“ W e are gathered here today to say farewell to two people, a father and his son, who meant a great deal to all of us. Larry Remington was a respected member of our small community. His passing will leave a gap in many lives. Dan Remington, a true son of Remembrance, was born into our town, spending all of his tragically short life among us.”
Michael tuned out the pastor’s voice. He didn’t need someone else to tell him how great his loss was. Dan had been his best friend. His absence was like a knotted fist in the pit of his stomach. It just didn’t seem possible. Plane crash in Central America or no, Dan simply couldn’t be dead.
But he was. No survivors. Dan, his father, the whole archaeology team gone in an instant. The pilot had managed to radio their coordinates as the plane was going down. They had served only as a guide to the burned-out wreckage.
Michael stared at the back of the seat in front of him. The pastor was droning on about Dan’s life, his career aspirations. Why the hell did they always have to talk about what could have been at these things? Was it supposed to make it easier for everyone to hear a litany of everything that would never happen?
He glanced across the aisle and felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Brittany. What was she thinking? Feeling? As he watched, she reached up, her fingers grasping the gold heart pendant that was her only jewelry. Dan had given her that last Christmas. Michael remembered him picking it out, laughing that it was certainly more decorative than wearing his heart on his sleeve.
His eyes traced the delicate lines of her profile. She looked so fragile, so lost. Her thick black hair was drawn back in a simple knot, baring the slender length of her neck. Her skin was so pale it seemed translucent. He wanted to go to her, put his arm around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. The intensity of his desire to soothe her pain made him uneasy, and he looked away.
Dan had been his best friend. Brittany was the woman he’d loved. It was an extension of Michael’s friendship that made him want to comfort Brittany. Besides, he liked Brittany for her own sake. Had liked her since the moment Dan had introduced them. In fact, if Dan hadn’t— He shrugged the thought away. Brittany had clearly thought the sun rose and set on Dan Remington. Her pain must run deep.
His eyes were drawn to her again. She really was lovely. She seemed to feel his gaze, for her eyes lifted, meeting his. They were almost the same gray as her dress. Michael had never thought of gray as a warm color until he’d met Brittany and seen how full of life and fire her eyes were. Now the fire was quenched, the life dulled, her pain obvious. He gave her a crooked smile. The corners of her mouth lifted in acknowledgment before her eyes dropped back to her hands.
Michael was more or less successful in blocking out the majority of the service. When it ended at last, he stood, hunching his shoulders against the ache that had settled in the middle of his back. The other mourners were filing into the vestibule at the front of the church. There would be food set out, sustenance for those left behind.
The last thing Michael wanted to do was nibble stuffed mushrooms and make small talk about what a terrible tragedy this had been. His grief was a private thing, not something he wanted to share over tea and crumpets. He turned, planning to make his exit out another door. Catching a glimpse of pale gray, he hesitated. Brittany’s full skirt disappeared into the vestibule.
There was nothing he could say to her, no comfort he could offer, which didn’t explain why he changed his plans and followed her into the other room.
Everything was just as he’d expected. People stood around in small groups, talking quietly, sipping coffee and fruit juice from paper cups and shaking their heads over the tragic waste of it all.
“If only Larry hadn’t been so determined to go on this foolish trip... Well, yes, it had been a dream of his for years, but he’d certainly been well past the age of going on wild-goose chases. And to take Dan with him.... True, Dan had been as excited by the idea of an archaeological expedition as his father. But look where it had gotten the pair of them. And there was poor Clare, left alone. And at her age.”
Michael made his way through the gathering, careful to meet no one’s eye, his face set in an expression that did not invite approach. His blue eyes skimmed the group.
“Michael Sinclair. I didn’t realize you were here.”
He stiffened and then turned reluctantly. Meredith Wallings was quite possibly the worst gossip the world had ever known. She was also shallow, grasping and generally unpleasant. Unfortunately, her family owned half of Remembrance, and she’d grown accustomed to the deference this tended to purchase for her.
