BY THE TIME THE Uber dropped her off at the house - and she was deliberately not thinking about how much that ride from the airport actually cost her - Kennedy was so far past exhausted, she felt practically out of body. She hadn't felt right bothering her sisters for a ride, and she was used to finding her own way from one point to another. When one of her flights was canceled and another delayed for weather, it had taken a series of planes, trains, and automobiles to get her from the west coast of Ireland back Stateside. Her luggage was - somewhere else, and she was a day later than planned, cutting it so close that she'd ended up finding funeral attire in a shop in the Amsterdam airport. The long-sleeved, jersey dress was simple and unadorned. Perhaps not as nice as she'd have chosen had she had any time to prepare, but beggars couldn't be choosers. At least it was the appropriate color.
Kennedy didn't recognize any of the vehicles in the drive. And why should she? She'd left this place at eighteen and hadn't come back. In that time, they could have made a thousand and one changes and she wouldn't have been any the wiser. Would it still feel like home without Mom here to fill it with her big, boisterous personality? Heart in her throat, Kennedy climbed the steps. The third one still squeaked. That tiny, familiar detail made her ache. At the door, she hesitated, wondering if she should knock or ring the bell of this place that had once been hers. Deciding that smacked too much of cowardice, she tried the knob. It turned beneath her hand, and she stepped inside.
Her irrational fear that everything had changed abated as she took in the living room. Same overstuffed sofas. Same gallery of pictures. Kennedy even recognized some of the tchotchkes she'd sent her mom over the years, set around for decoration. The omnipresent scent of her mother's coffee and the low murmur of voices pulled her toward the kitchen and the center of the home she'd left so long ago. Kennedy didn't realize how much she'd expected Joan to be seated at the big farmhouse table, hands wrapped around one of her favorite mugs, until the sight of the empty chair sucker punched her in the gut, ripping right through the emotional numbness of exhaustion.
"Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence."
At the acerbic tone, Kennedy looked over at her sister Athena. She stood by the counter, her long brown hair caught up in the same utilitarian bun Kennedy knew she wore daily to keep it out of the way in her restaurant kitchen. Kennedy didn't brook offense at the hard set of Athena's jaw and the glint in her dry eyes. She well knew Athena didn't do upset. She didn't cry. She got pissed and bit at whoever the most convenient target happened to be. Her kitchen staff had probably been on the receiving end of a fit worthy of Gordon Ramsey when she got the news about Joan.
"Enough. We'll have none of that today." Maggie, the middle Reynolds daughter and a year younger than Kennedy, looked calm and in control in her neat black suit, her pale blonde hair pulled back in a tidy chignon, with a strand of pearls at her throat. The very picture of the consummate professional woman she'd become.
"You made it." Pru hurried over, immediately enfolding Kennedy in a hug that had the tears threatening again. "I was beginning to worry."
She fought for control, hanging on to Pru for all she was worth. "So was I. My luggage may end up in Sri Lanka, but I'm here."
"Have you eaten?" Pru asked.
The very thought of food made Kennedy's stomach turn. "Can't."
"Coffee, then." Without waiting for an answer, Pru went to pour her a mug.
Not knowing what else to do, Kennedy set her carry-on down and dropped her purse.
Maggie hesitated, something rippling over her face before she crossed the room and folded Kennedy into a hug. It wasn't so long or warm as Pru's, but it was so much more than Kennedy had expected. Of all of her sisters, Maggie had the most reason to hate her.
"The car will be here in a couple of hours to pick us up."
Another car, this one to the very last place Kennedy wanted to go. But there was no running or hiding from this. Accepting the coffee, she asked, "So what's the plan?"
"Visitation at Kavanaugh's from one to two, then a graveside service," Maggie explained.
"After that, it's back here for food. We're expecting a big crowd. A lot of Mom's fosters are coming in, thanks to Xander," Pru said. "He made all the calls."
Kennedy considered it a minor miracle she didn't choke on her coffee. Something akin to panic crawled up her spine and shot her heart rate through the roof. Of course Xander Kincaid was still in Eden's Ridge. Exactly where his father thought he was supposed to be. Why should that have changed?
But she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility of seeing him. Not really. Her entire focus had been on getting home for the funeral. Consciously deepening her breath, she worked to slow her heart and tamp down the anxiety, keeping her tone even. "That was kind of him. I'm sure everyone wants to pay their respects."
