she remembered what Lillith had been saying right before the accident. That Sophie had been let out again.
“Sam, Sophie didn’t come with you, did she?”
Samantha’s gray-blue eyes widened. “Of course not. Sophie is—” She hesitated. “She’s still in North Carolina.”
In North Carolina. Is that where the newest mental-health facility was? Over the past decade, if the grapevine could be trusted, Sophie had been in and out of five or six different resident institutions.
So did that mean Lillith had been wrong? Did that mean the light in the tower window hadn’t been Sophie after all?
“She hasn’t come home? I heard that she had.”
“No, she’s not up to being on her own right now. The doctor said, with the anniversary coming up so soon…” Samantha looked perplexed. “Who told you she was?”
“I think Lillith had heard it somewhere.”
Samantha shook her head sadly. “The gossips must be at it again. I think the anniversary always stirs things up, don’t you? But frankly, this terrible accident would be so hard for her. Just this once, I’m glad she’s not here.”
Kelly reached out and touched Samantha’s hand. Poor Sam. Now that Sebastian had married and moved to Raleigh, Sam was living alone at Coeur Volé with their mother, who had never been a picnic but who had become even more eccentric through the years.
Sam looked amazingly like Sophie these days. All the Mellon siblings looked similar—the lush blond hair, the deep-set eyes, the sex appeal and the elegance. Sebastian and Sophie had often been mistaken for twins. They were only a year apart and they had an intimacy that seemed almost preternatural, the kind you sometimes do see in twins.
Samantha was five years younger, and it wasn’t until she grew up that the striking Mellon looks displayed themselves. Now the only real difference was in the eyes. Sophie’s and Sebastian’s were a dramatic peacock blue, and they sparkled with an essence of danger, a flash of the untamable. Sam’s eyes were light, and her gaze was gentle, almost humble.
It made Kelly’s heart ache to look at her. This was what Sophie should have been.
“Well, anyway, I’d love some help,” Kelly said. “So many people have brought food. He’ll never eat it all, so we might as well use it up today.”
Samantha nodded and began efficiently stacking small sandwiches on a large silver plate. “He seems very weak,” she said. “It’s so terrible. It’s obviously broken his heart.”
“Yes.” Kelly blinked back moisture. This wasn’t her tragedy. This wasn’t her day to cry. But it was hard. A week ago she’d been in this kitchen drinking coffee with Lily from these same cups. “I suppose time will help. It’s still so new.”
“When I talked to him just now, he told me he was waiting for Tom Beckham.” Sam looked over at Kelly somberly. “Is that true, or is it just wishful thinking? I didn’t think we’d ever see Tom in Cathedral Cove again.”
Kelly sighed and slid the rest of the potato salad into the refrigerator. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “He asked me to call Tom, and I did. Tom promised he’d be here, but—”
Samantha smiled ruefully. “But historically Tom’s promises haven’t really been worth much.”
“Right. You wouldn’t believe how distant he sounded on the phone when I told him about Lillith.”
She didn’t mention that it had taken her two hours to get up the nerve to dial the number, and when he’d answered she’d found that she needed to sit down, because her legs wouldn’t hold her.
“Ten years,” she said. “We hadn’t exchanged a single word in ten years. And yet, throughout the call his voice was completely bland and impersonal. He might as well have been talking to his secretary.”
Samantha lifted one graceful shoulder philosophically, as if to say what did you expect?
Good question. It made Kelly feel ridiculous to admit that she had expected more. In the private photo album of her heart, Tom Beckham had been the most-often-relived memory, in spite of the ache it always brought. She had about a dozen pictures that never seemed to fade: Tom in the gardens of Coeur Volé, with roses behind him and the river at his feet; Tom dancing with Sophie, tall and handsome in his tuxedo, with Sophie’s silver dress flashing rainbows as she twirled under the chandelier; Tom turning to Kelly in the darkness, fierce and full of hunger…
She was a fool. While she’d been wistfully fingering those images, she’d assumed that he, too, took them out now and then and remembered. But apparently he’d long since thrown them away. As she should have.
“I heard that you were behind her when it happened,” Samantha said suddenly. “I heard you were with her when she died.”
Kelly looked up. “Yes.”
“That must have been awful. I’m so sorry. But at least—at least she wasn’t alone at the end.”
“Yes.” Kelly had thought of that, but she wondered how much comfort she had really been. Lillith had seemed dazed, already moving away from the blood and the fog and the hissing car. Her cold hand had not responded to Kelly’s touch. Kelly had been just inches away, but in every way that mattered, Lillith had died alone anyhow. Perhaps everyone did.
“Was she still conscious? Did she say anything?”
Kelly closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam, but if I keep talking about this, I’m going to fall apart, and Jacob doesn’t need that today.” She picked up the plate of deviled eggs and handed it to the other woman. “Let’s get the food out there, okay?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Samantha was embarrassed, her fair skin tinged with pink.
Kelly remembered how easy it used to be for Sophie to hurt Sam’s feelings. “Scram, brat,” Sophie would say, and Sam’s blue eyes would fill with tears. She had idolized her older siblings, and Sophie and Bastian had exploited that shamelessly.
“It’s okay,” Kelly said, giving Sam a warm smile. “Do you think you can grab that plate, too? Jacob doesn’t like meat loaf, so if it doesn’t get eaten today it’ll go to waste.”
“No problem.” Sam balanced both trays like a waitress, and Kelly took a deep breath and opened the kitchen door. She looked around, trying to locate Jacob in the crowd, which had swelled considerably while she was in the kitchen.
And then she saw him. He was at the door, shaking hands with a tall, dark, handsome stranger who wasn’t a stranger at all.
It was Tom Beckham.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE LIVING ROOM of the Griggs’ house was huge and airy, the perfect room for two energetic lawyers with a healthy combined income and a zest for entertaining.
One whole wall was ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked a sunny bricked garden, and the ceiling was at least thirteen feet high.
Upstairs, there
