Page 84 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

But the placard above the door was the same as it had been for decades. It was the one I’d welded together my junior year in shop class, spelling Reynolds out of bolts and nails and screws.

I walked up the sidewalk, noticing new cracks. The grass was creeping over the edge where I used to come and keep a straight line. I went to the door, inspecting a yellow rose bush in bloom that hadn’t been there years ago.

I knocked on the door, nerves shaking my limbs. Did she hate me for leaving her? Did she hate me for how I’d abandoned our family? If she did, she had every right.

The sound of shuffling footsteps came from inside and I held my breath. The door opened and she stepped closer, her face tired and eyes hazy with sleep. She was wearing the same plush, green robe I’d bought her for Christmas five years ago.

“Kaine?” She gasped, a wrinkled hand covering her mouth. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”

She stepped closer. Then with a deafening crack, she slapped me across the face.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.”

I chuckled. “For the last time, it’s fine.”

“I used to feel so guilty whenever I’d have to give you a spanking.” Mom sighed. “You were such a good kid and most of the time you’d shape up if I threatened to get out my wooden spoon. But there were a few times you’d push me over the edge. You’ll see.”

I nodded at Mom in the passenger seat.

We’d spent the last two days talking. She knew all about Piper and the pregnancy. She knew that I was terrified of losing another child. She knew exactly what to tell me to put some of those fears to rest.

And to my surprise, she knew where I’d been these last three years. She’d just chosen to let me stay hidden until I was ready to be found.

Mom had hurt me. But I would rather have her in my life than hold on to that old pain. To have her back in my life, I was willing to move past the choices she’d made after Shannon and the baby had died.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

Her eyes softened. “I’m always here for you.”

I drove us through town, dreading every inch as we got closer to our destination.

I’d realized on my drive to Bozeman that I had to stop running. I was going to be a father. By accident or by choice, it was happening. And if I was going to be worthy of my child, I had to put old ghosts to rest.

Mom’s idea was for me to start at the source.

We pulled up to the gates of the cemetery, and I crept inside, parking along the loop that circled through the green grass.

Mom gave me a reassuring smile before opening her door. I swallowed down the urge to hurl and got out of the truck too.

It smelled the same, like cold stone and wet grass. The one and only time I’d been here had been for the funeral. But my feet remembered the way to Shannon’s family plot.

Mom and I sidestepped headstones and sculptures as we wound our way toward a grove of trees. Her parents had insisted on burying her here, in the place where they could visit. I’d agreed on one condition.

That I could pay for our daughter to be buried with her.

Except for the short minutes after she’d been taken from Shannon’s body to try and be saved at the hospital, our baby had only lived in her mother’s womb. I wanted her to have Shannon’s comfort in the grave too.

I didn’t want my daughter resting alone.

As we got closer to their place, I noticed a bundle of fresh-cut yellow roses by their tombstone.

They were the same yellow roses growing outside Mom’s front door.

“You come here?”

She nodded. “Every week.”