street. Not something you’d see every day on the streets of LA.
The cab slowed to a stop in front of a house. My sister and nephew ran across the yard. Two pairs of arms wrapped around me as soon as I got out of the taxi.
I squealed and hugged them tight. “Abby. Tyler. It’s so good to see you.”
We held each other as if we were each other’s lifeline, and I didn’t want to let go. I’d felt that way when I’d had to go home after Steve’s funeral. The guilt of leaving had never subsided, but I was here now. We were together and that was all that mattered.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Auntie Kate.” My four-year-old nephew’s voice was muffled, his face pressed to my stomach.
It was still so strange that Steve was gone. One less person to greet, one less hug. I could almost feel him with us. Any second now, my tall and lean brother-in-law would casually walk out the door and, being his usual shy self, would wait for an invitation before joining the hug.
My sister took the large duffel bag from me, and my shoulders welcomed the relief.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are your jeans damp?”
I let out a light laugh and waved a hand. “A long story. I’ll tell you later.” Then I turned to Tyler. “Wow, look at you, Ty. You’ve grown so much.” I ruffled his fine hair. “You’re almost as tall as me.”
He laughed, his brown eyes beaming. “No, I’m not. You’re being silly.”
Tyler had grown an inch taller and lost a little bit of his baby face. His features were similar to Steve’s—sharp nose, high cheek bones, and square jaw—but sometimes when he smiled, he resembled my sister.
I dropped a big, fat, exaggerated kiss on his forehead and took his hand, leading him to the one-story house. Pampas grass and coconut trees ringed the front yard. We passed between two plumeria trees with yellow and white flowers on either side of the front walk.
The scent of sweet, ripe peaches embraced me when we entered. White plumeria flowers floated in a round glass bowl on the entryway table.
I slipped off my shoes and placed them next to Tyler’s on a shoe rack. It felt strange not to see any of Steve’s shoes, but my sister wouldn’t leave his things around. I’d never thought about something like missing shoes being part of grief.
My sister had lived in an upscale apartment in New York City, but when Steve passed away, she’d moved to Kauai, where they’d gone for their honeymoon. Being here seemed to give her peace.
“I love what you did to the place.” I glanced about the airy family room and set my purse on a wooden end table. “The pictures you sent didn’t do it justice.”
Abby waved a hand toward the hearth by the bookshelf. “I painted the stark white walls a warmer beige and put in hardwood floors before we moved in. It gave the house a new feel.”
“It does, and your oil paintings look absolutely breathtaking.” I went closer to examine a sun-soaked beach scene hanging beside the fireplace.
My sister had emailed me pictures of the landscapes of Kauai she’d painted but they were even more impressive in person. On the other side of the fireplace was a tropical mountain with a misty waterfall that gave the whole scene a pensive, slightly sad aura.
“I wanted to fill up the empty space. What’s an artist if they don’t display their work somewhere? Let me show you your room.” Abby took my other bag and carried both down a short hall. “This is your room.” She dropped my bags beside the bed. “It’s small, but so is the rest of the house.”
I sat on the bed, ignoring the damp and heavy material still clinging to me like a second layer of skin. I smoothed the flowered bedspread beside me. It had been a long day.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “This home is perfect. I’m glad you made the move. Steve would have loved it.”
The room was only big enough for a queen bed and a dresser, but that was all I needed.
Abby’s chest rose and fell as she breathed slowly. First Christmas without Steve was going to be hard for everyone but especially her and Tyler. He had passed away sooner than the doctors had expected.
Cancer, like everything in life, was a mystery. Even the experts couldn’t predict the outcome. Illness not only ate away the victim’s body, but