Easing the expensive Cadillac Escalade into a section of slightly dampened grass, he took a moment to collect himself. As if he were preparing for another performance, he sucked in deep breaths and slowly allowed them to pass through his slightly parted lips; a technique graciously given to him by Kevin when his constant running wore easily on the older man’s nerves. He had already missed the funeral and, judging by the way the crowd of mourners trudged toward their cars in small clusters, he assumed he had also missed the burial service. He hoped that she would understand. After all, it had been difficult enough just to maneuver a way to get back to his roots while in the process of recording a new album. Management had been less than enthused with his plans, but he would not be deterred. Not after she had been so devastated when she called, each word filled with painful tears as she pleaded for him to come. She had never asked him to sacrifice before, so he made certain that he could fulfill her needs. For once in a long history of friendship.
Adjusting the knot of the sapphire blue tie wrapped around his neck as if he were afraid of being strangled, he stepped out of the vehicle and proceeded through the murmurs of parting family members and friends. Occasional whispers could be heard about the manner in which he died and how the family was suffering. He tried not to let the gossip influence him, keeping his eyes fixed to the damp blades of grass. It was unusual, to say the least, being home in Florida. When he moved to California, he had sworn that he would never come back to touch these familiar grounds with his feet. All that the city had provided him was heartache. But, then, she had called and everything changed. The first girl he had ever shared a bath with as a toddler. The first girl he had taken a bath with as a toddler. The first girl he had ever given a cookie to as a preschooler. The first girl he had defended as a child. The first girl he had made love to as an adolescent. The first girl that had broken his heart as a man, though she had never known it to be so. But, when the mourners gave way to reveal her standing at the closed casket, he found a woman.
Grace Ann Lord… Well, Grace Ann Reynolds since her marriage to Dr. Logan Reynolds four years ago. He could still recall the exuberance in her voice when called him from her dormitory, explaining that she had met a senior destined for medical school. Since she was only seventeen, he figured it would just be a fling and a few weeks later she would call him heartbroken. So, he threw himself into some casual flings himself in hopes to reconcile with her when the time came, but he never did get that phone call.
Throwing himself forward in time, he was forced to recognize that she had loved her husband dearly. And, now, even in her time of desperation she was beautiful. Her long, golden ringlets were weaved into an intricate French braid, only a few fallen curls framing her heart shaped face. One curl fell over her right temple were a faded scar remained from one of their childish excursions as pirates on the seas. A touch of makeup was added to give her color, but he knew that she was hardly a fan of the feminine wiles. Far more comfortable in her own skin than painted illusions. Not that it mattered, because her creamy peach skin was soft as silk underneath his touch. Her eyes were shut, the long lashes covering what he knew to be the most gorgeous pair of emerald eyes he had ever seen. A simple black dress clung to her figure that looked to belong to a teenager, though evidence of her maturity clung to her hand as the other rested against the curve of her hip.
The infamous rugrats. His godchildren to be exact. How they had grown in such a short time since he had last seen them. Photographs and phone calls couldn’t possibly make up for the development he saw now. The eldest boy was four years old now. His usually unruly strawberry blonde curls were swept back from his forehead in a formal fashion, fixed with gel, and not a speck of dirt could be seen on his cherubic face or pressed navy suit. His large, light green eyes looked curiously at the flowers strewn on his father’s casket as he clutched tight to his mother’s hand, finally turning to bury his face within the skirt of her dress. His free hand was tucked into a sling, wrapped in a thick blue plaster cast from the accident. He was quiet. Highly uncommon for the mischievous youngster. And the youngest, a gorgeous little girl made in the image of her mother, rested tiredly against her shoulder. Only a year old, her chubby hand clutched at the neckline of her mother’s dress, bunching it into wrinkles while popping her other thumb into her mouth for a soothing suck. Her platinum curls were growing faster than he had expected, already past her dainty ears, which were. Her doe-like, jade eyes drooped with exhaustion as she turned her face to bury into her mother’s neck.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Sweetheart,” he whispered regretfully, finally stepping beside her and folding his hands in front of him as a sign of respect for the departed. He never would have called the man laying at peace in the bronze casket a friend, but he knew better than to speak ill of him. After all, the man had won her heart fair and square, not that he had ever fought him for the right. He had naturally assumed that she would never leave. Yet, when he met her after her glorified graduation, the man three years her senior holding tight to her hand with a fake, welcoming smile, making a point to gesture toward the glittering ring upon her left hand. The claim of territory officially established and his heart literally broken.
“But you’re here, Nicky, that’s what matters,” she finally whispered, turning into the man who stood beside her, nuzzling his chest as a sob clutched at her throat. Feeling his arms wrap about her in a soothing manner, the tears fell. “I’m so glad you’re finally here.”
