What did one wear to a funeral home to shop for a coffin?
When he woke up Monday morning, Reid Billings assumed the week would be like any other. Seventy hours of meetings, money, and routine. Then Monday’s events happened. His boss came to him first. Social media and news websites were not the way to learn one’s sister was dead and accused of taking her child’s life.
Nothing could have prepared him for this.
He stood in front of his closet, numb, dreading the task before him. It shouldn’t be his place to make the funeral arrangements, but Robert had refused.
Could he blame his brother-in-law? He didn’t know what to think . . . His head was conflicted and his heart bruised. He rubbed his hands over his stubbled chin. He should probably shave, but he couldn’t quite care.
Reid sank to the floor. In moments his world had changed, careened off its axis, and he staggered to find equilibrium. Kaylene had always been a nurturer. She’d mothered him to death, to the point his friends had called her his other mother. Though they’d drifted apart after she married, he knew she had lived for her girls. He couldn’t imagine she would do a thing to hurt them, let alone try to end their lives. He’d watched the online video before his assistant Simone’s warning e-mail arrived that he shouldn’t. Now he couldn’t get the image of his sister holding a gun and dying out of his mind. What kind of news service allowed something like that to air where children . . . or the grieving family . . . could see it?
He rubbed his eyes, swallowing the lump that threatened to block his throat. He didn’t allow emotions to touch him—that’s what made him so great with finance and managing other people’s money. He could distance himself from the push of the pack. While others might rush over a cliff together, he kept a distant view. It had protected his clients through the vagrancies of the markets.
But this was different from anything he’d ever dealt with. He felt paralyzed, trapped in his own body, a spectator as a great wave of emotion he didn’t know how to manage washed over him.
Why, Lord? This isn’t right on any level.
He knew the world was evil. Just watch the evening news or open an Internet browser, and the brokenness leapt at you. His work on the board of a children’s home illustrated the fruit of broken families. But somehow he’d believed his family was immune.
His cell pulsed inside his pocket. While he wanted to ignore it, his boss didn’t care if he was mourning and guilt-ridden. And if it wasn’t Marvin Fletcher, it could be a response to one of the dozens of calls he’d made for the kids at Almost Home. The nonprofit needed an influx of funds quickly or two of the homes would close. He wouldn’t accept defeat, not when he had clients with pockets almost as deep as Warren Buffet’s.
He reached for the phone, still hesitant. It could be another person trying to ferret out information about Kaylene. The media calls had started slowly, but through the last twenty-four hours had escalated. He glanced at the screen as the phone rang again. Some of the tension leached from his neck. This was a call he’d take.
“Billings.”
“You okay?” The deep voice shored him up. Brandon Lancaster had been his best friend since backing into Reid’s car freshman year at Virginia. The burly defensive lineman had looked sheepish as he crawled from his truck and stuck out a hand. Before long the two were meeting for lunch most days and then rooming together junior year. After two years in the pros, Brandon now ran Almost Home, a foster child ministry for hard-to-place kids, while Reid spent his time making more money for those who already had wealth.
“No.” There was no other answer to that question.
“God’s still here.”
“Yeah, I know.” He did. His head knew. He was just having a hard time convincing his heart.
“Chinese?”
“Huh?”
“Man’s gotta eat.”
Not really. “Okay.”
“I’ll bring it at six.”
That would give him time to get home from his appointment at the funeral home. “See you then.”
Reid hung up and leaned his head against the closet. Man might have to eat, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. There was no sense telling Brandon that. The guy still ate as though he were a lineman for the college football team.
All right, God. I know You’re here even when I don’t sense You, but I need You to show up.
’Cause otherwise, this life had gotten too hard to live.
Two hours later the private memorial ceremony was planned, the casket selected for when Kaylene’s body was eventually released, instructions about buying a cemetery plot given. Reid walked to his car, loosening the tie that screamed Wall Street. The somber eggplant color had seemed right when he selected it; now it hugged his neck like a noose.
He still couldn’t believe Kaylene had shot her girls and then killed herself. The problem was all indications suggested she had. The police were adamant they were right and he was wrong. And if he’d been this wrong about his sister, what else had he been wrong about?
He ground his teeth as he slowed for a light. No. He knew what he knew.
She would not have done the acts the headlines blazoned to the world.
It didn’t matter how things appeared.
He knew the Kaylene of his childhood. Knew her heart. If he was honest with himself, he’d noticed rumblings of trouble in her marriage. Seen and heard enough at the occasional birthday party or rare family event to suspect there was more going on than she revealed.
He pulled into the parking garage beneath his building and then made his way to the elevator and to his floor. The condo felt small, empty. Maybe it was time to get a pet. Something that would be glad to see him when he came home. A distraction when he needed one.
Strange that the silence had never bothered him before.
He opened his Pandora app and selected a movie soundtrack station. Maybe some pulsing, dramatic music would help him reframe the terribleness of today . . . or sink into it.
He had to escape this funk before Brandon arrived. His friend would see through him in a minute.
Reid’s phone buzzed again, and for two seconds he considered tossing it into his bedroom and closing the door. But what if it was related to the kids at Almost Home? He pulled it out. “Hello?”
There was silence, then a sound as if someone swallowed. He glanced at his screen, but didn’t recognize the number, so he put the phone back to his ear.
“My name is Emilie Wesley. I knew your sister . . .”
Right. Everyone knew his sister now that she was infamous.
“ . . . And I wanted to know how Kinley is.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to tell me who you are.”
“I was her attorney.”
Her words ricocheted through him. “Right. Why would Kaylene have an attorney?”
“Why would I lie?” The woman’s voice was insistent, if a bit broken at the edge.
“Because you aren’t the first person who’s pretended to know my sister.”