Why, exactly, was Xander helping her sister out with funeral arrangements? Wasn't that the kind of thing you did for a significant other?
And why should you care? You walked away and gave up any right to feel jealousy over who Xander's with. But the chiding did nothing to stem the quick prick of resentment at the idea that he'd moved on to her sister, of all people. Pru was exactly the kind of woman Xander needed. Rooted here and focused on home and hearth. Not a screwup with itchy feet and no plan for the future. Any guy would be lucky to have her.
"Kennedy?"
How long had Pru been speaking? "What?"
"Bless your heart, I know you're exhausted. I said there's time for you to grab a shower, if you want. I know you've been on the go for a few days now."
That probably meant she looked as bad as she felt. There was only so much she could do to make herself presentable in an airport bathroom or service station. "A shower would be great."
"I've put you in your old room. There are fresh towels in the cabinet in the bathroom. I'm sure we can..." She trailed off as the slow, mournful notes of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" began to sound. "Ari."
They all listened in silence as the girl poured out her grief at the piano, wringing every last drop of emotion from the instrument. Joan had said the child was gifted, but Kennedy had never imagined this. Tears spilled down her cheeks as the music shattered the last vestiges of her control, unleashing the devastation she'd pushed to the side just to get here. By the time the last note faded, they were all crying, save Athena, who looked ready to punch something.
Pru wiped at her eyes. "It's the first time she's left her room in three days. I think she's afraid that if she leaves the house, social services will take her away."
Maggie went ramrod straight. "Have they threatened to?"
"No. Mae knows this is devastating. She's not going to rock the boat right now. So I'm her guardian until something more permanent can be decided on."
"Permanent like what?" Athena asked.
Pru shrugged. "I don't know. I think Mae's been putting out feelers to see if she can track down Ari's birth parents. She didn't have any luck when Sofia - Ari's grandmother - passed away, but with this... She doesn't want to leave any stone unturned."
"Poor kid," Athena muttered. "No wonder she's terrified."
As Beethoven rolled into Debussy, Kennedy tried to imagine what she'd have done in Ari's shoes. Her mother had taken off when Kennedy was only seven. Her dad had done his best for a while, taking her on the road in his eighteen wheeler as he trucked across country. But even he'd given up on the parenting gig after a while, announcing that it'd been a good run, but it just wasn't working anymore. She'd been twelve when he dumped her into the system, nearly thirteen by the time she'd come to Joan, saddled with the kiss-of-death moniker of "troubled." If there'd been even a whiff of a possibility that they'd send her back to her father, she wouldn't have hesitated before bolting.
"We have to do something." Kennedy wiped at her own eyes. "We have to make her feel safe and protected, like Mom did. We all know what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under us. She has enough to deal with without adding worry that she's going to get thrown back into the system. We have to look after her. It's what Mom would've wanted."
Athena turned from the window. "You're hardly in a position to know what Mom wanted."
Kennedy absorbed the blow, biting back the protest that rose in her throat. She was too tired to fight with Athena. Too tired to fight with any of them. And what could she really say? She hadn't been here. That none of them knew the true reason why hardly mattered. She still couldn't explain. The fact was, it had been a risk coming back here, even now.
"Kennedy's not wrong," Maggie said. "Mom considered Ari another daughter. The fact that the legal paperwork didn't get finished before she died was just a formality. That makes her our sister. And that means we fight for her."
A little of the tension leeched away. They'd fight. So sayeth Maggie. Nothing short of God himself would dare go against her.
"There will be time to figure it out after today," Pru said. "The music's stopped. Maybe she'll finally eat something. I'll go see."
Feeling raw and wanting some space, Kennedy scooped up her carry-on and purse. "I'm gonna get that shower now."
* * *
Xander considered it an honor to lead the procession to Joan's final resting place. The line of cars snaked down the mountain, filling multiple switchbacks. The cemetery was an older one, high up on the ridge where you could look out over the Great Smoky Mountains. She'd loved those mountains all her life, and he thought it fitting that she be laid to rest with such a view. He hoped that when her daughters came to visit the graveside - if they came to visit after today - they'd find some comfort in that.