“Mrs. Wallings.” He nodded, trying to look as if he had other places to go. Meredith didn’t notice.
“Isn’t this just the most awful tragedy?” She took a bite of a cracker, her dark eyes snapping with excitement. “It’s just impossible to believe that they’re dead. Poor Larry. And poor Dan, in the prime of life. You and Dan were quite close, weren’t you?”
“We were good friends,” Michael said repressively.
“It’s just terrible. I don’t know how poor Clare is going to manage.”
“It will be difficult. If you’ll—”
“I don’t see your parents here today.” Merideth craned her neck as if expecting to see Donovan and Beth lurking in a corner.
“They’re on a cruise. I called them with the news, but they couldn’t make it back in time for the services.”
“That’s right. Poor Beth. How is she doing?”
“She’s doing just fine.”
“It must have been so hard for her to lose the baby.”
“These things happen.”
“Yes, but it’s harder when you get to her age.” Meredith crunched a carrot stick.
“She’s fine.” Michael’s eyes grew frosty. A lesser person might have taken notice that she was stepping on shaky ground. Meredith was made of sterner stuff.
“Well, of course, Beth always has been the sort to put up a brave front. You know, at her age, it was risky to try a pregnancy to start with. We can’t stay young forever, you know. I could have told her, if only she’d asked me, that it was a mistake to try for a child at this late date. It’s just too dangerous. It’s a shame Donovan—” She broke off, shaking her head, her mouth turned up in a grimace she appeared to think was an indulgent smile. “But then, men can be so foolish about this sort of thing. They just don’t think about the risks we women take.”
“Mrs. Wallings, this child was something both my parents wanted. Its loss was something they both felt.”
“I’m sure it was, Michael. I certainly didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t. It’s just that these things are always felt more keenly by the woman. After all, we are the ones who carry the child beneath our hearts. I know just how Beth must be feeling right now.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Michael told her bluntly, annoyance and distraction overtaking him. “Excuse me.” He walked away, leaving her with her mouth agape.
He’d spotted Brittany near the window, though even without that excuse, he couldn’t have tolerated another minute of Meredith Wallings’s sanctimonious claptrap. He moved through the crowd as quickly as politeness allowed, slowing a few paces from Brittany.
Now that he was so close, he suddenly doubted the wisdom of approaching her. After all, they didn’t know each other all that well. Dan had been their connecting link, and now that link was gone. She was staring out the window, unaware of him. He could just leave.
But she looked so alone. Her slender figure seemed dragged down by the weight of her simple dress. He had the feeling that the slightest touch might shatter her into a million pieces.
“Brittany.” He said her name softly. She started but didn’t immediately turn.
“Michael.” His name held a wealth of pain, making him wonder if his presence was too great a reminder of her loss. But she reached out, her hand seeking his. Michael took it, feeling the delicacy of her fingers against the callused strength of his palm. He joined her at the window.
Hot summer sunshine blazed down outside, incongruous in the face of the reason they were here. It should have been pouring rain. Brittany must have felt the same thing.
“They shouldn’t have funerals in the middle of summer,” she said quietly. “Funerals should be for winter, when everything is all cold and grim.”
“It does seem wrong, doesn’t it?” They stood without speaking for a few moments, their hands still linked.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” Brittany said, drawing her hand from his to wipe a solitary tear from her cheek.
“No, it doesn’t.” He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, let her cry her grief out on his shoulder. Instead, he pushed his hands into his pockets, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place.
“How are you doing?” he asked instead. For the first time, she looked at him.
“I don’t really know.” Up close, he could see the smudgy gray shadows beneath her eyes. “And you? Dan always said you two were like brothers. It must be very hard for you.”
“Yeah.” Michael looked away, gritting his teeth against the ache in his throat. “I’m doing okay.”
“No, you’re not. Not any more than I am. None of us are.” Her voice rose, drawing a few eyes in their direction. She gulped, fighting for control. “It’s not fair Michael. It’s just not fair.”
