Always Mine by Christie Ridgway Page A

metal awning. I had a few bad moments wondering if I was going to be crushed under the metal or cooked like stew over a camp stove. Put a few things in perspective for me. My brothers and sisters. Emily.”
    â€œYeah,” Owen replied. He had bad moments, too, recalling that hazy night. What had he done wrong? How had he let Jerry down? Surely there was something…
    â€œTell me, Will,” he said gruffly. He couldn’t retreat to the land of silence any longer. There was no way he could duck the thoughts in his head. “Tell me about that night.”
    Will frowned. “You remember.”
    â€œI can’t…” Owen rubbed a hand over his hair, wishing he could still put off the truth forever. “I don’t have the details straight. But I must have made an error in judgment.”
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    â€œNo.” Will’s adamant voice came clearly through the bedroom doorway, halting Izzy in her trip back to the bedroom with Emily and the cookies. “It wasn’t you, Owen. You didn’t do anything wrong. That damn fire was responsible for Jerry’s death.”
    Izzy’s heart flopped in her chest. Oh, no. Oh, God. This is what she’d been worrying about. She shifted closer to hear better, then felt her friend yank her back by the arm. “Downstairs and to the kitchen for us,” she whispered.
    â€œBut…” But then she let her words subside. Owen would have clammed up if she and Emily returned, and it was important that he get out whatever he was bottling up inside him. His emotions definitely needed a release.
    And she could use the respite from her own. A little chat with her best friend should be the soothing balm she needed.
    The two women retreated to the kitchen, and Izzy set down the tray on the counter. “Shall I make some tea?” she asked her friend.
    Emily smiled. “Really? You? Tea? Quite the domestic goddess you’ve turned out to be.”
    â€œYou should see what I can do with those littlecoffeemakers that come in hotel rooms. Three-course meals—though all with the distinctive seasoning of Sanka.”
    â€œEw.” Emily leaned against the countertop as Izzy bustled around the kitchen. “So, what’s new besides your new stint as ‘Isabella Cavaletti, Home Nurse?’”
    Izzy gave a little shrug. “Not much. I heard that my Zia Sophia passed away.”
    â€œOh, Iz…”
    She shrugged again. “She was ninety-seven when she died. I lived with her in third grade—so, twenty years ago? Funny lady. She made a mean ziti and never rose before noon.”
    Emily frowned. “Never rose before noon? Who got you up for school? Made your breakfast?”
    â€œThe saintly three of me, myself and I.” She caught the look of sympathy in Emily’s gaze. “Girlfriend, it wasn’t Dickens. There were clean, folded clothes in the drawers and Pop-Tarts in the kitchen cupboard.”
    â€œStill…”
    â€œA mean ziti can overcome many nutritional challenges.” The kettle was starting to whistle, so Izzy hurried to the stovetop.
    â€œDo you need some time away from Owen to attend the funeral? I’m sure Owen’s brother would help out, since his parents and sister are on that cruise. If not, Will or I—”
    â€œOh, no.” Izzy waved off the offer. “ Zia was laid to rest about four months ago. I only heard becauseI made a call to one of my cousins last week. I was concerned because my mother’s number hasn’t been working.”
    â€œIzzy.” Emily took a breath, seeming to get a hold of herself. “All right, the homicidal urge over the way your family forgets about you is passing. Wait—did you say your mother’s number wasn’t working? Is she all right?”
    â€œYes. She’s on a trip, packing for a trip, unpacking for a trip, planning her next trip. One of those.” Her parents had led tours throughout Europe