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Erica awoke the next morning, shivering with cold. Outside, a gray sky released a slow and steady rain. Her low spirits were consonant with the dismal weather.
Where was Terry? Why wasn’t he here by now? She slipped into jeans and a polo, and prepared her breakfast. But she barely touched the black bread and cheddar cheese she’d purchased so joyfully the day before. Sipping her coffee, she mulled over her situation. She should be happy. After all, she’d managed to raise the twenty thousand dollars. But it felt like a hollow victory without Terry here to share the good news.
Around eleven-thirty, Jason appeared, check in hand.
“Here you are,” he said none too graciously as he tossed it on the kitchen table. “Speaking as an old friend, you’re going to have to do something about your husband’s gambling.” His tone was cutting. “Unless you plan to let him run through your money. He’s made a great start.”
She already knew that. “Oh, shut up. It’s none of your business.”
“Don’t bite my head off.” His tone was milder. “I’m only telling you like it is. It’s time you faced facts, and you know it.”
“Sorry, Jason. You’re right. And thanks for getting me the money so quickly. I’m just worried about Terry. I hope nothing’s happened to him. He should have gotten here by now.”
“It is pouring out.” He stared at the rain beating against the windowpane. “Not a pleasant trip on a motorcycle. He probably stopped somewhere.”
“Why didn’t he come last night? It wasn’t raining then.”
She rose from her chair, and he followed her into the living room.
She sat cross-legged on the couch. “I would think he’d set out for Montauk as soon as Aunt Constance told him where I was. We haven’t seen each other in nine days. It seems like a year.”
Jason looked like he was about to make another sarcastic comment, but had thought better of it. “Want to run over to East Hampton for the day?” he asked instead. “We could have lunch, browse around. They expect it to clear up later on.”
“Thanks, Jase, but I want to be here when Terry comes.”
She watched him drive off, but her heart skipped a beat. Jason’s car was blue!
So what? she asked herself as she poured another cup of coffee. I know it wasn’t Jason on the road yesterday.
Soon, she was pacing about the cottage, sorry she hadn’t gone with Jason. The ride alone would have done her good. Staying here by herself was a bad idea. She grew gloomier and gloomier, and felt a flash of irritation with her husband. He could have called or texted. It would serve Terry right if he got here and found a note saying she was out.
The bookshelves in the living room were filled with old paperbacks, but she was too restless to settle down and read. Instead, she worked halfheartedly on a crossword puzzle book, its corners brown and crumbling with age. Her eyes kept straying to the front door.
When the rain stopped at three-thirty, she grabbed her sweater and walked down to the beach, bypassing the puddles that had formed in the recesses of the uneven road. The sand, strewn with seaweed and debris, was too wet for walking. Disappointed, she stood back and watched the waves break against the shore, the seagulls scavenge for food.
She met no one, only a golden retriever who sniffed at her then ambled on his way back to his master. The sun rose to its full glory, reflecting itself brilliantly in the quickly drying puddles. Her dark mood lifted. Her optimism returned.
Terry had to come to the cottage today! There was no reason why he shouldn’t.
She drove into town, laughing aloud as she remembered how he had burst into her life and changed it forever. He’d run into her as she was leaving her office one evening, and nearly knocked her to the ground.
“Jeez, I’m sorry!”
The handsome stranger reached out both arms to steady her.
Erica’s head was reeling—whether from the collision or his closeness, she couldn’t be sure. She felt a pang of disappointment when he’d released her in order to pick up her pocketbook and tote bag from the sidewalk.
“Here you go.” His dark eyes probed hers, studied her face. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want to sit down someplace to catch your breath?”
“No, I...I’m fine,” she stammered, dazzled by the attention and his marvelous good looks.
His expression of concern lightened into a grin. “In that case, I insist you let me make it up to you. Have dinner with me tonight.”
It was an order, not a request, which she—who was usually so cautious—didn’t consider refusing.
“And I haven’t regretted it since,” she said aloud.
In town, she browsed in a few shops then returned to the cottage, her spirits buoyant, her appetite renewed.
She was singing along with the radio as she cleared her dinner dishes when the front door opened. She stiffened. Her hand went to her heart. Was the man in the blue car...?
“Erica, honey. It’s me.”
Terry! He was finally here.
She dropped the plate in the sink and ran to her husband. He swooped her up in his arms, kissed her lips, and pressed her against his hard, lean body.
