.”
It is. It’s absolutely stunning, yet nothing at all I’d imagine my sister ever wearing.
“It’s perfect,” Mom confirms, her eyes meeting mine, but I don’t see any of the anger and resentment I’m used to seeing there, only sadness. “And it’s yours.”
“Mom, I don’t think—“ I start, but she shakes her head and I snap my mouth shut.
“It was always yours; she had it made for you to wear on her wedding day.”
Rafe
The last thing I expect to find is Sarah and Ed’s car in front of the house.
I’ve been out most of the day at a local dude ranch west of town, for my quarterly visit. Nothing too exciting, just routine exams of the horses and the small herd of cattle, and administering necessary vaccinations. It still takes up a whole day and the rest of the week I’m scheduled to visit the other farms in the area raising livestock.
My normal routine would be to stop at the clinic to update the ranch’s files, but fueled by a sudden sense of urgency I aim straight for the house.
The first thing I hear when I walk in is the loud slamming of a door upstairs. Both the living room and kitchen are empty, so I take the stairs two a time. The door to the master is open and I can just see Sarah zipping up the garment bag I know holds Nicky’s wedding dress. Overcome with a surge of anger, I burst into the room.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, her head snaps around, and I notice guilt behind the shine of tears in her eyes. “Rafe,” she mutters.
“What did you say to her this time?” I pelt another question at her, but don’t wait around for the answer. I turn on my heel and head down the hallway to the spare bedroom, only vaguely registering the large number of garbage bags against the wall.
“Taz?” I knock on the door and call her name again. There’s no answer so I turn the knob and stick my head around the corner.
At first it looks like the room is empty, until I hear a soft rustle on the other side of the bed. When I walk into the room, I see her. She’s sitting with her back to the wall between the window and the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried between them.
“Leave me alone.”
Ignoring her soft plea, I slide down on the floor beside her, lifting an arm around her and tucking her close. It takes only a minute for her rigid body to relax into mine and a hand comes up to my chest, fisting the material of my shirt. Belatedly I realize I probably reek of sweat, cow, horse, and manure, but it hardly seems to matter.
It would seem I’m unable to keep my distance when I know she’s hurting. I sit there quietly, listening to my mother-in-law’s soft footfalls going down the stairs, while absorbing Taz’s grief until I feel her silent tears soaking my shirt to the skin.
“What did she say to you?” I finally ask softly, repeating my earlier question to Sarah.
She pulls her head back, and I involuntarily notice how pretty she is, even with her eyes swollen and nose running. “What?”
“Mom; what did she say to upset you?”
“It’s not her. It’s me.”
“I don’t understand.” I brush aside one of her dreads stuck to her tear-streaked cheek.
“I asked her to come,” she explains. I keep a straight face, even though I’m surprised as hell. “To help me go through Nicky’s stuff. I’ve been procrastinating long enough, and I should get it done while I still have time. When I mentioned it to Kathleen this week, she suggested I ask Mom to give me a hand. I thought…well, I’m not sure what I thought, but it actually was a good thing. Cleansing in a way.”
“So this is why you’re sitting on the bedroom floor crying?”
She smirks at my doubtful tone—which I like—but then she sits back creating some distance between us, which I like less. “I’m not crying because of anything she said. Not this time. I’m upset because I’m