“I know.” He glanced around, noting the attention they were getting. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He set his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the questioning looks as he drew her to the door.
Outside, the hot Indiana summer enveloped them, but it couldn’t banish the chill of loss. Brittany leaned against him, letting him lead her toward the narrow lawn next to the church.
“Did you bring your car?” he asked.
“No. I got a ride from a friend.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Michael.” The sudden urgency in her voice brought him to a stop. “I’m going to be sick,” she said thinly. One look at her pale face told him that she wasn’t kidding and that there was no way she could make it back inside. He steered her around the corner of the church into the relative privacy of a group of bushes.
“Go away,” she ordered, the impact lost in the quavering tone of her voice.
“Don’t be an idiot.” The look she flashed him showed annoyance, but she didn’t have a chance to argue. Michael held her head, supporting her trembling body with the strength of his own.
Once the sickness was over, several minutes passed before she gathered the strength to push him away, standing waveringly on knees that clearly weren’t too keen on supporting her.
“You should have left me alone.”
He might have showed some penitence if she hadn’t had to clutch at his arm when her knees threatened to buckle. He slid an arm around her waist, guiding her shaky footsteps to the scarred water fountain that stood next to the church.
Brittany rinsed her mouth, then she drank thirstily of the cool water. When she was through, Michael dampened his handkerchief and wiped it across her moist forehead. It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t protest, closing her eyes and leaning against him as the cool cloth soothed her clammy skin.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Her eyes came open. “You keep telling me that.” Her smile flickered and then broke, her eyes filling with tears. “Maybe I can’t help it.”
He glanced over his shoulder as the church door opened and several people walked out. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
They didn’t speak again until he had his old Mustang on the road, heading away from the church.
“I always liked this car,” Brittany said.
Michael barely glanced at the gleaming black paint and immaculate upholstery. He’d spent his last two years in high school working on the junk heap the car had been, restoring it to pristine condition. Right now, he had more important things on his mind.
“How are you feeling?”
“Stupid. Embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Are you all right now?”
“Sure.” She laughed, a bitter tone in the sound. “I’m just great if you—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”
“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.” The set of her chin told him he wasn’t going to get anything out of her unless she chose to allow it.
He braked for a red light near the center of town, casting a quick look in her direction. She was staring out at the downtown bustle, but he knew she wasn’t seeing it. Her gaze was turned inward. There was something wrong—he understood her sense of loss, but her introspection seemed to go beyond Dan’s death.
“Brittany.” She turned to look at him as the light changed to green. He put the car in gear, half-glad for the excuse not to look at her. Looking at her could easily become a habit. “What’s bothering you? There’s something more than Dan’s—” He stopped, unable to say the word.
“No. No, there’s not. At least, nothing that you can help me with. Did I tell you that I’m staying with my parents for a couple of days? You don’t have to drive me all the way to Indianapolis.”
Michael hesitated, Instinct told him to push her, to make her tell him what was wrong. Good manners dictated that he back off. If she didn’t want to tell him, there was no law that said she had to.
“Where do your parents live?”
He followed her directions to a small development on the far edge of town. It was the first tiny square of tract homes to have gone up in Remembrance, back in the fifties. As such, he supposed it had some vague historical significance. But the architect in him winced at the rows of little square houses. The years had given them some individuality, but stripped of the minor changes, they were all identical, all without character.
He pulled up before the house she indicated, a plain white box even more stark than its neighbors. The immaculate lawn looked as if it had been mowed by a surgeon, the trees precisely pruned, the flower beds meticulously edged. The effect should have been lovely. Instead, it was too symmetrical, too perfect.
He turned to Brittany, but she was talking before he could open his mouth. “Thank you for the ride home. I hadn’t even thought about how I was going to get back.”
“I’ll walk you up to the door.”
“That’s not necessary.” But he was already out of the car, coming around to her side to open her door. She took his hand reluctantly, letting him help her out of the car before releasing it.