“My God, Erica, it’s so good to see you.” He took off his leather jacket and threw it, and his helmet, on a chair.
“I was so worried about you. I didn’t know what had happened.” She reached up and covered his face with kisses. Then, to her horror and his dismay, she began to cry.
“Hey, cut that out.” He sat her down on the couch and patted her back, but the sobbing continued. “Take it easy, babe. It’s all right. I’m here now. That’s what matters.”
He stood awkwardly, seeming uncertain of what he should do. Then, he grinned, sure of himself once again.
“I’ll get you some tissues. Where are they?”
She took off her tear-drenched glasses. “In the small bedroom to the right. On the night table.”
“I meant to call last night to let you know when I’d be here,” he said as she blew her nose, “only things took longer than I thought they would, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
Where were you? she wanted to ask. Where have you been these past nine days and nights while I’ve been worried sick over you? But she didn’t. She knew how he reacted to her questions. Besides, it no longer mattered. Terry was with her again. She could hold him, lay her head against his chest, and be soothed by his beating heart.
“I’ve been so worried. About those men and everything they told me.” She leaned back to gaze into his dark eyes. “But I have the money. I borrowed it from Jason. That’s why I came out here. He was our last hope.”
Triumphantly, she reached for the check and handed it to Terry. He stared down at it before putting it into his wallet.
When he spoke, his voice was thick was emotion. “Thanks, Erica. I’ll never forget this. You’ll get every penny of it back, if it’s the last thing I do.”
She sighed, finally content. After all her efforts, the scene she had envisioned, yearned for, had come true. She threw her arms around her husband.
“Oh, Terry. I love you so.”
The kiss, long and passionate, stirred them both. She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. She sat down on the narrow bed from her childhood and watched her husband undress. Even after nine months of intimacy, she remained entranced by his every gesture.
He moved with the natural grace of a cat. His habits were something else. The long-sleeved polo, the frayed jeans and underwear, landed helter-skelter on the floor.
“Aren’t you getting undressed?” he teased her. “Or are you just here for the show?”
Normally neat, this time she couldn’t be bothered. She tossed her clothes on top of his.
They made love leisurely and thoroughly. She enjoyed herself completely. He had always been able to arouse her, and by now, he could play her body like a well-tuned instrument. Engulfed in a dreamlike, sensuous lassitude, she followed his erotic lead—now tender, now forceful.
She’d had very little sexual experience, had been a virgin, in fact, when she and Terry had met. It pleased her she’d never had the least bit of difficulty reaching a climax, as some magazine articles led her to believe she might. From the beginning, she was drawn by his strong sexual charisma and little-boy charm that, at the same time, put her totally at ease in this, her first and only involvement with a man.
How lucky she was to have “caught” Terry! There were many girls around much prettier and sexier than her.
Afterward, they lay side by side under the covers—she on her back, him facedown, his arm flung across her body. She could feel the restlessness he was trying to suppress. His nerves were still taut. Was something else bothering him?
She sighed, exasperated. Well, she wouldn’t be the one to spoil the mood.
He sat up abruptly and reached into the pile of clothing for his cigarettes. He lit up and smoked in silence. She nuzzled against his chest. At first, he let her, tousling her hair. Then, he pulled away and moved farther back until he was leaning against the wall.
She couldn’t bear it any longer. “Terry, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He let out a deep sigh. “I didn’t mean to tell you today. I wrote you a letter, Erica. Everything I want you to know is in that letter. You'll have it in a couple of days.”
She tried to meet his eyes, but he was gazing off into space. “What letter? What are you trying to tell me?” Suddenly, she was frantic. “Don’t tell me you owe more money. I can’t believe this.” Her voice shook with disbelief and anger.
Jason was right. It would never stop.
“It’s nothing as simple as that.” His laugh was rough and without humor. “No, babe, this is about you and me.”
His words sent a shiver through her body. She switched on the little bedside lamp and studied her husband’s handsome profile. He seemed so distant now, almost a stranger. Still, she watched him, like a rabbit fascinated by the oncoming headlights of a speeding car. In dread, she waited to hear what Terry was about to say.
He glanced at her briefly. “First of all, I lied to you about my past.” He ignored her sharp intake of breath. “That story about going to college in the Midwest, then quitting because I got sick was all a pack of lies. I’ve never seen the inside of no college. I quit school at sixteen.” He paused to inhale deeply, to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been on my own these last eight years, and sometimes I needed money real bad. Sometimes, I had to do things.”
