Page 3

2

MADISON

I blink, awareness slowly seeping in as I see people hovering around me, worried looks on their faces. My mom and Ben are closest to me, with Chloe beside him. Ryan and Aimee stand behind my mom. The rest of the mourners are behind them, looking concerned and uneasy.

Lifting a hand, I rub my head, trying to figure out why I’m on the ground. A sticky substance is on my finger. I lower my hand, revealing a small cut on my finger, blood seeping from it. My brow wrinkles as I look at my loved ones surrounding me. “What happened?”

My mom answers. “You were standing by your dad’s casket, placing a rose on it, when you suddenly started screaming. Then you fainted.”

Oh, God! The horrible images of my father’s accident infiltrated my head at lightning speed, making me dizzy. Closing my eyes, I breathe in and out, trying to remain conscious.

“It’s gonna be okay, Maddie. We can take you to a doctor or the hospital to get checked out.” My mom’s words send a panicked jolt through me. Opening my eyes, I scan over her concerned face. She lifts her hands to my face, smoothing my hair back, studying me intently like she’s examining a piece of evidence.

Immediately, I push myself up, her hands sliding from my face as my fingers dig into the cool grass beneath me. “No, Mom. I’m fine.” I paste a reassuring smile on my face. Noticing a crumpled brown leaf hanging from the strands of my long blonde hair, I pluck it away before meeting her gaze.

“Please, Mom. Just trust me. I’m fine. It’s just been… a lot. And I haven’t been eating much lately.” It’s not a lie, but I’m knowingly withholding information from her. I cringe at the mere thought of revealing the full truth to her about the nightmares I’ve been having, along with the incident that just happened that made me faint. She’d have me committed.

My mother, Maura Jacobs, doesn’t deal with emotions. She’s pragmatic and logical, collected and in control, which makes her perfect for her chosen profession—a detective at Falls Creek Police Department. I’ve heard her colleagues say she’s unshakable and dispassionate, a complete ball buster. It makes her great at her job but awkward when dealing with family.

When I was a kid, it didn’t take me long to figure out she was married to her job. While my dad was dedicated to his job, I was always his priority. He was the one taking care of me when I was sick, going to my dance recitals, and basically being a single dad while my mom worked.

My mom functions well under pressure and isn’t intimidated by even the harshest criminals. But her weakness is anything involving emotion. The last thing I want is for my mother to think I’m emotionally unstable.

Putting on a brave face, I get to my feet with Ben’s help. Brushing the leaves and grass from my clothing and tugging my dress back into place, I steel my spine, reigning in my emotions. “See. I’m fine, Mom.”

My mom visibly relaxes, a slow smile pulling up her lips as she stands. “I’m glad to hear that, Maddie. So we won’t have any more scenes?”

Is she serious right now? My stomach twists into knots, and the image of what caused me to faint floats through my head. I squeeze my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms. The last thing I need is to lose consciousness again.

Heaving in a breath, I slowly let it out. The images in my mind disappear, and I look over at the minister. “Please continue.”

I manage my emotions by repeatedly looking at the mountains in the distance. Nature has always soothed me, and it calms me enough that I make it through the rest of my dad’s funeral with no further incident. But the awkwardness of those around me is palpable.

When the service ends and people approach us to pay their respects, uneasiness in their eyes as they glance at me and force a smile before looking away. They twist and pull at their clothing, fidget with their jewelry, and give me sideline glances. Great. Now I’m the town freak. I heaved in another breath of air, slowly releasing it.

My mom reminds everyone of the remembrance reception at my childhood home to honor my dad. I stare at her with narrowed eyes, wondering how in the hell she feels like entertaining when all I want to do is change into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and cry. I really don’t feel like going and being subjected to more awkwardness, but I can’t figure out a way to get out of this.

Trailing behind Ben and Chloe, unease prickles my skin, goosebumps covering me. It feels as though someone is watching me. My gaze trails over the mourners surrounding me, but most aren’t paying me the slightest bit of attention, too focused on leaving the gravesite. The few who meet my eyes quickly look away.

But this stare is intense, boring into my skin. Watching me.

Biting my lip, I cross my arms over my chest, rubbing them to take away the chill of trepidation that courses through me. I peruse the graveyard once more, even turning around several times to survey the trees behind me, but I don’t see anyone staring at me.

My dad told me never to discount my feelings, and I’m certain I’m being watched.

Once beside Ben’s car, I grab the door handle and quickly slip inside, slamming the passenger door. I rub my hands together, still looking around.

“Are you cold?” Ben asks as he starts the car, then reaches over and turns the heat on.

“A little bit.” Flashing him a quick smile, he relaxed and calm, unaware of my unease. Instead, he strikes up a conversation about hors d’oeuvres, asking if I know what will be served. I simply shrug while Chloe starts chattering.

Tuning her out, my muscles are taut as anxiety courses its way through me. Shoving my hands between my knees to keep from fidgeting, I stare outside at the passing scenery.

Once Ben turns onto the road leaving the cemetery, I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, my goosebumps disappearing.

I swear someone was watching me. I don’t vocalize it to Ben or Chloe since I have no proof.

Since I no longer have the sensation of being watched, I relax into the seat, strategizing ways to make an appearance at the gathering, and then disappear. I’m not sure I can handle this.

And if I have another screaming and fainting episode, my mom is sure to make me seek medical treatment. I shudder. No thanks.

