withdraw a little. Tim’s three sisters were all moms now that Danae and Dallas were raising the two little boys of an incarcerated woman. Since Tim’s death, she’d swung between relief that he hadn’t left her with a child to raise on her own and grief that she’d never gotten to fulfill her dream of having his babies. At twenty-eight and with no prospects for a husband, she definitely saw her chances of ever having a family slipping away.
Some of her friends thought she was crazy to have kept such close ties to Tim’s family. And maybe it was a little unusual. But it wasn’t as if their marriage had ended in a messy divorce. After Tim was killed in Afghanistan, his family had kept her sane. They alone knew the man she mourned as well as she did. Knew he’d been a hero in so many ways—not just as a Marine killed in the line of duty.
And as Audrey had told her more than once, the Whitman family’s grief was doubled by the thought of losing Bree. “You’ll never lose me,” she’d promised Audrey. They were words easily spoken in the throes of grief. But sometimes she wondered if it was a promise she could keep.
Until recently, she’d been content to still be considered a part of the Whitman clan. To sit with Grant and Audrey and CeeCee in church most Sunday mornings, to feel that she fit in at their Tuesday night dinners, and that she was welcome—more than welcome—to come around any time she needed a dose of family. To feel close to Tim, the way she always had at the house on Chicory Lane.
But the winds were shifting. She felt it more each week. And she wasn’t sure if it was her, or if it was Tim’s family who was pulling away. If they were, it wasn’t intentional. She knew that. But their lives had all gone forward, while more and more, when the Whitmans gathered, she felt like the odd man out.
She loved this family with all her heart. She still considered them her family and knew they loved her like their own daughter and sister. Yet with every new grandchild who entered the Whitman family, she felt her place—her purpose—in the family diminished. They were getting married, having babies. And she was stuck. Stuck in love with a man she could never have again. At least not on this side of heaven. She was in a holding pattern that would be painful to come out of, no matter how it came about.
Maybe that was why she’d agreed to go to the movies with Aaron. Maybe it was a way to ease into the—
“Isn’t that right, Bree?”
She shook herself back to the conversation, racking her brain to remember what they’d been talking about. And drawing a blank. She laughed awkwardly. “Sorry. I confess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Are you okay?” Corinne’s forehead furrowed with concern.
“I’m fine.” She felt bad for making them worry. “Just thinking about . . . some stuff at work.” That wasn’t a lie exactly. Aaron was at work.
“How’s work going these days? I haven’t heard you say for a while.” Danae’s sweet shifting of the conversation only made Bree feel more guilty.
“It’s good. We’ve been busy, so that’s always good. Job security and all that. We’ve had a couple of finicky clients to deal with. But there’s always that.” She was out of things to say, but they were all looking at her, waiting.
After an awkward moment, Danae jumped up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on Tyler.”
“Would you make sure Sasha isn’t crying?” Corinne asked. “I forgot to bring the monitor.”
“I have an old one we don’t use anymore,” Landyn offered. “I’ll bring it next time and we can just keep it here.”
And they were off talking about babies and husbands again.
Bree waited until they were deep in conversation before slipping away.
She found Audrey in the kitchen. “I thought we were done in here. Can I help with something?”
“Oh, no.” Audrey waved her away. “You go on and visit with the girls. I was just getting the kids something to drink. I’d rather they consume beverages with red food dye out on the lawn.”
Bree laughed. “I can’t blame you there. Here, let me help.” She took the pitcher of what smelled like Hawaiian Punch from Audrey and filled little paper cups with cartoon characters on them. “Will Grant want something?”
“He’ll want exactly what the kids are having. Just maybe in a bigger cup.” She set a giant plastic St. Louis Cardinals cup on the counter, and Bree filled that too.
“Are they still down in the meadow?”
“Grant has them corralled on the deck. Do you mind taking the drinks out?” Audrey handed Bree a roll of paper towels. “You’ll need these. I’ll be right behind you with cookies.”
“I’ll let them know.” She tucked the roll of towels under one arm, set the cups in the shallow tray Audrey provided and carefully carried it to the back door. Link opened it from the outside just as she got there. “Thanks, bro.”
“Do you need help?” Tim’s brother peered into the paper cups. “Who’s the big one for?”
“Your dad. But there’s more in the fridge if you want some. And cookies, according to your mom.”
He looked sheepish. “Already had a couple of those.”
“Link Whitman! Shame on you.” She laughed. “I don’t suppose you’ll divulge their hiding place?”
“I’m not crazy.” He grinned and opened the door wider while she passed.
Huckleberry, the family’s chocolate Labrador, chose that moment to streak into the house at full speed.
Bree let out a little scream, balancing the tray of drinks for all she was worth.
Link grabbed the dog by the collar. “Huck! Come here, you crazy pooch!” He grabbed onto the panting dog with one hand and held open the door with a comical bow at the waist. “After you.”
She gave Huckleberry the stink eye and blew out a sigh of relief. Link laughed, closing the door behind her.
Grant had rounded up the troops and had them sitting in a semicircle on the floor of the deck. They smelled of sweat and grass and a hint of baby powder. She loved every one of them as if they were hers. She regretted so deeply that Tim had never laid eyes on his nephews or nieces—except for Sari, who’d been a baby when he left for Afghanistan.
Pushing the maudlin thoughts away, Bree carried the tray over to the oldest Pennington girls and handed them cups. They looked up at her with sweet smiles. Their skin had turned golden in the Missouri sun, but that couldn’t hide the freckles sprinkled like sequins across each of their little noses.
Grant took his cup and helped her distribute the rest of the juice.
Within thirty seconds the first spill happened. One of Landyn’s twins. Bree still had trouble telling Grace and Emma apart. Laughing, she unfurled a few feet of paper toweling and knelt to sop up the mess.
Grant picked up the little girl. “Don’t cry, Em. There’s more where that came from.” He set her down and poured her a refill from his own cup. “See? All better.”
The