He caught a glimpse of her shocked expression and chortled. “Don’t worry. Nothing like armed robbery or murder. But I’ve done all kinds of jobs you wouldn’t like to know about, so I won’t go into it.” He drew on the last of his cigarette.
She hurried into the living room for an ashtray, glad to escape his words for the moment.
He grounded out his cigarette and continued in a gentler tone. “I was on drugs for a while and did some pretty stupid things. The cops pulled me in a few times, but they couldn’t prove anything, so they had to let me go.”
“How did you get off drugs?” she asked.
“Well, somebody helped me out. It doesn’t matter who and that’s how... Anyway, I got hooked on a new addiction—gambling.” He swallowed. “That’s why I’m splitting.”
“Splitting?” She grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look at her. “You mean, you want to leave me? After all this? I thought you loved me.”
“Erica, baby, I do love you. That’s why I’m doing it. We’re not right together. We’re too different. I thought I could... I’ll probably keep right on gambling, and who knows what else. Believe me, it’s better that I leave.”
She perched on her knees, desperate. “But I have money,” she said quickly. “I never got the chance to tell you. I’m rich, Terry! On my birthday, I inherit twenty million dollars! We can travel, live anywhere we like.”
He stroked her cheek and appeared to be memorizing her face.
She stared back, willing him not to go.
He shook his head.
“It can’t work, babe. Believe me. Not the way I lead my life. When we first met, I didn’t know... I didn’t realize what would happen. I never thought it would be so hard.”
“What didn’t you think would be so hard? Terry, you’re not making any sense.”
“Just remember that I love you, Erica.” He buried his face against her naked shoulder. Hot tears spilled down his face and onto her breast.
“Then don’t go. Don’t leave me. I need you, Terry. You’re the only person—”
Abruptly, he pushed himself from her and started getting dressed. “I have to go. Now.” He had on his underwear and grabbed his polo. “I’ll write to you. And I’ll pay you back, I swear.” He laughed mirthlessly as he dressed. “Who’d ever guess that leaving you would be the best thing I ever did in my entire life?”
She tried to wrap her arms around his waist, but he shook her off. “I told you. That’s it. Let me go.”
Hurt, confused, she huddled into herself as he pulled on his boots and left the bedroom.
But at the sound of the motorcycle starting, she grabbed her glasses and her robe, and raced to the front door.
“Terry, come back here!” she shouted after him as he drove down the driveway and onto the road. “You can’t leave like this! We have to talk.”
But she knew he couldn’t hear her above the noise. And even if he did, he wouldn’t stop. He was set on leaving. But why? He loved her. He said he did, and she knew that to be true. She held onto this one glowing fact, ignoring all the other nasty details he’d let fall. She’d cope with them later when she wasn’t feeling so upset and vulnerable.
Suddenly, she had an idea. She’d never gotten to tell him about the attempt to scare her.
She threw on her clothes, ran to the Honda, and started after Terry. She raced along the highway well above the speed limit, passing the few cars going west. There was no sign of Terry’s motorcycle. She drove even faster, got as far as Amagansett before she turned around. Silly to chase him all the way to New York City or...
It startled her to realize she had no idea where he was going. Probably to pay Sean’s boss, wherever he might be.
And then what? She didn’t know any of his friends, or whether he still had relatives living on Long Island. He had told her his parents were dead. Maybe that was a lie, too.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Nothing was right. Nothing was happening the way it was supposed to.
Back at the cottage, she brewed coffee. Then, still crying, poured half of it on the counter instead of in her cup. She cleaned it up and sipped from her mug.
The coffee revived her. Suddenly, she was famished. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out everything she could find—the remaining squab and pasta salad, the strawberries. In minutes, it was all gone.
What should she do now? Sated and feeling better, she almost chuckled at her predicament. Here she was, alone on the tip of Long Island and abandoned by her husband, to whom she’d just handed over twenty thousand dollars—money that wasn’t even hers.
Abandoned after telling him she was about to become extremely rich.
Terry had to be the only gambler in the world to turn up his nose at that.
Her temporary good humor dissolved into tears. She lay face down on the living room couch and pounded away. Damn it, Terry had no right to decide their marriage wouldn’t work. It would work perfectly well if he managed to control his gambling. He could go for help. The important thing was she loved him and he loved her. He did love her. Only a man in love would run away from twenty million dollars, if he believed that staying would hurt the woman he loved.
