He reached the front door and raised his fist to knock, but the door opened. Heather’s mother stood there, neat and tidy as ever in jeans and an apron, her warm brown hair shot with silver and pulled off her face in a low ponytail.
This is what Heather would have looked like in thirty years.
His heart turned over and his voice came out rough, bruised. “Mornin’.”
“Tucker. Come and have some coffee. There’s plenty.”
“I hoped you’d say that.” Stepping into the house was like embracing his lost love. Scents of baking had always clung to her, even after Tucker had marked her from head to toe with his scent.
When he entered the kitchen, Heather’s dad and brother looked up. Her older sister had gotten married a year after he and Heather should have and was now living in the next town.
“Mornin’, Tucker,” her dad said gruffly.
Tucker gave a nod and moved to pull out a ladder-back chair. His eye caught the family photographs plastered on one wall, homing in on the spot where his and Heather’s engagement photo had hung.
The space was filled with a new picture of Heather’s sister and her new husband.
His heart squeezed so violently, he thought he’d throw up. Dropping his head forward, he gripped the chair back for support. “Where’s our picture?”
The coffee pot hissed. Outside, the rain pattered the old windows.
But no one spoke.
Finally, Heather’s mother sighed. “We need to talk about that, Tucker.”
Dread washed over him, turning his fingers to ice. If he tried to pry them off the chair now, they’d splinter. He had to touch this wood. Heather had touched this wood.
Heather’s mom placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We think it’s best to start moving forward. We’ve had some time to grieve—we’ll always grieve. But…”
“But you put her wedding gown away, didn’t you?” His tone had a sharp edge.
Her mom nodded, eyes downcast. “It couldn’t hang in her room forever, waiting for her, Tucker. And you can’t hang around here forever either. She’s not…she’s not coming back, son.”
The use of the word “son” plucked at the strands of his control. Tears scorched his throat and lay salty on his tongue. “What are you saying, Mrs. Lander?”
Mr. Lander spoke up. “It’s time you get movin’ on in your life too. You have years andyears ahead of you to laugh again, love again—”
“No,” he barked.
“It’s best this way,” Mrs. Lander said with tears in her voice. “Time to let go.”
“And you don’t want me here anymore?” A giant fist punched through Tucker’s chest, grasped his heart and yanked it out still beating.
And I thought it was buried.
Mrs. Lander patted his shoulder. “Time for you to go.”
Through a fog of pain and betrayal, Tucker scoured Mr. Lander’s face, Heather’s young brother’s face, the old tabletop where he’d sat through countless meals and games of cards.
Jerkily, he pivoted on his boot heels and ambled to the door, resisting the urge to clutch his guts to hold them in.
They don’t want me. They put away her weddin’ gown. Oh, Heather.
Somehow he’d gotten behind the wheel of his still-dented Ram. He looked out across the landscape, suddenly despising Reedy and all of Wyoming. Was the sky a different color in other parts?
Stomping on the gas, he pointed the truck north, away from everyone who could possibly cut themselves on the shattered shards of his being.
Chapter Four
