So much more than two words could convey. He was sorry for the way her life had been turned upside down, sorry for the grief she felt and sorry that he’d killed any chance of a friendship with one stupid decision.
And friendship was all he hoped for. Dennis had told him about Andi’s divorce, but other than a brief reference to her husband cheating on her, he hadn’t given any details. All Bryce knew was she’d taken it hard. And she had walls around her heart a mile thick.
Dennis hadn’t had to tell him the last part. He’d felt them for the past two days. And he didn’t have what it took to break them down. A few months ago, maybe. Before he’d expended every bit of emotional energy he had on a relationship, only to have it crash and burn in the end.
A rain-scented gust whipped through, sending a shower of dried leaves down around them. Andi turned away from the well. “If I want to make my trip on dry roads, I’d better get going.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“I’m already loaded and locked up. I just wanted to come out here before I left.”
He fell into step beside her. “Any idea when you’ll be back?”
“Not for a while.”
They crossed the small yard, then continued along the side of the house. A piece of fascia on the gable end had worked its way loose, and the wood siding needed a fresh finish. If Andi wanted to sell the place, she’d need to have some work done. Or maybe she’d keep it as a weekend getaway.
Not likely. If she’d “gotten away” anytime over the past twelve years, it hadn’t been to Murphy.
He stopped in the driveway to stand next to the Escalade. “Until you decide whether to sell, I’m happy to continue keeping an eye on things. I’m sure it’ll take time to settle the estate.”
“Settling the estate will be the easy part.” She leaned against the SUV, her brows dipping to form creases above her nose. “My dad added me to all their assets just two months ago. I didn’t question it at the time. He’s always been a planner. My parents have had wills as long as I can remember. But maybe this was more than good planning. Maybe he was putting his affairs in order for a reason.”
She opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat, shoulders hunched. “I should have asked him some questions.”
“You tried. He wouldn’t talk.”
“He was going to talk to you.”
“Then apparently changed his mind.”
She nodded. “He buried it deep.”
He lifted a brow.
“Last night, I picked up a book he had sitting on his nightstand. A piece of paper was sticking out of it. He’d written, ‘When a secret is too heavy to keep, it’s always best to bury it deep.’”
He frowned. “That secret is probably what he was going to talk to me about.”
“Instead, he decided to stuff it down and hold it inside. Whatever his secret was, he took it with him when he drove off the mountain.” She put the key into the ignition and cranked the engine.
He stepped back, ready to close her door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Actually, he probably wouldn’t. He’d be there, but so would half of Atlanta. He’d never been to their home church, but according to Andi, it was huge. As well connected as they’d been, it would be packed.
He’d never been crazy about big churches. Actually, he’d never been crazy about church, period. Not that he was a stranger. His mom and grandparents were what some called “Chreasters”—they attended on Christmas and Easter.
Andi’s family had gone every Sunday, even while in Murphy. The church here was different from what they were used to, with a congregation of less than a hundred that met in a small building off the four-lane highway.
Bryce had usually gone with them. At that time, he’d needed it. He’d had lots of mischievousness to atone for. Now he was a law-abiding citizen, serving the people of Cherokee County. At thirty years old, his good deeds far outweighed the bad he’d done as an adolescent and young teen.
He closed Andi’s door, then watched her head up the drive. If she kept the property, she’d have to visit occasionally, even with him checking on the place. It wouldn’t make sense to keep up the taxes, insurance and utilities otherwise.
Of course, she could afford it. For the Wheaton family, money had never been an issue. Between her parents’ wealth and what her husband made, Mrs. Wheaton had never had to work. Bryce’s own mother had held a nine-to-five job in a local insurance company.
While Andi had lived in the Wheaton mansion in an exclusive Atlanta neighborhood, he and his mom had stayed with his grandparents. And during Andi’s vacations to places like Switzerland, Ireland and Paris, his family had visited relatives or camped at Deep Creek.
But Andi had never let the difference in social status get in the way of their relationship. Ultimately, he had. He’d let his own insecurities push him into throwing away something special and had regretted it ever since.
He wasn’t holding out unrealistic hopes of reclaiming what they’d had so long ago. There was too much water under the bridge. They were both different people now.
But if she had plans to keep the property, he hoped they could develop an amicable friendship.
Judging from her coolness toward him, maybe even that was out of reach.
* * *
The large canopy cast a shadow over those sitting beneath. Andrea occupied a chair in the front row, back straight and stiff and hands clutched in her lap. An aunt and uncle sat on either side of her. More relatives occupied the dozen or so other chairs, and numerous mourners hovered around in a loosely packed semicircle. Metal framework suspended two caskets over freshly dug graves, the pastor standing between. The sun shone from a cloudless blue sky, and nearby, squirrels chased one another up a tree.
Andrea released a sigh. The perfection of the weather mocked her own dark mood. The sad, angry skies she’d driven home under yesterday would have been more appropriate.
The pastor finished reading the twenty-third Psalm, and Andrea’s uncle squeezed her shoulder. He’d kept his arm over the back of her chair, offering silent gestures of comfort. She appreciated it but didn’t need it. She’d managed to sit stoically throughout the entire funeral and graveside service. She’d do her grieving in private.
After a final prayer, Andrea stood, pulling her coat more tightly around her. Yesterday’s rain had brought colder temperatures, and she was having difficulty shaking the chill. As she stepped into the sunshine, a man in a suit made his way through the crowd toward her. His hairline had receded, and the salt had overtaken the pepper, but other than that, he looked the same as he had twelve years ago. He’d pastored the church all through her teenage years.
“Pastor Pierce.” She shook his hand, a wave of guilt passing through her. Did he know she hadn’t darkened the door of a church since she left for college?
It wasn’t that she had anything against attending. Her
