off the TV before hollering Grandpa’s name again.
When Grandma was alive, something half crocheted always waited in a basket on the floor and partly read books lay open over the couch’s armrests. After five years, very little remained of Grandma’s presence, and if loneliness had a smell, this was it. Meredith knew it well.
Somewhere in the distance she heard Pepper bark. Maybe Grandpa was in the backyard where he liked to feed the squirrels; Pepper liked to chase them.
Veering off the front walk, she headed through the grass—which was past her ankles and full of weeds—and to the backyard.
As she made her way to the backyard, she saw more signs of neglect but no signs of her grandfather. Meredith fought the out-of-control feeling threatening to make her turn around, tuck her tail between her legs and flee.
In Gesippi, she was a Stone and had been what the kids called an overachiever, voted Girl Most Likely To Get Whatever She Wanted. No one knew that in high school she’d filled her calendar—along with her siblings’ calendars—with so many things just so they wouldn’t have to go home.
And, even more funny, the yearbook with that predication had arrived the day after she’d lost what she wanted most.
Jimmy Murphy.
Twelve months after that, one rash act had made her rethink who she was, where she was going and why. Thanks to her grandfather, she’d sidestepped a huge mistake with Jimmy’s younger brother, Danny, and she’d left Gesippi. In the years since, she’d rarely returned because while many were forgiving, none had forgotten.
It was only on television that leaving a groom standing at the altar made for good entertainment.
JIMMY MURPHY LEANED against his shovel and watched as the brown SUV sped across the dirt road, skidding slightly while taking the bumps too quickly. Clearly an outsider who cared little about the vehicle’s alignment.
“Ray expecting anyone?” he called to his brother. Danny was on the other side of the truck, messing with a roll of plastic ditch.
Jimmy had been stuck with the digging and was glad for a break.
“Not that I know of.” Danny didn’t even sound winded.
“Any of the Stones get a new car?”
“Not that I know of.”
Jimmy could have asked a few more questions, but obviously Danny wasn’t in the mood to speculate. He was getting married in less than two weeks, the Saturday before Christmas. Although their mother and Holly, his bride-to-be, were doing all the work, Danny was stressed. Thus, all the Murphys were stressed.
They deserved to be. The last time Danny had tried to get married, his bride hadn’t shown up for the wedding.
Meredith Stone, the girl next door. Both Murphy boys had loved her. But it had been Jimmy who had owned her heart, only to walk away from her. Danny had tried to fill the empty space, but failed. In the end, everyone had gotten hurt.
For years, he and his brother had maintained a polite friendship. It wasn’t until Danny had gotten engaged that the laughter returned. Looking in the direction the car had traveled, Jimmy wiped sweat from his brow. It wasn’t easy pulling a shallow ditch, and what he and his brother were about to do was even more strenuous. Jimmy wished for the millionth time that he was back in California, sitting across from his boss, hashing out his next assignment. But his boss had asked him to take some time after Jimmy had gone over budget and still hadn’t delivered a good story on his last two assignments—a story on pandas in China and bears in Alaska
It was probably overdue. After the death of his wife a year ago, he’d been dragging his daughter to faraway places, gathering stories and losing himself.
But really losing six-year-old Briana.
The grief swelled, threatening to take him to his knees. Instead of letting it consume him, Jimmy stomped his steel-toed boot on the shovel’s edge, driving it into hard dirt by a good inch. Then he did it again, and again, and again.
Still he was mad, mad at a world that didn’t include Regina. Asthma wasn’t supposed to kill a twenty-six-year-old mother who took care of herself and carefully monitored her disease. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to kill her as she went into the bathroom to get her inhaler because she was having a little trouble breathing.
In all, her death had taken twenty minutes. It had begun as a persistent cough when she was in bed one night. When it turned into a short, strangled intake of breath, he’d still not been concerned. This had happened before. She’d finally rolled out of bed, her face taking on the blue, pinched look he knew so well. She hated her asthma, hated that it attacked her without provocation. She’d stoically and quietly walked the length of the room—not wanting to wake Briana asleep on the other side of the wall—and gone inside the bathroom. He’d heard the sounds of the medicine cabinet door opening followed by water running and something else...her hand slapping against the counter maybe.
Then, he’d heard her hit the ground.
He’d been by her side in seconds, doing CPR with his cell phone on the floor beside him so he could scream for help.
Help that had arrived too late.
Briana had slept through the whole ordeal. He’d woken their next-door neighbor to watch his little girl while he followed the ambulance to the hospital. The next morning, he’d had to tell Briana that Mommy was gone, not coming back.
She hadn’t believed him at first and continued to look for Regina, watching the door and the phone.
Meanwhile, he’d numbly called the dentist office where Regina had had an appointment the next week. Then, he’d found the number of the woman in charge of Regina’s book club. Finally, he personally visited the gym where she’d taught aerobics part-time and cleaned out her locker. There he’d accidentally encountered the grieving dark-haired personal trainer who’d known Regina was married but didn’t care.
His wife had been having an affair.
Jimmy blamed himself. He’d been passionate about the wrong things, had been gone too much and loved too little. He wouldn’t make the same mistake with Briana.
He wouldn’t mess up love a third time.
Still, he didn’t want his family to know how broken he was, so instead of screaming his frustration at life, he asked his brother, “Think this irrigation technique will work?”
Danny said something under his breath.
“Wasted effort?” Jimmy queried.
“No, it will work.”
Jimmy and Danny’s parents lived five miles away, just down Pioneer Road. While their dad, Mitch Murphy, ran a cattle and sheep operation, his brother Matthew—where they were working today—farmed beans, squash, corn and whatever else struck his fancy. Against his wife’s wishes, right now Matthew also rented a few acres from Ray Stone.
The women in Jimmy’s family held long grudges.
“Not