Stepping out of his cruiser, Xander looked toward the car parked behind the hearse. The doors opened and the sisters slid out, all in unrelieved black. Pru, Maggie, and Athena he'd seen, already offered his condolences. Kennedy was the last one out. He wanted to be cool and unaffected, wanted to hang on to the bitterness and anger over her abandonment. And it was there, as it had been for years. But even at this distance, he could see the signs of weeping, and he couldn't harden his heart. Not fully. His ribs felt too tight, and he couldn't take a full breath.
She'd grown up. He'd known that objectively. He certainly had in the last ten years. But he'd worked hard not to imagine her as a woman, not to wonder how she'd changed, so in his mind, she'd stayed the fresh-faced girl of eighteen. Grief and exhaustion did little to dim her beauty. She was a knockout, with a subtle edge of...something. A confidence he didn't remember from high school, as if she was comfortable in her own skin now. Or as comfortable as she could be under the circumstances.
Not trusting himself to maintain the necessary emotional distance, Xander stuck to keeping physical space between them, busying himself by directing the parking lineup of all the mourners as the pall bearers gathered at the rear of the hearse. They were all former fosters of Joan's, now men grown and off on their own. Xander had heard their stories, and dozens of others, when he'd called to break the news of her passing. With only a few exceptions, every single person on Joan's list had returned to say goodbye and pay their respects to the woman who'd changed their lives. Between them and all of her many friends from Eden's Ridge, the graveside was packed.
At the direction of the funeral home staff, everyone gathered in neat rows around the plot, careful not to trip over the artificial turf covering the grim reality of a freshly dug grave. Tensions between the sisters were evident as they stood at the edge. Their postures were stiff, no hands or arms linked in support. So different from growing up, when they'd been a unit. But even as Xander crossed over to join the crowd, the four of them closed ranks around Ari, taking her hand or touching her shoulder. The Reynolds sisters might be a family divided, but they were still a family at the heart. Joan had forged those links, and he thought the child would be the one to reinforce them.
Pastor Hodgson began the service, his booming baritone carrying across the cemetery as he spoke of a life cut tragically short. "Joan Reynolds was a good woman, a good Christian, who believed in healing the world through love. After spending fifteen years working as a social worker and being frustrated with the limitations in her ability to help the children on her caseload, she left that job and opened her home as a foster parent. She spent the next twenty-five years devoting her life to that endeavor, impacting the lives of more than a hundred children - none more so than her daughters."
The minister rolled on through the service, offering prayers and platitudes. When, at last, he lapsed into silence, heads bowed in respect, in mourning. Then a single, tremulous voice lifted in song. Kennedy. Eyes closed, face raised to the sky, she sang, gaining strength with every word. After a few bars, Xander recognized the lyrics to "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Raw and unaccompanied, the sound of it sent chills down his spine, stripping away the hurt and resentment, until all he wanted was to comfort and soothe. Because she was aching, and no matter what had passed between them or how it had ended, a part of him still needed to protect her.
She was weeping by the end, tears streaming down her cheeks and sobs stealing her breath for the final lines. Pru took her hand. Maggie looped an arm through hers. Even Athena reached out to squeeze her shoulder. In this, at least, it seemed they could put aside their differences.
Pastor Hodgson made a few more remarks. And then it was done. Each of the sisters stepped forward to lay a single white rose over the polished coffin before slowly stepping away. Kennedy pressed a hand to the wood, chin quivering. Then she, too, stepped away.
Mourners moved in clumps toward parked cars. They would, Xander knew, be heading back to the house for the reception. He'd told himself he wasn't going, that he didn't want to add to the strain with his presence. Pru, at least, would worry about him and Kennedy being in the same room again after all this time. Who knew whether Kennedy herself would be bothered? But Porter had made it up for the funeral after all, and Xander didn't want to pass up the opportunity to see one of his oldest friends. And, for better or worse, a part of him wanted to see Kennedy, just to check on her.
By the time he arrived, the house was packed. It might've looked like a party but for the quiet murmur of voices and the lack of music. People already had plates of food and visited in clusters of three or four. Porter Ingram stood across the living room, hands jammed in the pockets of his suit, scanning the gallery of photos, much as Xander had done the other day.
"A lot of memories here," Xander murmured.
Porter turned and offered a small smile. "Yeah." He opened his arms, and Xander returned the back thumping hug.
