Return to Emmett's Mill. Kimberly Meter Van

      “Forget it. It’s nothing I want to talk about.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing her words were inadequate.

      “What’s done is done,” he said. Their eyes met again, and Tasha was tempted to look away for fear of catching something else that he hadn’t meant to share, but she couldn’t. Her heart fluttered but she held his gaze, wondering how he managed to affect her after all these years. It was heady and frightening. And it made her question whether or not he shared her ability and could read the confusion she felt. Shaking his head, Josh broke the spell, and when he spoke again, at least the sarcasm was gone. “Everything happens for a reason, right?”

      “That’s what some people believe.”

      “You don’t?” he said, catching what she didn’t say.

      “No.” She left it at that and he didn’t press.

      “Well, I’m one of those people, because if hooking up with Carrie was good for only one thing, I got it, and that’s my son.”

      Son? An overwhelming sense of self-pity filled her. “You have a son?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay light and politely interested when she felt cheated of something that never truly belonged to her in the first place. “What’s his name?”

      “Christopher,” he answered. “He’s fourteen.”

      “Just one?” she asked, remembering a distant conversation held between two young lovers seeking shelter from a summer storm in an abandoned hay barn. Back then, he’d boasted of wanting a houseful of Halvorsen sons and daughters.

      “Just one,” he confirmed, though there was regret in his voice. “Carrie had problems with her pregnancy and we didn’t want to risk it.”

      “That was smart,” Tasha said.

      “Yeah, well, it helped that Carrie wasn’t interested in more kids, anyway. She said one was enough, and since it was so hard for her, I agreed.” He turned to her, a speculative light in his eyes as he abruptly switched subjects. “So, what have you been up to all this time? I heard something about the Peace Corps? That’s intense. I always knew you’d do great things. Seems I wasn’t wrong.”

      The proud statement, touched with wistfulness, made her stomach flop in an uncomfortable manner. She didn’t deserve his praise, or anyone else’s for that matter. She enjoyed her work—it gave her a measure of peace knowing she was helping others to lead a better life—but her motivation hadn’t been grounded in humanitarian reasons. It had simply been the fastest and easiest way to escape the nightmares, the guilt and the questions. The fact that it had turned out to be something she could embrace without reservation was just a perk.

      “Anyone can join the Peace Corps. It’s not an exclusive club or anything. You just have to want to help people,” she said, suddenly hating that her life had been shattered before she’d had the chance to actually live it. Surprised by the odd burst of rancor, she covered with a light laugh, adding with false brevity, “Oh, and not have a phobia for really big bugs. And snakes. The jungle is full of them. Most are harmless, the bugs that is, and even edible. Many indigenous tribes find grubs delicious. I’ve even tried a few,” she admitted with a blush. “Some taste like popcorn when roasted over an open fire.”

      “Popcorn?”

      “Well, sort of. I don’t think they’re going to replace Orville Redenbacher anytime soon, but they’re…crunchy and full of protein.”

      He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a loud guffaw that took her by surprise. At first she felt defensive, but once she realized he wasn’t laughing at her but rather at the very odd conversation turn, she joined him. Wiping at her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry…that was a really weird thing to say at a wake….”

      “Hey, no need to apologize. I totally understand.” The warmth of his voice told her somehow he did understand and she relaxed for the first time since touching down in California. She missed this feeling and it was tempting to sink into it, but she knew it was created out of extreme circumstances. What they’d had was gone. She wasn’t foolish enough to hope that they could ever recreate what they’d both destroyed.

      The splash of reality drowned the good feelings she’d been enjoying and brought her back to earth.

      He’d married Carrie, and Tasha had run away, afraid of what people would say, think or feel when they found out what had happened to Emmett’s Mill’s sweetheart. An even worse thought would’ve been if they didn’t believe her.

      Her own father hadn’t. Why would anyone else?

      It’d been easier to run. And, as she sat beside Josh, she realized she’d never truly stopped running.

      He didn’t know what happened that night; he’d already left Emmett’s Mill with Carrie to start a new life without her.

      Even so, she’d cried his name into her pillow, wishing for his strong arms to calm her quaking body and chase away the nightmares that came every night, no matter how hard she pushed herself, hoping for oblivion.

      But that was long ago and she was a different person now.

      And she would die before she ever divulged to anyone, much less Josh, what had happened to her.

       CHAPTER THREE

      TASHA HELPED CLEAR DISHES with her sisters, her mind a jumbled mess, happy to avoid conversation with her father, though a surreptitious glance in his direction where he sat stone-faced and bereft should’ve told her he was in no shape to resurrect old arguments. For that matter, neither was she.

      “I think that went fairly well,” Natalie said, loading the dishwasher while Tasha hand washed what wouldn’t fit.

      “As well as a wake can go, I suppose,” she murmured, pausing to rub wearily at her left eye with her wrist and sneaking another glance at her father.

      “Where did such a weird custom start, anyway? Bringing food to a bunch of grieving people. Stupid, if you ask me,” Nora said, mostly to Natalie, who to her credit only reacted with a long-suffering look. “I, for one, didn’t feel like chowing down after my mother’s funeral. Morbid. Simply morbid.”

      The last words were delivered as she stalked from the room to gather the rest of the leftovers, and Tasha was glad for the respite. She hadn’t remembered Nora being such a hothead.

      “You sure you don’t mind hand washing?” Natalie asked, drawing her attention.

      “I can do this in my sleep. No dishwashers where I’m stationed,” she answered with a sigh, placing the cleaned pot on the dish rack and proceeding to the next. “Besides, it feels good to do something. Makes me feel useful.”

      “You were a big help today,” Natalie said, brooking an amused smile on her part. Nat was always trying to make everyone feel better. Tasha accepted the compliment and finished with the dishes. Silence stretched between them and Tasha tumbled into an odd funk that probably had more to do with her jet lag than her grief, as the true measure of that emotion hadn’t quite hit her yet.

      Her two younger sisters had grown into strong, capable women while she was away. Not that she’d doubted they would, but Nora was still in high school and Natalie was in her sophomore year at UC Davis when she left, and Tasha hadn’t been thinking about the future, theirs or her own. She’d run away with little thought to anything but escape, and while she’d been running, time had kept moving. She stole a glance at her sister and withheld the bitter sigh trapped in her chest with the rest of the terrible and awful things she kept hidden away.

      A tear slid down her nose before she could stop it, and a wave of sorrow threatened to knock the strength out of her legs. Bracing herself against the sink, she prayed for the ability to get through this moment before Natalie noticed the breakdown that was surely heading her way. Breathe. Just breathe. But a sob caught in her throat and an ugly