And who took the time to look up the relatives of someone on the front page. He was turning his phone off after this call. Frankly, he should hang up on this person, whoever she was. And he needed to check on Kinley. She was his niece, and he needed to know she would survive. The last thing he needed was more people trying to take advantage of Kaylene’s death, Kinley’s injuries, and his pain. It just showed how many sick and bored people there were.
What sounded like a shudder, maybe a sob, reached him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Kaylene would want me to make sure Kinley’s okay.”
“What’s Kinley’s middle name?” he demanded. No stranger would know that.
“Rose. Robert picked her first name, but Kaylene insisted on Rose for her middle name. Kaylene said the moment she looked at Kinley she saw the sweet touch of a rose on her face.”
Reid paused, shocked at her ready response.
“Kaylene’s middle name is Grace,” the voice continued. “And Kaydence Marie was a sweet young woman. A thought that terrified her mom.”
“How did you learn those details?”
“I told you, Mr. Billings, I was her attorney. Kaylene hired me. I need . . . needed to know those details and many more.”
Wouldn’t he have known if his sister had needed an attorney? Had he allowed so much distance to grow between them? He held the phone and prayed this deepening nightmare would end.
Emilie bit down on her lower lip. She shouldn’t have called. It was stupid and impulsive, and that wasn’t who she was. She spoke after thinking, moved after deliberation. She didn’t call grieving brothers.
She hated grief. Hated the loss and emptiness it represented. The way it hollowed a soul and left a scar that time could ease but never remove. It was a photo missing a family member. The empty chair at every holiday dinner.
Emilie might not understand what had happened Monday, but she knew from all Kaylene had said—and not said—that leaving Kinley defenseless was not okay. The hospital refused to give Emilie a word of information, careful to protect the patient’s medical privacy. Emilie knew that was right . . . but she also knew she had to do something for Kinley.
The silence extended so long she was sure he’d hung up. “Mr. Billings?”
“How did you get my name and number?”
“Kaylene gave it to me. She said if anything ever happened, you were the person to contact.”
“I need to think about it. Do some research.” His voice was firm, yet she heard an underlying fragility in it.
“Is this your cell number? I can text you the website that will confirm who I am and what I’m saying.”
There was another pause, and then it was as though he had reached a conclusion. “All right. You can do that.”
“Thank you. Please call me back.”
The call ended, and Emilie immediately texted him her electronic business card. She held on to the phone. It wouldn’t take long to confirm her identity—a simple Google search could accomplish that. Yet as the minutes passed, she concluded he had agreed to the text as a simple way to get off the phone.
She huffed out a breath and tugged her laptop close. If he wouldn’t cooperate, she’d turn her attention to learning about Robert Adams.
The front door opened, and Emilie looked up to see Hayden McCarthy walk in. Her roommate’s low heels clicked against the hardwood floors, and Emilie had to smile at the hot-pink blouse peeking out from beneath Hayden’s suit jacket. Slowly but surely, her friend was breaking out of her navy and black wardrobe. “Get caught at the office, or did Andrew steal you for dinner?”
Hayden set down her briefcase beside the small glass table and smiled. “While I would love to spend time with your charming cousin, he’s a little too wrapped up in his latest batch of new kids. And I have to make a living.”
Ever since going into practice with their mentor, Savannah Daniels, Hayden had a new purpose . . . and added burdens. In some ways life as an overworked associate had been easier than it was now as an overworked attorney launching out on her own. She stepped to the bar that separated the living area from the kitchen, then studied Emilie, who was leaning against the other side of the counter. “You okay?”
Emilie considered lying. It would be so much easier than unleashing the maelstrom of her emotions. But if Hayden caught the slightest hint that she was being less than truthful, she would dig until Emilie came clean.
“I can’t get Kaylene out of my mind. I keep imagining her body on her front lawn.” The newspaper articles hadn’t hesitated to paint an image she could clearly see in her mind.
Hayden’s eyes softened, and she reached toward Emilie, her touch gentle. “I’m so sorry.”
Emilie shuddered. “I can’t let it affect me like this.”
“Give yourself space to grieve.” Hayden set down her keys and then walked around the counter and pulled Emilie into a hug.
Emilie fought the urge to resist.
“Everything’s felt off since . . .” She couldn’t push the words out. Hayden understood why her home had ceased being a sanctuary. “Maybe I need to sell and start fresh somewhere.”
Hayden’s eyes glazed with concern. “We’re okay here. You love this location.”
She did. It sat within a few blocks’ walk to her favorite restaurants and the Potomac as it curved south into Virginia. But at night she still had nightmares of her car careening out of control down Rock Creek Parkway the night she’d come home last spring to find that someone had broken into their condo and violated their home. She’d worked through it . . . she thought.
But Monday the fear and uncertainty had returned. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.
“Maybe you should take a vacation, Em. You’ve worked so hard . . . really ever since law school.”
“It’s what I’m good at.”
“Sure.” Hayden nodded. “But everyone needs time to refresh.”
“I don’t see you doing a lot of that either.”
Hayden grinned even as her cheeks pinked. “Andrew’s really good at making sure I take time off each week.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. “You go from working for your clients to writing an article and back. You’re an adrenaline junkie.”
Emilie snorted. It wasn’t as though she raced from tension-laced trials to pressure-packed deadlines for the thrill of it. Anytime she complained to her parents about her busyness, they just reminded her she didn’t need to work. But the reality was she did. She longed for her life to matter, to do something that impacted others. She started to speak, but Hayden held up a hand.
“You know I love you, Emilie. You’ve had a terrible week. Give yourself grace, okay?”
Emilie nodded as she heard the wisdom in her friend’s words. The question was how to actually live it.