"Glad you could make it. How's Gatlinburg?"
When wildfires had broken out in November, Porter had headed south as part of the National Guard to try to contain the blaze. The aftermath had left Gatlinburg ravaged and burned more than a hundred thousand acres across eight states. In the face of the devastation, he'd stayed as part of the reconstruction efforts.
"It's going. We're starting to see some solid progress, but it'll be a long damned time before the land heals. The Ridge was damned lucky the fires didn't make it this far."
Xander gave thanks for that every day. "Are you here long?"
"Have to head back tonight. We're at a critical stage in the project just now, and I've got to be on site tomorrow."
"Got time for a beer before you go?"
"Depends what time I finish up here." Porter sighed. "Can't believe this, man. Joan was a force of nature. It just seems so senseless."
"It is senseless."
They both turned at the quiet voice.
"Maggie."
Xander wondered if she noticed the softening in Porter's expression and tone.
She'd lost the suit jacket since the cemetery but looked no less professional in the slim skirt and blouse, all that pale blonde hair gathered in a roll at her nape. Xander imagined she dressed much the same for the boardroom or her high-powered clients in LA. He wasn't sure exactly what she did for a living except that it used that terrifying brain of hers.
"It's Margaret these days."
"Old habits die hard," Porter replied.
Maggie winced. "Well, I suppose it's better than Mudbug."
"I was fifteen and stupid."
Porter had been fifteen and in love with her, Xander knew. Not that Porter had ever felt comfortable acting on it while living under the same roof.
"Brother's prerogative, I guess." She laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course."
They both watched as she moved on to greet other guests.
"Brother," Porter grumbled.
"So that's still the way the wind blows, huh?"
Porter twitched his broad shoulders in irritation. "Doesn't matter. She'll be headed back to California soon enough." But his eyes followed her as she circulated the room. "Let's go get some food."
Athena had taken over in the kitchen, overseeing the spread of food with a surly air that didn't invite conversation. The big farmhouse table groaned under the weight of all the dishes, and Xander had no doubt more would be forthcoming from those who hadn't yet been by. Pru fussed by the stove, making more iced tea. Catching sight of him, she shot a panicked look toward the back door. Following her gaze, saw Kennedy picking her way across the lawn.
At the table, Porter held out a plate.
"I'll get some in a bit. I need to do something first."
"Xander." Hands knitted, Pru stepped in front of the door.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm just going to check on her. That's all." Before she could protest further, he slipped outside to follow.
Xander had no idea what he was going to say. Some dim part of him knew this was probably a bad idea, but he could no more stay away from her than a moth could a flame - even knowing he was likely to get burned. But she wasn't alone down at the overlook. Ari sat on the long bench set beneath the spreading branches of an oak. Xander stopped, wondering whether he should head on back inside.
"I always used to like to come out here to think when I lived here." Kennedy's voice floated back on the faint breeze as she sat. She didn't touch the girl, didn't encroach on her personal space. They both just sat, looking out toward the lowering sun. In another hour it'd be full dark.
"You don't have to talk," she continued. "I know you're sad and scared, and I know you don't really know me. But I just wanted to say that I'm here for you, if you ever want to talk. Sometimes talking helps you feel less alone."
Ari looked over at her for a long moment before turning her gaze back to the mountains. "That was nice, what you did today."
Kennedy's only acknowledgment that the girl had just spoken for the first time in almost a week was to glance over. "What was?"
"The singing. When my abuela died, the priest did the service, but there was no music. Only prayers. Joan would've liked it."
Kennedy's shoulders rose and fell, and her voice, when she spoke, was a little choked. "Simon and Garfunkel were particular favorites of hers. But she loved all kinds of music. At one point, we had so many kids in the house who sang or played some kind of an instrument, we put together a band."
"Yeah?"
She gave a watery laugh. "Oh, we were absolutely terrible. But Joan sat and listened to our concerts like we were The Beatles or something." She hesitated. "Do you even know who The Beatles are at your age?"
Ari shook her head and leaned against Kennedy's shoulder. "You could maybe show me."
Kennedy wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close. "I will absolutely do that."
Ari needed this way more than Xander needed...whatever it was he'd hoped to get out of this encounter. Edging back, he made his way quietly back to the house.