She sat up and dried her eyes. The life she’d made for herself these last three years had fallen into shambles in a matter of days. After everything that happened, she had no desire to return to her job upstate or to her apartment in Mrs. Bressler’s house. It would be too painful. She’d call Mrs. Bressler and ask her to send her things to Manordale.
But where would she live? Definitely not in the house on Chestnut Drive. That would be a disaster. She’d stay there until her birthday, no longer. And then what? What was she going to do with the rest of her life? The rest of her life without Terry. The tears started flowing again.
The hours slid by in dumb misery. She sat huddled on the living room couch, letting sad, morbid thoughts fill her mind and crush her heart. The night seemed to go on forever.
At some point after midnight, she tried to go to sleep. Fresh tears filled her eyes as she remembered their lovemaking only hours earlier. She thrashed about in her bed, wondering about Terry. It frightened her to think she’d lived with a man for almost a year, totally unaware that he had committed crimes, taken drugs. Aunt Constance would have a field day if she knew. “That’s our Erica,” she’d say. “Never stops to think, to find out what she’s getting involved in.”
Thank God, Aunt Constance need never find out.
***
SLEEP DIDN’T COME UNTIL the birds started chirping at the first light of dawn. It seemed she had just drifted off when someone knocked at the door.
Maybe Terry was back, regretting leaving. She bolted out of bed, hopeful. She put on her robe and glasses, then glanced at her watch. It was close to eleven.
The knocking began again.
“Just a minute. I’m coming!” she called eagerly.
She flung open the door. Jason was standing there with two policemen, their faces grave.
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” the larger, burlier officer said, “but are you Mrs. Terry Parker?”
When she nodded, he said, “Name’s Donnelly.” With his chin, he indicated his taller, younger companion. “This is Officer Finney. Suffolk Police.”
“I told you who she is, officer,” Jason said petulantly.
Both policemen ignored him. Their eyes were fixed on Erica.
“Y...yes?” she stammered. “What’s wrong?” Had Terry committed a crime in the hours since he’d left her?
“We’d like to come in and speak to you, Mrs. Parker.”
The three men followed her into the living room. They remained standing.
“Sit down,” Erica offered and sank onto the couch. “Is it Terry? Is he okay? I mean, he didn’t do anything...” She stopped, embarrassed.
Jason sat beside her. He tried to put his arms around her, but she shrugged out of his embrace. “Erica. Dear, sweet, Erica. I’m so sorry.”
“Mr. Hartley!” Donnelly admonished him. “We’ll handle this, if you don’t mind.”
Erica gasped. “Sorry?” she whispered. Her eyes widened.
Donnelly stood looking down at her, his eyes brimming with sympathy. “Your husband has been in an accident. On his motorcycle.”
“Is he badly hurt?” She started to get to her feet, but the officer put out a hand, telling all.
“He was killed, Mrs. Parker. The doctor said it happened instantly. He didn’t suffer.”
She fell back against the cushions. A keening sound escaped from her throat. She swayed back and forth, hugging herself. “Terry’s dead, Terry’s dead,” she whispered.
Officer Donnelly eyed Jason. “See if she has some brandy.”
Jason dashed into the kitchen.
Dazed, she heard him yank open cupboards. He flew out of the cottage and returned, panting, minutes later, a glass in his hand. “Here, drink this, Erica. You’ll feel better.”
She swallowed, too distraught to refuse. On her empty stomach, the brandy made her nauseous and dizzy, but it did manage to steady her. Numb, she let Jason take the empty tumbler from her hand.
“When did it happen?”
“Difficult to say, Mrs. Parker. The doctor thinks some time between ten and two this morning. The motorcycle and the deceased—your husband—were thrown into bushes along the road. It was a desolate spot, so nobody noticed anything until six this morning. Was he coming from here?”
“Yes, he was,” she said softly. “Is he...does he look okay?” She shuddered to think of that beautiful face ruined.
“His face was untouched,” Officer Donnelly said tactfully. “I’m going to have to ask you to go to the morgue and identify your husband, seeing as you’re next of kin.”
“But, I can’t,” Erica protested. “I won’t be able to.” The tears started again.
“Is there someone else who can? A brother? His father?”
She shook her head. “I don’t... Terry has no family.”
