Page 22 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)
T he call came just after dawn, the soft trill of her phone slicing through the quiet house like a blade. One look at the screen, and Reva knew before she answered.
Kellen sat up in the bed beside her, rubbing his face as she pressed the phone to her ear. A long pause. Then her mother’s broken voice: “Ree-Ree…she’s gone.”
The words landed with the weight of a boulder on her chest. Though she’d known this moment was coming—had braced herself for it—grief hit with a force that buckled her soul.
Reva curled into herself, the sobs tearing free in ragged waves, while Kellen gathered her close, rocking her like he would a wounded child.
Time blurred after that.
They packed in a haze of lists and whispered reminders. Dark dresses. Black suits. Little Lucan’s tiny loafers. Tickets were booked, the car loaded. At the airport, Reva kept sunglasses pressed to her face to hide swollen eyes, the world moving around her in muffled tones as if she were underwater.
The flight was long, the air dry and stale. Reva sat stiff and silent, fingers clutched around a crumpled tissue, Kellen’s steady hand resting over hers the whole way.
By the time they arrived in Georgia, the humid air wrapped around them like a heavy quilt. They drove straight to the old family homestead first, the pecan trees whispering in the breeze, Grand Memaw’s absence as loud as a thunderclap in the silence.
The moment Reva stepped through the double doors of Grand Memaw’s house, the weight of her loss was met with something even heavier—her memories.
As a little girl, Reva had wandered these wide halls in patent leather shoes, her fingers brushing the toile drapes and polished banisters, feeling like royalty in a house that always smelled faintly of roses.
Every corner held hints of her past—Sunday dinners in the formal dining room, summers spent shelling pecans on the breezy back porch, nights curled up by the marble fireplace listening to Grand Memaw’s stories about the land and the people who had built it.
This wasn’t just a home—it was a southern treasure, polished and preserved with the kind of care born from pride and tradition.
The wide foyer welcomed with its gleaming inlaid floors, a grand chandelier sparkling above like a crown of light.
To the left, the formal parlor stood as pristine as ever, with its velvet-upholstered settee, carved tables, and a piano that hadn’t been played in years but stood at attention all the same.
Floral arrangements—fresh white gardenias and sky-blue hyacinths, of course—had been delivered and placed around the room, a nod to the woman who made hospitality an art form.
Her mother met her near the staircase, arms crossed tightly, her expression barely holding together. “She went peacefully, baby,” she said softly, her voice catching. “Didn’t suffer. Just… slipped away in her sleep.”
Reva closed her eyes, tears rising fast. “That’s something, at least,” she whispered.
Her mama gently lifted Lucan from Reva’s arms, cuddling him close and cooing soft, soothing words against his curls before turning to Kellen with a tearful smile and pulling him into a warm embrace.
They stood in silence for a moment before her mother cleared her throat and gestured toward the study. “There’s something you should see. We found a quitclaim deed in her desk. Everything—this house, the farm, the operation—it’s been left solely to you.”
Reva’s breath caught. “To me?” she said, barely above a whisper. “What about the boys?”
Her mother didn’t flinch. “Your brothers are two halves of a broken compass—Quincy, always pushing forward with investments that are often unsound, and Mason, spinning quietly in place, unsure of where he belongs except for his music. Your grandmother knew what she was doing.” Then, more gently, “She left trust funds for them. But she wanted Sunnyside Acres to go to the one person she trusted would carry it forward.”
Reva wasn’t na?ve—she suspected her mother had a hand in all this, pushing Grand Memaw toward a decision that might bring her only daughter back home. She turned toward the office, the old door slightly ajar, the scent of lemon polish and old paper drifting out like an invitation.
She wasn’t sure what her future looked like, but standing in that beautiful old house, hearing the truth wrapped in her mother’s quiet resolve, she realized the decision she’d made to come home, though painful—was the right one.
The day of the funeral dawned sticky and gray, as if even the heavens mourned.
The First Baptist Church—an imposing white-columned building with a steeple that scraped the sky—was already brimming by the time Reva stepped out of the car.
She drew a deep breath, appreciating the scent of magnolias and star jasmine as she and Kellen moved for the wide portico, where townsfolk fanned themselves with folded bulletins, murmuring in low, respectful voices.
Inside, the wooden pews groaned under the sheer number of people. Rosetta Nygard had touched every life in this town it seemed—students she taught in Sunday school, neighbors she nursed through sickness, friends she cooked for when hard times hit. There wasn’t an empty seat to be found.
Gospel music floated from the organ loft, swelling and breaking like the tide. Hymns that Grand Memaw had loved poured out, every note a fresh tear in Reva’s heart.
Reva sat in the front row, flanked by her family.
Her mother, regal even in bereavement, dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Kellen, stone-faced, kept one protective arm around her.
Her two brothers—Quincy in a crisp navy suit, every inch the businessman he aspired to be, and Mason, awkward in a jacket slightly too large—shifted uncomfortably in the pews, sadness etching their faces.
Kellen reached for her hand, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles. But Reva felt barely tethered, her heartache so vast it threatened to pull her under completely.
When the pastor rose to speak—recounting Grand Memaw’s strength, her stubborn faith, her fierce, abiding love for family—Reva bowed her head, hot tears spilling onto the stiff black fabric of her dress.
Eventually, the final hymn swelled through the sanctuary, the organ’s rich notes trembling in the heavy air.
As the last amen was spoken and the congregation rose to their feet, Reva stood too, feeling the hollow ache in her chest deepen.
She turned to gather herself—and that’s when she saw them.
Standing quietly at the back of the church, hands clasped, faces full of love, were Charlie Grace, Lila, and Capri.
Reva’s breath caught, a fresh sob clawing its way up as she made her way to them. “What…what are you doing here?” she managed to croak.
Charlie Grace smiled first, her eyes glistening. “Real friends show up. No invitations needed.”
Lila stepped forward, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve carried us through plenty, Reva. Now it’s our turn.”
Capri, normally the boldest, blinked fast against tears. “Yeah, you didn’t think we’d let you face this without backup, did you?”
The dam inside Reva broke wide open. She surged forward, half-stumbling down the remaining aisle, and into their arms. They folded around her without hesitation, a fortress of friendship, of love.
The heartache of this loss had altered the shape of her life, but it hadn’t stolen everything. People remained who mattered, and they were still here—in the hands that reached for her, the voices that called her name, the quiet certainty that she was loved beyond measure.