I have a sound plan by the time Ben turns into the driveway to my mom’s house. But it disappears the second I lay eyes on the two-story colonial. Memories assault me. Bouncing my foot, I bite my lip, suddenly feeling too hot.

Once Ben stops the car and puts it in park, I throw my door open, my feet hitting the pavement as I stand, sucking in gulps of air. It’s fine. You can do this, Maddie.

Chloe steps out behind me, putting her arm around me. “Are you okay?”

I nod, not wanting to draw more attention to myself than I already have. The episode at the funeral was more than enough.

Turning my head to hers, I give her a fake smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just… you know. A little nervous. Memories and all that.”

She nods, understanding in her green eyes. “If I can do anything, please let me know.”

I grab her other hand and give it a squeeze, grateful for her support. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Ben moves to us, a smile on his handsome face. “Are you ladies ready to go inside? It’s a bit chilly with that breeze blowing.”

I match his smile, thinking how lucky I am to have him. “Sure.”

Releasing Chloe’s hand, I wrap my arm through his, then loop the other one around Chloe’s, and the three of us start toward the house.

As we walk up the sidewalk, I give myself a pep talk. You can do this. Everything will be fine.

Hopefully.

A n hour later, I’m doubting my sanity as another person walks by me, visibly flinching before they plaster a false smile on their face. Taking a drink of the tea Chloe brought me, my gaze flits around the room. This is fucking horrible. All these people stare at me like I’m going to have a breakdown any second.

As my gaze moves to the table that is a shrine to my dad, memories inundate me. He’s the only one who has always been there for me, never letting me down. My dad always saw me, loving me for who I am, never trying to change me.

Right now, I feel lost. The light in my life has disappeared, leaving behind only darkness.

Tears course down my cheeks when I blink. Setting my tea down, I Impatiently brush them away, hoping no one sees me crying.

Chloe approaches me, sympathy in her eyes and a gentle smile curling up her pink lips. Ben follows behind her, brows creased with worry when he sees me standing in front of the photographs of my dad.

I can’t handle either of them right now. I’m afraid I’ll break down, giving all the people in this room something to gossip about. “I need to use the restroom.” Without waiting for a response, I dash off.

As I approach the downstairs restroom, Mrs. Martin, the nosy neighbor, stands at the end of the line. She hasn’t spotted me yet, thank God. No way am I in the mood to deal with her.

Turning, I slip up the steps, heading to the restroom beside my old bedroom. There’s no one up here, and I gratefully slip inside.

Closing and locking the door, I press my back against it. My head falls back against the door, hot tears slipping down my cheeks as I inhale the familiar scent of home. My heart squeezes inside my chest. It no longer feels like home. Not without my dad.

Lowering my head, I blink rapidly, but the tears are coming too fast, blinding me.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I have no tears left to cry.

Hiccupping, I make my way to the sink, turning it on and cupping my hands beneath the faucet, splashing my face with cold water. I do this several times before turning the water off. Grabbing a towel, I pat my face dry, then stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I look awful! So haggard and pale.

Turning, I’m prepared to toss the towel in the bathroom hamper when my skin prickles. I freeze, my eyes moving to the window.

Dusk has settled over the area, but through the gloom, I swear I see movement across the yard, disappearing behind the rosebush my dad planted for me.

It could be an animal , the rational part of my mind argues.

But my instincts say otherwise.

As if my feet have a mind of their own, I start moving toward the window, my gaze scanning the backyard rapidly, looking for any sign someone is out there.

It’s weird as hell, but I feel like I did at the funeral—as though someone is watching me. My breathing accelerates, fear causing the hair to stand on the back of my neck.

Everything outside the window is still.

Releasing a long sigh, I turn away from the window, shaking my head. Maybe the nightmares about my dad and what happened earlier at the gravesite are a sign I’m losing my damn mind.

Tossing the towel in the hamper, I turn to the mirror. After fluffing my hair, I square my shoulders. You can do this. Go out there and pretend you’re fine.

Crossing the room, I open the bathroom door and enter the hallway. The muffled sound of conversations mixing with the occasional quiet laugh drifts up to me, making me cringe. I close my eyes, trying to find the strength to join everyone downstairs.

Opening my eyes, I take a few tentative steps toward the stairs, peering over the side of the railing. People mill around, the hum of their chatter reaching my ears. A few pointed at the pictures of him, chuckling at some of the funny poses or things my dad was doing in them.

Taking a deep breath, I back away from the stairs, the buzz from the crowd below seeming too jovial for such an occasion.

Turning around, my gaze cuts toward the door of my old bedroom, beckoning me like a lighthouse guides lost ships to the shore. I just need to be alone, lost in my memories of the most influential man in my life.

Stepping inside, I’m transported back to when I lived here. Nothing has changed since the day I left home and moved in with Ben and Chloe. The collage of pictures on the large bulletin board still hangs above my desk. The curtains and comforter on my bed are the same, and it appears Mrs. Wilson, our housekeeper and cook extraordinaire, has been by to wash and clean everything in this room. She’s cleaned and cooked for us weekly since I was a child.

Spotting the large stuffed dog my dad won for me at the county fair, I grab him from the bookshelf and head toward the bed. Kicking my heels off, I curl up on the bed, clenching my stuffed animal to my chest.

I feel so fucking alone.

Staring morosely at the wall, my mind is a television show of clips of my dad and me. Grief wells up like a tsunami, but I have no tears left to cry.

Exhaustion settles over me, my eyes growing heavy, the events of the past week catching up to me. Closing my eyes, I succumb to it, letting it pull me under.