A Sinclair Homecoming. Kimberly Van Meter

      “Melinda, such a pleasure to meet you. Grab a cookie and a seat. The circle will start in five minutes.”

      “Sounds good,” Morgan said, but knew she wouldn’t stay in spite of her best intentions the moment the fake name had slipped from her lips. She’d hoped that by making the commitment to drive all the way to Anchorage, she’d find the courage to cry in front of strangers, but when push came to shove, she couldn’t. And as more time went on, how could she explain that she couldn’t talk about the death of her husband without talking about that other thing that had happened, too?

      “Melinda, are you coming?” Cora waved her over from the gathering circle of people as they took their seats, and Morgan nodded and waved but began backing toward the exit.

      “I’ll be right there after I visit the ladies’ room,” she answered with a bright, entirely false smile. As soon as Cora turned away, Morgan booked it out of there with her heart pounding and her palms sweating. She didn’t feel halfway normal again until she’d put Anchorage miles behind her.

      “Epic fail,” she muttered, borrowing a phrase from her younger clients. And embarrassing. An instant replay bloomed in her mind and she cringed. Why couldn’t she do this? Why couldn’t she sit in that damn chair and tell her story? Share her grief? Because staying silent was easier, less painful and less messy than letting it all out. She didn’t have time to grieve any longer. Her client list was long and her practice well-established. Morgan O’Hare was a respectable authority on mental health. She’d even written a book on the subject! And she was a damn hypocrite.

      Morgan managed to make it home in time for her favorite show, and after wiping off her makeup and twisting her hair in a ponytail she settled into her late husband’s recliner and clicked on the television. Let the good times roll, she thought with a sigh, wondering if there would ever come a time when she didn’t feel like a fraud living someone else’s life.

      Not likely if she couldn’t get past this. David died three years ago.

      She wasn’t sure which stage of grief she was stuck in because she jumped between all the stages like a child playing hopscotch. Sometimes she was hurt; other times she was angry.

      No, angry wasn’t a strong enough word.

      She was enraged.

      But she couldn’t show that side of her grief. People understood her tears; they wouldn’t understand her rage.

      Morgan rose abruptly and padded into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and reached for the wine but then stopped. David’s favorite brand of pinot grigio awaited her as it always did but she wanted a beer. In the early days of their marriage, David had lightly chastised her penchant for beer as low-class and had endeavored to educate her palate. She supposed he’d succeeded for she dutifully drank the finest wines and could appropriately pair wines with their courses. But she really still preferred a cold beer.

      Her daddy had always said he couldn’t trust a man who wouldn’t share a beer with him.

      Suffice to say, Daddy and David hadn’t been the best of friends.

      Maybe her daddy had seen something she’d completely missed because she’d had hearts in her eyes.

      “I wish I’d listened, Daddy,” Morgan murmured as she grabbed a beer by the neck and pulled it from the fridge. With two twists, she’d cracked the top and took a deep swig. “What do you think of that, David?” she asked to the empty kitchen. Nothing but silence answered. Great. She ought to get a cat if she was going to start having conversations with people who weren’t there.

      People thought she didn’t date because she was afraid no one would be like David. Morgan always smiled and nodded, letting them go on thinking that.

      The real truth? Morgan was afraid she’d find someone just like him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      WADE WAS DEEP in a meeting with the local county’s Native American leaders about passes for the indigenous people when his cell phone went off.

      “Sorry about that,” he murmured, chagrined at having forgotten to turn it to silent for the meeting. As he went to send the call to voice mail, he saw it was his sister, Miranda. Ordinarily, he would’ve ignored the call with the intent to call her back later but given everything that’d been going on lately with his family, he excused himself, saying, “I’m very sorry but I think I should take this call. I should only be about five minutes. Help yourself to a doughnut and some coffee.” He ducked out of the conference room at the tribal center and into the hallway to answer. “Hello?”

      “Wade, it’s Miranda...something terrible has happened and you need to come home right away.” Before he could launch a response, she said, “Mom’s in the hospital.”

      “What happened?”

      “She had a heart attack. The doctors were able to stabilize her but she’s already had surgery to have two stents put in. But it gets worse...because the first responders couldn’t get to her quickly, the heart muscle was damaged.”

      “Why couldn’t the paramedics get to her?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. “Are the roads bad?”

      “No, she was in that damn wreck of a house again and it was sheer dumb luck that she was able to call 911. But the paramedics could barely get inside the house and get to her.”

      Wade remained silent for a moment as Trace’s conversation came back to him. He hadn’t actually believed his brother when he’d said their mom was a hoarder. Could it really be that bad? Surely not as bad as those people on that TLC show. But if the paramedics couldn’t get to her...the evidence seemed pretty damning. His gut ached as the realization hit that he couldn’t put off a trip home. “I’ll check the flights,” he said, the words slow to fall from his mouth. “Can you meet me at the airport?”

      “Yeah,” she agreed, pausing to add, “we really needed you sooner. This is a worst-case scenario that I was hoping to avoid. I mean, there was no way of knowing that Mom was going to have a heart attack, but I had a feeling something bad was going to happen in that house with the way that it is.”

      “Okay, I’m coming home,” Wade muttered, guilt causing irritation to leach into his tone. Did his sister have to pound it into his head that he should’ve taken her concerns more seriously? He got it. Move on. “I’ll text you my flight information as I get it.”

      “Okay,” she said, bristling a little. “Don’t get pissy with me just because you’re inconvenienced. You were raised better than that. You’re the big brother. Time to act like it.”

      Now his little sister was schooling him? The day just kept getting better and better. “That’s unnecessary. Are you finished?”

      “Yes.”

      “Okay. Text me if Mom’s condition worsens. I will text you with my flight information. Bye.” He clicked off without waiting for Miranda’s response. He wasn’t about to trade words about his so-called lack of familial responsibility with either of his siblings. He had better things to do. He returned to the meeting with another brisk smile of apology and discussions continued around him but he had a hard time concentrating. He made appropriate responses but was glad when the meeting was over. After a few handshakes and exchanged pleasantries, Wade made a hasty exit straight to his office to book a flight.

      * * *

      MIRANDA TOSSED HER phone into her purse and tried to rein in her temper. Wade had balls the size of an elephant to be acting pissy with her after they’d tried and tried to get him to come home and help with their parents’ situation. Well, Mr. Big Shot, time to cancel that tee time because you’re needed at home. Tough titty. She didn’t feel bad for him one iota.

      Jeremiah entered the room just as she’d emitted a short growl of frustration and he frowned. “Everything okay?”

      “No, everything is not okay. They are far from