Twice Her Husband. Mary J. Forbes

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      They had arranged their private ceremony at home: Alexei would dig a hole where they would place his father’s ashes along with a clump of lilies of the valley, a perennial shade plant that offered sparkling strings of waxy bell flowers to scent the dank creek air. Ginny would collect the stones.

      Within a few minutes hole and stones stood ready.

      From Alexei’s knapsack, she carefully extracted the treasured oak box. Her breath caught when she unlatched the wooden lid. Inside, Boone’s ashes nestled in a plastic bag. Mere crumbles of a big man. She bit her lip.

      “Da?” Standing between her brother’s strong, young arms, little Joselyn pointed as Ginny removed the bag.

      “Yes,” she said, eyes blurry. “Daddy.”

      Alexei nuzzled his sister’s small cheek. “It’s all right, Josie,” he murmured. “We’re giving Daddy a nice place to stay. He can listen to the water and the birds here, and he’ll feel the rain and the sun and see the skies all the time. And when we look up at the stars at night, we’ll be able to see him because he told me that’s where he’d be when it got too dark. Don’t worry.”

      Joselyn clapped her little hands and stamped her tiny feet on the forest floor. “Gah.”

      “Oh, Alexei.” Ginny brushed a harvest-colored wing of hair from his eyes. “You break my heart with your lovely words.”

      “I don’t mean to, Mama.”

      With one arm, she hugged the children close. “It’s a bittersweet break, honey. The way chocolate sometimes tastes.”

      “Oh. Okay.” Reassured, Alexei smoothed the baby’s flyaway curls. “Do you think she understands?”

      Ginny opened the ash bag. “Maybe deep in her soul. But we’ll tell her again one day.”

      “I’ll tape it for her,” Alexei said, and kissed his sister’s blond head.

      “You’re a good and loving brother.” The best son.

      “Even when I don’t clean up her toys?”

      Ginny smiled. “Let’s not push it.”

      “Hear that, Jo? Mama’s backtracking again.”

      “Ma-ma-ma-mmm!” Out came the finger, pointing at Ginny, who kissed the wet digit, her eyes filling again.

      “Let’s set in the letters,” she said.

      Each had written to Boone. Ginny included Joselyn in hers, along with words of grief and love and hope and wishes. I wish you hadn’t died. I wish we could grow old together. I wish I could talk to you, tell you I love you. Just once more.

      Alexei laid his letter in the hole and sprinkled on a bit of dirt. Swiping his nose with the back of his hand, he looked away.

      “Oh, sweetheart.” Ginny cupped her son’s cheek.

      “Why did he have to die?”

      “You know why, honey.”

      “Yeah, but why him?”

      She’d asked the same question endlessly. “Alexei, life is full of fog we don’t understand or have control over. The best we can do is face it square on and plow through to the other side.”

      “Yeah.” He sniffed. “I guess.”

      She kissed his cheek. “Come, let’s finish.”

      Tenderly and together, they held the bag as ashes poured over the letters. Joselyn sat quietly in the crook of Ginny’s arm, sucking her thumb. Lastly, they planted the lilies of the valley, then circled the tiny plot with the stones.

      She would never come back to this spot. Or to West Virginia.

      They were returning to Oregon and her childhood town.

      Be at peace, dearest Boone. You’ll be in my heart always.

      Carrying Joselyn and holding Alexei’s hand, Ginny climbed back through the trees, to the trail and her old station wagon.

       Chapter One

      Misty River, Oregon

       Ten days later

       I n the produce section of Safeway, Luke stared at the woman sizing up a bundle of bananas three bins away.

      Ginny?

      Blinking, he focused on his ex-wife. It had been over eleven years since he’d seen her last. She had the same pro file. Small, straight nose, concave cheeks, dimple in the one facing him. Hair the color of Belize beach sand, though the style looked as if those chin-length curls had frolicked with a breeze.

      His heart boxed his ribs. His palms began to sweat. He took a step forward, her name in his throat.

      A blond boy sauntered to her side. “Mama, can we make hamburgers in the backyard tonight?”

      Adrenaline scooted across Luke’s skin as she tousled the kid’s hair. “We’re having spaghetti with meatballs, remember?”

      “Oh, yeah, right. Hey, Miss Jo.” The kid pulled a miniature thumb from the mouth of the baby sitting in the cart’s basket. “You want rabbit teeth?” Before Miss Jo could whimper, the boy screwed up his face and started gnawing on her neck. “Rawrrr-rawrrr-rawrrr.”

      The little girl giggled, a sound light as a musical scale. “Ep-say, no.” She grabbed his hair and pulled.

      “Ow.”

      “Don’t get her started,” Ginny warned the boy as she set the bananas in the cart and moved to the oranges.

      Luke backed away. He was an outsider, looking in on her family—on a life he’d shunned. Bumping into another shopper, he muttered, “Excuse me,” and hurried from the produce section. Near the electronic doors, he dropped his basket on a rack.

      She had a family. A husband.

      What was she doing in Misty River?

      They had to be on vacation. It was almost May, after all. Some families took their vacations early, before school finished. They were simply stopping for a few groceries. Probably had a big Winnebago parked around the corner. Husband was likely reading the paper while she shopped with the kids.

      Why that bothered Luke, he couldn’t determine. Virginia Ellen Keegan hadn’t been his wife in damn near a dozen years.

      But she could’ve been.

      The thought zapped in. Quick, sharp, leaving a ragged tear.

      He strode to his silver Mustang convertible parked on a side street. He couldn’t get inside the vehicle fast enough—and when he did, he simply sat staring through the windshield.

      Ginny.

      Shutting СКАЧАТЬ