A Sinclair Homecoming. Kimberly Van Meter

made a face. “Well, not exactly but she put herself in harm’s way and I need to determine if she’s competent to make decisions for herself. It’s all very sad. The mom is still grieving for her lost daughter, so much so that she’s pushing away her remaining children.”

      “That sucks.”

      “Yes, it does. What do you remember about the Sinclairs? I only knew them peripherally.”

      Mona leaned back and tucked her feet under her as she settled into a more comfortable position on the sofa. “Well, Simone was drop-dead gorgeous. I don’t know of any guy who didn’t have a major crush on her. She was super involved in school and really nice. I mean, some girls who seem to have it all have rotten personalities but Simone was sweet. At least, she was to me. I liked her. We didn’t run in the same circles but, I don’t know, she was never rude to me.”

      “Yeah, I think her sister, Miranda, was in my class and Trace was a class above me but we didn’t know each other. Wade was three years above me. I remember he drove a burgundy Blazer, which I thought was cool.”

      “Hmm...have you met with the family yet?”

      “Yes, I met with the siblings yesterday and the mom today. I feel bad for the family. So broken up with pain from the past. It’s a tragedy.” Sometimes when Morgan talked she felt as if someone else were moving her mouth and she was watching herself from the outside. Here she was talking about the Sinclairs being unable to move on and that was exactly her problem, too. She glanced at her empty glass. Another? Sure, why not? David wasn’t going to pop from the bedroom and stare her down for indulging. She reached for the bottle and poured herself another glass.

      “Are you okay?” Mona asked. “You seem off today.”

      Morgan chuckled. “You worry too much. I’m fine. Just tired.”

      “Should I go?”

      “No, of course not. I love your visits. Helps take my mind off my troubles for the time being.”

      “Well, having a screw-up sister will do that for you.” Mona raised her own glass. “Happy to help.” A companionable silence passed between them until Mona said, “You know I loved David and he was probably the most amazing husband ever but you’re still really young and I hate the idea of you being all alone. I almost wasn’t going to tell you but if you’re interested, I have somebody who might be your type.”

      “I don’t have a type.”

      “Well, he’s kind of like David. He’s too old for me but he might be perfect for you.”

      “Are you saying that I like to date old men?”

      “Of course not. I’m just saying as much as I love a sophisticated man, I’m thinking me and this guy just wouldn’t be a good match.”

      Morgan sighed. She wasn’t ready to date, not yet. Maybe not ever. David had broken something inside her and there was no putting it back together again because she didn’t even know which pieces were missing. The fact that she couldn’t tell anyone—couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone—made it all that much worse.

      To outsiders, she appeared the grieving widow. But her private self was a raging inferno of guilt, shame and yes, even grief. Why did she mourn him? Did she miss him? A little. Before things got really bad, David had been a good husband. It’s just that the bad times had eventually eclipsed the good. By the time she realized she was living in an abusive marriage, she was locked into it. Only Remy knew. To everyone else, David had been a doting husband and pillar of the community. His funeral had been standing-room only, which had shocked her numb. “I appreciate the offer but I’m just not ready to date right now,” she murmured, ready to drop the subject.

      Mona nodded vigorously but there was a desperation to the action that made Morgan wary. “Of course you’re not. I totally understand. David is a hard act to follow. But what would going to dinner hurt? Let me at least tell you about this guy and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

      Morgan sighed, humoring her sister. “All right, tell me about this guy,” she relented. Maybe if she let Mona get it out of her system they could put it to rest.

      “Well, he actually owns the gallery that I just had my showing in. His name is George Founder and he sort of looks like Sean Connery but without the Scottish accent. He’s very distinguished. I think you guys would hit it off.”

      Morgan frowned. George Founder? He had to be at least sixty years old. “I know of George and I think he’s a little old for me.” What was her sister thinking? Did Mona actually think she’d consider a man so much older than she as a romantic possibility? Morgan would’ve been mildly offended if it hadn’t been coming from Mona. “I do like a man who is a fair bit younger than sixty.”

      “But he’s a spry sixty,” Mona insisted. “It’s not as if he’s wheeling around in a wheelchair. Besides, he happened to mention that he’d seen you around and wondered if you would like to go to dinner.”

      She was on the radar of George Founder? She didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed. “He’s not my type,” she said, hoping to put an end to this conversation. “When I’m ready to date I’ll let you know, I promise. But I just can’t right now. Besides, I don’t have time to date. I have so much going on in my life with my job and my clients and putting this house up for sale that I just can’t even think about dating.”

      “You’re selling the house?” Mona asked, surprised.

      Morgan cursed her slip of the tongue. She hadn’t told her family yet that she was listing the house. She couldn’t live in it a single moment longer. It was like a prison, more so than it ever had been when David was alive. His ghost was everywhere and she refused to live in it anymore.

      “This house is gorgeous. It’s probably the nicest house in Homer. Why would you want to sell? Are you having financial problems?” Mona’s faint note of alarm was likely self-centered but Morgan didn’t fault her for it. She ought to let the woman worry a little, though, she thought with a small hint of sisterly pique but instead, she forced a little light laughter to ease Mona’s fear that Morgan’s checkbook might slam shut.

      “Why does there have to be a problem for me to want a change? No, to answer your question. I don’t have financial problems. David made sure that I was taken care of. But if you must know, it’s very hard to live here and not see David around every corner.”

      That was the absolute truth. Except unlike what her sister envisioned, Morgan saw the opposite.

      Sorrow followed as Mona nodded. “You poor thing. I can’t even imagine. Here I was thinking that being in the house would be a comfort but I could see how it could be the opposite. Why didn’t you put the house on the market right after he died?”

      “Good question. I’m not sure. I think I was in shock for a long while and then I thought that having the house would be a comfort but it’s been three years and I realize now that it’s time to make a change. So I’ve listed the house with one of the Realtors here in town but it hasn’t gone live yet, so it’s not on any actual listings.”

      “I’m sure the house will sell. It’s very well taken care of and it’s just beautiful.”

      “Yes, but my Realtor has said that we’re still in a down economy and people aren’t buying high-end homes right now so there’s a possibility that it might sit.”

      “Well, it’s not like you have to be out. You can afford to wait for the right offer, right?”

      Morgan nodded. She didn’t want to wait. She’d be willing to take a loss if she had to. Some nights she was so desperate to be free of this giant monstrosity that she was half tempted to give it away. But if she did that people would start questioning why she was so eager to be free of it. No one knew about that night, not the true events. All anyone knew about were the fictitious events that she’d made up, and she was done with that secret following her around, lurking in the shadows of this cursed house.