They walked up the neat brick path in silence. Brittany fumbled in her purse as they stepped onto the narrow porch, Michael’s shoes echoing on the wooden floor.
“Got it.” She smiled nervously as she pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. “I’m all the time losing keys. It’s a good thing I have a roommate at school who can let me in. Otherwise, I’d probably have to set up camp in the library—”
“Brittany.” Michael’s quiet voice broke into her babbling. She stopped, sucking in a breath that came near to a sob.
“Michael, please. I can’t take much more today.”
“I’m not trying to cause you more grief. But I know there’s something wrong. Now that Dan isn’t here, I hope you know you can come to me.”
“Oh, Michael.” Her shoulders slumped for an instant before she straightened them. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears but her chin set. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just trying to deal with what’s happened.”
Michael didn’t believe her for a moment, but he couldn’t force her to talk to him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”
“Of course. Thank you.” She turned away, flipping the lock open. It was dismissal, polite but firm, and there was no arguing with it. Michael turned, taking a step away, every instinct screaming that all was not right, that he shouldn’t leave her like this.
He turned back, uncertain of what he was going to say but knowing he had to speak up. Only it wasn’t necessary. Hearing him approach, Brittany started to turn from the half-open door. She stopped, wavered and lifted a hand to her forehead, her skin suddenly dead white. Michael caught her as her knees buckled.
She sagged against him, unconscious. He lifted her into his arms, feeling his heart jump with fear. She was so pale. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
They were in the living room, a plain room with furniture that looked as if it had been moved in when the house was built and hadn’t been shifted so much as an inch since.
Carrying Brittany to the sofa, set rigidly in place between two end tables, Michael laid her down. She stirred, moaning faintly. Not knowing what else to do, he crouched next to her, taking her hand in his, patting it gently. Her lashes lifted slowly, and she stared at him, dazed.
“You fainted.”
“Did I?” she asked, lifting her free hand to touch her forehead, as if not sure that either still belonged to her.
“I think I should call a doctor.”
“No!” Her fingers tightened over his, her eyes frightened. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“Brittany, you fainted.”
“It’s been a rough day.” She struggled up, obviously determined to put the incident behind her. Michael helped her sit up and then sat next to her, still holding her hand.
“You’re as pale as a ghost, and your pulse is faster than it should be.”
She tugged her hand from his, shooting him a resentful look from under sooty lashes. “I thought you were an architect, not a doctor.”
“I thought I was a friend.”
“You are, Michael. You know you are.” She was distressed that he would think otherwise.
“Then why won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”
“Because, there are some things that you just can’t help with.”
“Try me.” A. vague suspicion was forming in the back of his mind.
“I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.
“Brittany.” He stopped, staring at her bent head. This was none of his business. She was Dan’s girl. But as Dan’s best friend, didn’t he have an obligation to look after her? Isn’t that what Dan would have wanted? But if she didn’t want his help... In the end, it wasn’t a matter of logical argument. He simply couldn’t leave her like this.
“Brittany, are you pregnant?”
She jumped as if he’d cracked a lash across her shoulders, her head jerking up, wide gray eyes meeting his.
“No, of course not.” But the truth was in her eyes, and Michael felt a hardness in his chest that was impossible to define.
“Did Dan know?” he asked tightly. If Dan had known and left her alone...
“I told you, I’m not—” She broke off, reading the hopelessness of the lie in his look. Her shoulders slumped and she dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. “No. He didn’t know.”
Michael drew in a deep breath. Dan hadn’t known. The idea that he could have known and abandoned Brittany had been insupportable.
“You didn’t know?” he questioned.
“I knew. I should have told him. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have gone, and he’d still be alive.” She waved a hand, forestalling his protest. “I know it’s stupid to think that way, but I can’t help it.”
Michael reached out catching her hand in his. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
“We fought. I wanted to get married, and he said it was stupid to get married while I was still in school. He said we’d talk about it when he got back. Only now he won’t be coming back,” she ended starkly.
