Page 1 of Last Wish Wedding

Prologue

The Vermont countryside unfurled in shades of delicate green, spring finally asserting itself after a brutal winter. Pink and white dogwood blossoms dotted the cemetery, their beauty an obscene contrast to the polished mahogany casket suspended above the raw earth.

Kelsey stood at the graveside under a mask of composure that belied the chaos roiling inside her. Her black dress strained slightly across her midsection. The barely visible curve of her pregnancy, five months along, was not obvious to casual observers but unmistakable to her with every movement, every breath.

She felt Amy’s hand slip into hers, a lifeline of warmth in the cool spring air. Her sister stood close enough that their shoulders touched, as if physically bearing some of Kelsey’s weight. Perhaps she was. The past five days had blurred together in a haze of arrangements and phone calls and decisions no twenty-seven-year-old should have to make.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want...” The minister’s voice carried across the gathering, the familiar words washing over Kelsey without sinking in. All she could focus on was the casket. David was in there. David, with his crooked smile and terrible jokes. David, who had kissed her goodbye last Tuesday morning, promising to pick up Thai food on his way home from his meeting in Boston. David, who had never made it past the icy curve on Route 2 where his car skidded into the path of an oncoming truck.

Her knees buckled slightly. Amy’s grip tightened, holding her upright as the minister continued, unaware of her momentary collapse.

“... though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...”

Kelsey raised her eyes from the casket, letting her gaze drift across the gathering. Their friends from the hospital where she worked as a nurse stood in a tight cluster. Their faces were drawn with shock and grief. Dr. Matthews dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Javier, from Radiology, had his arm around his wife, Irene, who had brought meals to their house every night since the accident.

And across the grave, standing separate from the hospital group, were the Prescotts. Margaret Prescott, David’s mother, stood ramrod straight in an impeccable black suit, her silver hair swept into a chignon so tight it seemed to pull her features into permanent disapproval. She hadn’t cried during the service. Not once. Kelsey wondered absurdly if the woman’s tear ducts functioned properly.

Beside Margaret stood Jason, David’s younger brother by five years and the golden child who had followed their father into the family business. His expression combined boredom and impatience, as if the burial of his only sibling was an inconvenient meeting he couldn’t reschedule.

Every few minutes, he checked his watch. The gesture was so subtle most wouldn’t notice, but Kelsey did. She noticed everything today, her senses painfully, unnaturally sharp.

Only Jennifer, Jason’s wife, showed genuine emotion. She stood slightly apart from her husband and mother-in-law, and her delicate features were soft with sympathy whenever her gaze met Kelsey’s. She had approached Kelsey before the service and embraced her with unexpected warmth, whispering, “I’m so sorry. If you need anything at all, please call me.” The kindness had almost broken Kelsey’s careful composure.

It made no sense to Kelsey how someone as gentle as Jennifer had ended up with Jason, who had, at their wedding, told David that marrying “the nurse” was “certainly a choice.” They hadn’t attended another Prescott family gathering since.

“... and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

The minister closed his Bible, nodding to the funeral director. The mechanical whir of the lowering device jarred against the backdrop of birdsong and gentle spring breeze. Kelsey watched the casket begin its descent. Her body was rigid with the effort it took to not fling herself forward, to not scream at them to stop, to not demand one last look at David’s face.

It was Amy who moved first, stepping forward to take a rose from the arrangement atop the casket before it sank too low. She handed it to Kelsey, then took one for herself.

“Goodbye, David,” Amy whispered, tossing her rose into the grave.

Kelsey tightened her fingers around the thorny stem and welcomed the stab of pain. She tried to think of something to say, some final words that could possibly encompass what David had meant to her, what his loss had torn from her future. But there was nothing adequate, nothing big enough to hold the enormity of her grief.

Instead, she pressed the rose briefly to her lips, then to her belly, before letting it fall. It landed atop the casket with a soft thud that echoed in her bones.

The gathering began to disperse, people milling in small groups toward their cars, voices hushed out of respect. The Prescotts moved as a unit, Margaret leading, Jason and Jennifer following. They headed directly for their black town car without a backward glance at the grave. But Jennifer paused and said something to Jason that made him frown before giving a curt nod. She broke away and crossed the spring grass toward Kelsey.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jennifer said softly, her brown eyes warm with sincerity. “If you need anything, especially with the baby coming, please don’t hesitate. I know things have been... strained... between David and the family, but I’d like to help if I can.”

“Thank you,” Kelsey managed. The words scraped her raw throat. “That’s very kind.”

She glanced over her shoulder where Jason stood by the car, checking his watch again. “I should go. Take care of yourself, Kelsey. And the little one.”

As Jennifer walked away, Kelsey noticed how her shoulders seemed to stiffen with each step back toward her husband. Her posture gradually shifted from a natural grace to something more contained, more careful.

“Ready to go?” Amy asked gently. “Everyone’s heading to the house for the reception.”

The thought of returning to the small farmhouse she had shared with David, now filled with well-meaning people and casseroles, made Kelsey’s stomach turn. But she nodded, knowing it was expected, knowing she had to go through the motions of this day like thousands of widows before her.

“Just... give me a minute,” she requested.

Amy squeezed her hand. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait by the car.”

Left alone at the graveside, Kelsey finally allowed herself to tremble. The careful mask she’d maintained cracked, her face contorting with grief too enormous to contain. Her knees gave way at last, and she sank onto the small metal chair that had been placed beside the grave. Her body folded in on itself as silent sobs wracked her frame.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered for David alone. “I can’t do this without you.”