Adventures In Parenthood. Dawn Atkins

so young.”

      “At least we were nearly adults. The twins are so little.” Her eyes stung, but she refused to crumble like she had on the porch. It was strange. They hardly knew each other, but they’d been forced into an intense intimacy.

      “I hope Ginger and Sienna will get closer, too,” Dixon said.

      “I’m sure they will. And they have you and me, too. And your mother.”

      “She doesn’t visit much.”

      Brianna had told her as much. “Actually, the last time I talked to her, Brianna said she wanted to look for our father’s relatives. He was estranged from his family.”

      “Do you want that?”

      “If the girls have more relatives, it would be good for them.”

      “It would,” Dixon said.

      “Maybe I’ll see what I can find. Later on...after we get past all this.”

      “Sure.”

      Standing so close, she couldn’t help but respond to how male he was—broad and strong, with straight, square features. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his chambray shirt, revealing muscular forearms. There was something sexy about that look.

      Dixon was sexy, period.

      For one second, she wanted to reach for him, go to bed with him, stop fighting so hard to keep her head above the waves of grief that threatened to engulf her. He would be her life raft. She would be his.

      A soft sound escaped her lips. Dixon’s breath hitched and twin candle flames lit in his dark eyes, just as they had that night in Mexico.

      When the band had quit playing, she’d kicked off her heels, grabbed Dixon’s hand and snatched a nearly full bottle of good champagne on the way to the beach, running, laughing, feeling lighter than air....

      Now Dixon’s breathing shifted, he tilted his mouth closer.

      Why not?

      They could open up a sliver of time to escape, to hide out in each other’s arms.

      “We have things to discuss,” Dixon said, flipping the switch, making them both blink in the sudden harsh light of reality.

      It took her a second to adjust, but she knew he was right. This was no time to escape. “Let me put away my things, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

      She rolled her bag down the hall. Stepping into the room was almost too much for her. The space was full of Brianna’s happy energy, and it smelled of her perfume—Joyful, a perfect word for her sister. Every surface held framed photos of the couple and their girls.

      She remembered Brianna showing her the room, gleefully dancing from item to item—the curtains and pillows she’d made, the antique bureau she’d refinished to match the headboard. She’d been so proud, so happy.

      How can you sleep here, with Brianna’s lost happiness swirling like smoke, burning your eyes and searing your throat?

      Aubrey braced herself against the bureau, closed her eyes and silently recited her mantra: you are stronger than you know. Trust your training. Trust your will. Trust your courage. The only obstacles are your own doubt and fear. Conquer yourself and you conquer all.

      After a beat and a breath, strength poured through her. It worked. It always worked, and it always surprised her.

      Fix this. First, the pictures. One by one, she turned them facedown. Next, the sheets. She got fresh ones from the hall linen closet and remade the bed. Finally, she misted the air with her own spicy cologne, overriding her sister’s airier scent.

      Whew. Better. It’s just a room now, not Brianna’s cozy nest.

      She gave the bathroom the same treatment, placing Brianna’s hair stuff under the sink and claiming the space with her own toiletries.

      After that, she splashed water on her face and pulled her hair into the ponytail she wore for physical challenges. That seemed right. This was the biggest challenge of her life—coping with Brianna’s death and deciding what was best for the girls. With a last calming breath, she went to meet Dixon.

      He was on the couch working on his laptop. When he saw her, he set the computer on the table and stood. “You all right?” he asked, searching her face so closely she felt...exposed.

      “I’m fine.” She ducked his gaze and went to sit on the sofa. Rafe had given her space, at least. Of course, they’d rarely spent quiet time together. They were always doing something outdoors—kayaking, hiking, skiing or diving.

      Dixon sat beside her, legs angled toward her, watching her face. She guessed you could get used to so much attention. It was like he really cared about her. It was probably just his way. He likely read the backs of cereal boxes, too.

      “It’s all set with the Reno funeral people,” he said. “They’ll fly them to Phoenix tomorrow.”

      “That’s good. How did you even know what to do?”

      “A social worker at the hospital explained the procedure. It was mostly a blur. We’re due at the mortuary at nine to choose flowers and the casket and all. Just now, I called our minister and we’ll meet him at the church after that to plan the funeral.”

      Flowers...casket...funeral. The words echoed in her head.

      “We’re supposed to post the obituaries on the mortuary website so people can write their condolences. We’ll need to choose photos.”

      “Photos...right.” She had to write her sister’s obituary. Obituaries were for old people, not young mothers.

      “I figure we’ll have the funeral on Saturday.”

      “Saturday...? Wait... What about the anniversary party? We have to tell people!” She started to get up.

      “It’s done. I had Brianna’s friend Rachel call everyone. We already had caterers coming. It seemed smart to use them. We’ll take the words off the cake—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw muscle twitching, clearly struggling against sadness.

      “That’s very...practical.” What else could she say? “Plus everyone was already planning to come.” She gulped. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

      “Me, neither. Believe me. My mother should be able to get here by Saturday. She’s on a cruise. I had to leave word for her.”

      “Will she want to stay here?”

      “She prefers hotels, which is better for all of us. I love her, but there’s always drama and it’s always about her.” Aubrey had enjoyed Lorraine at the wedding. She was lively and funny and full of stories.

      “Is there anyone else we should notify?”

      “She’ll get the word to our father. If we’re lucky, he’ll send a card. We don’t know any of his relatives.” Anger and hurt flared in his eyes. “Mom’s mother died three years ago. Grandpa’s in an assisted living place with dementia. There are cousins we don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everyone who needs to know knows. The rest can read it in the paper.”

      “You’ve done a lot.” She’d barely accepted the news, and Dixon had been making arrangements. “I feel bad this has been on your shoulders.”

      “I had a couple hours’ head start. You’re here now. We’ll do the rest together.”

      “Right. So we have to pick photos and write the obituaries...” she repeated, trying to get up to speed, to contribute to the process. “What else?”

      “Decide the music and who should speak and in what order.” He studied her face. “You look dead-tired. We can go over all the funeral stuff tomorrow.”

      “Sounds good. It’s mostly jet lag,” she said. “I flew in from Norway early this morning for a meeting in L.A., then drove