sheets and bedspread.
As they stepped outside and Daddy carefully closed the front door, the night air cooled her face and her bare toes.
A hoot owl called from the trees, and a doggy barked in someone else’s yard.
“It’s cold, Daddy. And it’s dark.”
“Everything is going to be just fine, honey. You wait and see.” Daddy carried her for a while, down the driveway and to the street, where he’d parked his truck.
The engine was running, and the heater made it all warm and cozy.
“I have a pillow and blanket for you,” he told her. “Why don’t you try and go back to sleep. We have a long drive ahead.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she crawled across the seat.
“To a happy place,” he told her as he climbed into the pickup and closed the door.
Priscilla looked over her shoulder and out the back window. She could hardly see the house, until a light went on in the upstairs window.
“Where’s Mama?” she asked. “Why isn’t she going with us?”
“Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll call her in the morning and you can talk to her.”
They drove all that night and the next day, but they never did stop and call Mama.
And they didn’t talk about her anymore either.
Chapter One
Twenty-two years later
Priscilla Richards wasn’t in the party spirit, but she held a full glass of champagne and went through the social motions—the feigned smiles, the required chitchat.
Outside, the night was bright and clear. Inside, the penthouse was elegant, the decor festive.
Byron Van Zandt, an investment banker, had spared no expense in throwing a first-class celebration for his daughter Sylvia’s recent promotion. He’d even hired a violinist through the philharmonic. So it wasn’t any wonder that the mood of those in attendance was upbeat.
Well, not everyone’s.
Priscilla was ready to thank her host and go home.
But not because she wasn’t happy for the young woman of honor.
She and Sylvia had met at Brown University, where they’d both graduated with a master’s degree in literary arts. Then they’d landed dream jobs at Sunshine Valley Books, a small but growing publisher that specialized in children’s literature.
Being colleagues had only deepened their friendship, so there was no way Priscilla would have made an excuse to stay home, where she’d prefer to be.
She just wished she could be more enthusiastic for her best friend’s sake.
“Hey,” Sylvia said, making her way to Priscilla’s side with a half-filled flute of champagne. “You’re finally here!”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Priscilla managed a weak but sincere smile. “Congratulations on the promotion.”
Sylvia, with her dark hair cropped in a short but stylish cut, nodded toward Priscilla’s full glass. “I hope that’s not your first.”
It was, so she nodded.
“Drink up, Pris. You can crash here. No need to worry about going back to Brooklyn tonight.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I need to get home. In fact, I’m going to cut out early.”
Sylvia drew closer and studied Priscilla intently. “You know, I’m starting to worry about you.”
“I’ll be okay. Really.”
Apparently Sylvia wasn’t convinced, because she crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg. “I know you adored your father, Pris. And it’s normal to grieve. But I hate to see you so down. Maybe you ought to talk to a doctor and get some medication. Or better yet, why don’t you make an appointment with a professional, like a minister or a counselor?”
It wasn’t grief that had knocked her for a loop.
Priscilla placed an arm around Sylvia and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for the advice. But all I really need to do is bite the bullet and go through my dad’s belongings. I’ll be fine after that.”
“Does that mean you’ll be returning to work soon? Ever since you took that leave of absence, I haven’t had anyone to gossip with. And right now I think the new receptionist is sleeping with Larry in Marketing.”
“Syl, you never gossip.”
“Only with you.” Sylvia took a sip of champagne. “So when are you coming back to work?”
Up until last night, Priscilla had planned to go into the office on Monday morning.
Now she wasn’t so sure. “I may need to request another week or so.”
Sylvia clucked her tongue. “Aw, Pris. Come stay with me for a while. You’ve been cooped up in that brownstone for months and need a change of scenery. We can make fudge and eat ice cream, which always makes me feel better. And we’ll pull out my entire collection of Hugh Grant DVDs.”
“Thanks, Syl. Let me take care of a few things and I’ll take you up on it. But no more Hugh Grant movies.”
“How about Mel Gibson?”
“Only if he’s wearing a white cowboy hat and boots. I’m leaning toward the John Wayne type.” Someone who didn’t remind her of her father.
“Mmm. Mel in a cowboy hat. I’ll see what I can do.” Sylvia chuckled, then changed to a serious tone. “Can’t you wait and go through your dad’s belongings in a couple of weeks?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Priscilla’s curiosity was fast becoming a compulsion to find answers to the questions she’d had. Questions she’d been afraid to voice.
“Well,” Sylvia said, “it must be a relief to know your father isn’t suffering anymore.”
The last few months, as cancer had racked his body, Priscilla had taken time off work to care for him. It had been a drain to see him waste away, to know how much pain he’d suffered.
“You’re right, Syl. He’s in a better place.”
“And there’s another upside,” her friend added. “He’s with your mom now.”
Priscilla nodded. It hadn’t been any big secret that Clinton Richards had been devastated after losing his wife more than twenty years ago. And rather than look for another woman to love, he’d devoted his life to his daughter, to her happiness and well-being. In fact, when Priscilla had been accepted to Brown University, he’d moved to Providence, Rhode Island, just to be close to her. And when she’d landed the job