“If you’d told him...”
“I know. I know. If I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d have married me. But then how would I ever know if he married me because he wanted to or because he had to?”
“Dan was crazy about you,” Michael protested.
“Maybe. But I’d never have known for sure.”
There didn’t seem to be anything to say. Michael stared at their linked hands. What was he supposed to do now? What would Dan have wanted him to do?
“What are you going to do now?” he asked finally, feeling hopelessly inadequate.
“I don’t know. There hasn’t been much time to think since I got the news about Dan.”
He stood up, moving away restlessly. “Are you going to have the baby?” The question came out too abruptly, and he shook his head. “Forget it. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s all right.” Now that the truth was out, Brittany seemed much more calm. “I’m going to have it. This is my child, mine and Dan’s.” Her fingers touched her still-flat stomach as if she could feel the tiny life she carried. “It’s a part of us—all that’s left, in a way.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, feeling awkward and uncertain. “Anything you need?”
“No. I’m going to be just fine.” She lifted her chin, drawing her shoulders straight. “I fell apart today, but that won’t happen again.”
“Are you sure? Anything at all. I’m not just asking because you’re carrying Dan’s baby.”
She half smiled but shook her head again. “Thank you. After the way I dissolved all over you, I’m surprised you didn’t run for cover ages ago.”
“Today was rough for all of us,” he said.
“I know. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thank you, Michael.”
“No big deal.” He shrugged her thanks away. He didn’t want her gratitude.
“It was a big deal to me.” She stood up and crossed the short distance between them. Michael looked down into her eyes, feeling an odd wariness he couldn’t quite define. She raised up on her toes, balancing herself with a hand on his arm as she placed a kiss on his cheek.
Her mouth felt soft on his beard-roughened skin. Her scent was soft also, a mixture of lavender and sunshine. It drew him, making him want to put his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. Maybe then he could forget the aching sense of loss that gnawed at him. With Brittany in his arms, surely anything would be possible.
The feeling was so strong that he took a step back, the movement too quick so that she almost lost her balance. He put a hand to her waist, steadying her for an instant before withdrawing even that small contact.
It was safer if he didn’t touch her. Safer in what way, he couldn’t have said.
“You must be tired,” he muttered.
“I am.” If she noticed anything odd in his behavior, he couldn’t tell. She pushed a straying lock of hair back.
“Your parents, they’ll help you?”
“They’ll be pretty upset, but when it comes right down to it, they’ll do everything they can.”
“Well, if there’s any problem, call me.”
“I will.”
The pause threatened to grow awkward. He should leave. He’d said everything he could. She was probably hoping he’d go. But still he lingered, reluctant to leave her.
“Are you sure there isn’t something I can do? There must be something you want or need.”
“No, really Michael, I’m doing okay.”
“You’ll call me if you need anything?” He edged toward the door, torn between his concern and his need to put some distance between them.
“I’m not going to need anything.”
“Promise you’ll call me,” he insisted again. “I’ll call you.”
He reached out, unable to resist the urge to smooth back that errant lock of hair. “We’re not going to lose touch,” he told her firmly. “If you don’t call me, I’m going to come looking for you.”
“Okay.” Tears trembled on her lashes, but she managed a wavering smile. “We won’t lose touch.”
Courting fire, he bent and kissed her cheek. When his head lifted, their eyes met for a long, silent moment before he turned and left without looking back.
Long strides carried him down the walkway, but once in the Mustang, he just sat, staring out the windshield. A vague headache throbbed behind his eyes. The days since the news had come about the plane crash blurred together in one indistinguishable gray fog. The memorial service was already half-forgotten.
Dan was gone. It was a fact that had to be accepted. Only Dan wasn’t really gone. Brittany was carrying his child. The headache intensified. He should be glad that something of his friend would continue in the world. So why was it that all he could think of was that if Dan were to appear in front of him right at this moment, alive and unhurt, his first urge would be to punch him in the teeth?