Officer Donnelly looked at his partner, then sighed. “We’ll make it as easy as we can, ma’am, but he has to be identified by a relative. It’s the law.”
He stared at Jason meaningfully.
“I’ll drive you there,” Jason told her. “It’s a long way to Hauppauge.”
She nodded, tears streaming from her eyes.
One of the policemen cleared his throat.
She drew a shaky breath and wiped her face. Enough! she told herself. She’d been crying ever since Terry had left her. Crying didn’t help. She had to pull herself together. Regain control of her life.
“What caused the accident?” she asked, urged on by a twinge of guilt as well as her need to know. Was she in part responsible for the accident because Terry had left the cottage upset? Because she’d tried to hold onto him when he wanted to go? “Didn’t anyone see something?”
“No,” Officer Finney answered. “As we said, it’s a desolate stretch of road. Someone hit him. The motorcycle was badly damaged. It had blue paint on it.”
“Blue paint?” She sat up, alert. “From the car that hit it?”
“Looks that way, ma’am,” Finney said. “It rained yesterday and again last night. The road was pretty slippery. Maybe someone was going fast, skidded into him. But so far, no one’s come forward.”
“It’s him! I mean, it’s them,” she said frantically.
“Who, ma’am?” Finney leaned closer. He held a notebook in one hand, and a pen poised in the other.
She glanced at the older policeman, but Donnelly’s face was blank. Should she tell them of her suspicions about Sean? But he wouldn’t kill Terry! He only wanted the money Terry owed his boss. Unless Terry had been in worse trouble than she knew.
Suddenly, she was confused. All those blue cars. Joe Kolowsky had a blue car. So did Jason. And Sean. And Aunt Betty.
“I don’t really know,” she finally said. “A blue car almost ran me off the road yesterday as I was driving out here.”
Donnelly’s eyebrows shot up. The next moment, he was expressionless once again, but she decided not to mention the gunshot.
“I think it must be the same person, don’t you?”
“Can you identify the car, Mrs. Parker?” Finney asked. He was writing furiously on his notepad.
“No. The driver was wearing a mask.”
“What kind of mask?” Donnelly asked.
“A Darth Vader mask,” she said, aware of how foolish she sounded. “It covered his entire face.”
Donnelly’s eyes bore into hers. Did he think she was making this up?
“Why didn’t you report this yesterday? Do you know of anyone who’s out to harm you or your husband?”
Tell them about Sean and Andy's scare tactics. Let the police handle it, she ordered herself. But they’re gangsters. What good will it do to tell the police? They’ll only come after me, she decided.
She drew back her shoulders. “My husband owed somebody—I don’t know who—a large sum of money.”
“Is that why he was carrying a check made out for twenty thousand dollars?”
She gave a start. “You found the check?”
“It was in your husband’s wallet. We called Mr. Hartley’s bank first thing this morning and they told us where we could find him.” Donnelly allowed himself a thin smile. “He, of course, led us to you. An easy bit of detective work for a change.”
She stood. “I’ll go and get dressed. Jason, why don’t you make some coffee? We all could use a cup. And I need a moment to myself.”
“Spunky lady,” she heard Finney say as she left the room. It helped keep her from crying as she showered and put on jeans with a clean polo so she could go to the morgue to identify Terry’s body.
She’d never been to a morgue, but imagined it to be a cold, sterile place like the ones in the TV shows she sometimes watched.
The realization that Terry was dead brought fresh tears and remorse. If only he hadn’t run off like that, angry and upset. Maybe it was an accident. Sometimes—no, usually—Terry drove recklessly fast. He loved speeding down long stretches of empty road, forcing the Harley to its utmost.
She shook her head. Much as she preferred the idea of an accident, she couldn’t deceive herself. She was through with self-deception. Terry had been killed. Maybe he’d still be alive if she hadn’t gotten involved. But that was silly. His death wasn’t her fault. Or was it?
She brushed aside the tormenting thoughts flooding her mind and followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The men’s voices faded away as she entered the kitchen. They stirred and sipped, no one saying very much.
When they got up to leave, Erica brought up the subject uppermost in all their minds.
“Do you think you’ll be able to catch the man who murdered Terry?”
Officer Donnelly held open the screen door for the others. He waited until Officer Finney and Jason were halfway down the path before he answered her. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Mrs. Parker. We don’t know your husband was murdered. It looks like a hit and run. Remember, it was pouring last night, and the road was slicked over.”
