Return to Emmett's Mill. Kimberly Van MeterЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      TASHA GAVE THE LIST in her hand a quick glance as she breezed through the double sliding doors of the small grocery market, intent on finishing the task as quickly as she could. She wasn’t thrilled with doing the grocery shopping, but both her sisters had plans of their own and couldn’t change them.

      Miner Market hadn’t changed much since she was a kid, she noted, going right to the deli counter for her father’s roast beef. In high school, she used to come here with her girlfriends for a hot burrito and a soda, which was often shared among them during lunch. She smiled at the memory and kept moving until she heard her named called.

      “Tasha Simmons! Look at you! Goodness, girl, don’t you age?”

      Tasha stopped and a name filtered into her memory as the brunette woman ran over to her. “Crystal, wow. You look great, too. How are you?” she inquired politely.

      She patted a rounded stomach and beamed. “Can’t complain. Number three right here. Another boy. Jack said pretty soon we’ll have our own basketball team at the rate we’re going. Any kids for you?”

      “Uh, no,” she answered, struggling to keep her expression pleasantly bland, ignoring the void she felt in her heart. “Not yet.” Probably never. She lifted her basket. “Well, good to see you. I’d better get to this list or Natalie will kill me.”

      Crystal nodded and moved her cart as if to leave but stopped as a sudden thought occurred to her. “I heard Josh’s in town, too. Have you seen him?”

      “Actually, yes, he came to my mother’s funeral.”

      Crystal’s expression lost some of its sparkle. “Oh, that’s right. She was such an awesome woman,” she said, resting her hand on her belly. “You let me know if you guys need anything. Anything at all.”

      Tasha accepted Crystal’s offer with a nod but knew she wouldn’t call.

      She detoured down the bread aisle when she saw someone else she’d gone to school with and exhaled softly in relief when she didn’t hear her name called at her back.

      For a fleeting, selfish moment, she wished she was already back in Belize, away from the groups of well-meaning folk who had no idea why she wasn’t in the mood to reminisce.

      Her coworkers knew she treasured her private time, and since she’d never established herself as the social type, they left her to it.

      She drew a deep breath against the sudden tightness in her chest and looked down at the few items she’d managed to grab and groaned. The list was a page long. How much food could one old man eat? She had a sneaking suspicion Natalie had loaded the list in the hopes that she’d run into a friend or two. She sighed. Her sister wasn’t as sly as she thought. Tasha’s problem wasn’t Emmett’s Mill or the people; it was the memory. She’d seen countless counselors, psychiatrists and even a shaman or two in the hopes of dealing with that one incident, but her own brand of therapy prescribed avoidance. And it worked. She didn’t see the point of messing with a method that wasn’t broken.

      Almost finished and grumbling under her breath about retribution, she rounded the corner and almost swallowed her tongue when she came face-to-face with someone she’d hoped to never see again.

      Diane Lewis, Bronson’s wife, stood not more than four feet in front of her, an uncomfortable expression on her pinched face. For a paralyzing moment, Tasha thought Diane knew what had happened, but when she calmed, she realized Bronson would never have admitted his guilt. Still, Diane’s reaction to her wasn’t kind, which made her wonder what story Bronson had given for her sudden departure.

      “Hello, Diane,” she ventured, offering a smile.

      “Natasha.” Diane returned with her given name instead of the shortened version everyone else used. “You look well.”

      “Thank you.” She struggled to find neutral ground but her insides were trembling. A condolence was in order for Bronson’s death but she couldn’t find the words. When Natalie wrote to tell her, Tasha had read the letter multiple times and crumpled it to her chest as she allowed grim satisfaction to roll through her. It wasn’t right, certainly wasn’t Christian-like, but she hoped he rotted in hell. And it wasn’t something she could tell his wife. Diane solved the dilemma by speaking again first.

      “I heard about your mother. Give Gerald my best.”

      Tasha nodded, and Diane, stiff-backed and elegantly coiffed, kept moving. It was several moments before Tasha could breathe without great effort. Wiping at her eyes, she glanced quickly to see if anyone had caught the uncomfortable exchange. Once satisfied she’d suffered alone, she hastened for the checkout lane.

      TASHA RETURNED TO HER dad’s place and heard her sisters’ voices, one raised and one exasperated.

      “What’s going on?” she asked, and placed the groceries on the kitchen counter. Nora immediately crossed her arms and sent a stony look her way, while Natalie simply exhaled, the breath lifting her bangs as frustration laced her features. “What now?” She followed her sister’s gaze outside. Their father was on the porch swing without benefit of a jacket or sweater and the wind was kicking up. “What’s he doing? It’s freezing. Someone needs to get him to come inside.”

      “What a novel idea. Why didn’t we think of that?” Nora quipped sarcastically, continuing with a snort. “Like we haven’t already tried. He won’t budge. It’s like he’s gone crazy or something.”

      “Cut him some slack. He just lost his wife,” Tasha reminded her sister sharply, and moved past them. What was Nora’s problem? Everyone in the family was hurting. Was it asking too much for her to be a little more sensitive? Bracing herself against the cold, she stalked out the side door to the porch swing, still annoyed at Nora for her callousness but not quite sure what to say to her father. They’d pretty much avoided each other since she returned, and while it hurt to be treated like the plague, she didn’t have the courage to push it.

      As she came closer she saw his eyes were bloodshot and softly swollen from tears, and her heart stuttered. She slowed her step and gingerly sat beside him.

      “Dad?” She tried to discern what he was looking at, but she saw nothing except pine trees and bracken. She turned to him. “What’s going on? You need to come inside. It’s too cold.”

      His bottom lip, blue from the frigid mountain air, trembled as if he were about to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, he lifted his chin just a bit higher as he focused on a point just beyond the pines.

      She tried again, ignoring the goose bumps rioting across any exposed skin and the rush of memories that threatened to rob her of her ability to speak coherently. Once, this man had been her hero. Until the day he failed her when she needed him the most. Not the time. Focus on the now before the man froze to death. “Dad, please come inside. Natalie’s made your favorite for dinner. Meat loaf, I think.”

      “Not hungry,” he retorted hoarsely.

      Stubborn man. “What are you doing? Trying to die of exposure? Don’t be like this. Mom’s gone. We don’t need to lose our father in the same week because he was too foolish to come in before a storm.”

      “Don’t talk to me about losing your mom,” he said, startling her with his sharp, angry rasp. His mouth tightened and his hand trembled as he lifted it to wipe away a sudden glint in his eye. “You weren’t here when she needed you. You don’t know