“Shall I call your aunts?” Jason asked. “Have them meet us there?”
“No!”
He looked at her in surprise.
“I want to do this alone. I’ll call them after.” After she knew for certain that Terry was gone.
Erica started to follow him when Officer Donnelly touched her shoulder. She looked into his deep brown eyes that gave nothing away.
“What was the twenty thousand dollars for, Mrs. Parker? The money you obviously borrowed from Mr. Hartley to give to your husband?"
"It was for a gambling debt."
"A pretty big debt, I'd say. Was Mr. Parker involved in any illegal activities?"
When she hesitated, Donnelly sighed wearily. "It’s best if you tell us now. We’ll find it all out sooner or later.”
“I only knew about this one debt,” she said. “Terry never told me anything.”
Donnelly made no comment, although she felt his eyes on her as she hurried after Jason.
***
ERICA DIDN’T REMEMBER much about the two-hour drive to the morgue or even entering the building. A kindly woman led her to a viewing window.
She swallowed a few times, then forced herself to peer into the room beyond. Only Terry’s face was visible. His eyes were shut, and he looked peaceful. Thank God his beautiful face wasn’t marred.
“Is that your husband, Mrs. Parker?” the woman asked.
Erica nodded, and stumbled as Jason led her away.
They went to an office where someone asked her a few questions, handed her Terry’s wallet and ring, then let her go. Outside, she blinked at the sun’s brilliance. She resented the leafy trees, the green grass, all oblivious to her sorrow. Her young husband was dead and nobody except her gave a damn.
When they were seated in Jason’s car once again, he turned over the motor and looked at her. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Still, you have to eat something. We’re going to a diner.”
“Okay.” She had no appetite, but she didn’t have the strength to argue with Jason.
She drifted into sleep, vaguely aware of Jason making calls on his cell phone. Some minutes later, the car stopped, and she opened her eyes. They were in the parking lot of a diner.
“We’ve arrived,” Jason said. “Your Aunt Betty and my father are meeting us here. She’ll drive you home.”
She had a moment of panic. Where was she?
It all came back in a flash. Terry was dead. She was a widow.
“But my car’s in Montauk.”
“My father’s coming back with me. He’ll drive your car home.”
“That’s kind of him.”
“Isn’t it?” Jason said sarcastically. “Ready?”
Erica stepped out of the car. Her legs were wobbly, and she was grateful when Jason took her hand and held it as they walked to the back door of the diner. Inside, she sank into a booth and stared at the unopened menu.
“How about a tuna fish sandwich and some coffee?” Jason asked.
She nodded. But when her order arrived, she stared at it.
“Take a bite of your sandwich,” Jason said. “You’ll feel better. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”
She looked at him blankly, then forced herself to speak. “Thanks, Jase. Thanks for going to the morgue with me. I never could have done it alone.”
“Go on, eat. You’re fading away to nothing.” He lifted the sandwich to her mouth as if she were a child. “It looks delicious.”
She bit into the sandwich. It was delicious, and she was hungry. She chewed and swallowed. Greedily, she took another bite.
He grinned at her. “I told you it was good.”
She tried for a smile. Today, Jason was her old and caring friend.
She finished the sandwich and sipped her coffee. He’d ordered a cheese Danish, and Erica ate that, too. Suddenly, she was very tired. She could hardly move her limbs.
“Relax,” Jason told her. “Your aunt and my father will be here soon.”
She dozed, and awakened to the sound of familiar voices. Aunt Betty slid in beside her and held her in her arms.
“Oh, my poor darling!” Betty was crying herself, a rare occurrence. She clasped her niece to her bosom. “I’m so sorry, Erica, dear. So very, very sorry.”
Erica returned her aunt’s warm embrace. She had never been so happy to see her. Both sniffing, they sat with their arms around each other. Aunt Betty made an effort to regain her composure.
“Such a terrible, terrible tragedy, Erica, but you’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. I’m sure you’ll fall in love again.”
Erica stiffened. Even at a time like this, Aunt Betty felt compelled to assume her Pollyanna air. “Can we leave now?”
“Of course, baby,” Betty babbled. “We’re going home. Constance and I will look after you. We’ll take care of everything. You needn’t worry about a thing.”
Home? Erica wondered as she followed her aunt to the parking lot. I have no home.