as the notion that Destiny slept curled against him.
Chapter Eight
What had started as a tiny trembling in her knees as they’d left the house turned to serious knocking upon arrival at the park. Chance cut the engine and covered her icy hand. “Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” Which meant not at all. Courage had bled away. In a bizarre twist of fate, she would attend her own funeral. Alive.
He squeezed her hand, and she said, “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll get your door.” He exited the vehicle.
She was grateful her parents had acceded to her wishes and had her cremated. She’d have freaked for sure if she had to view her body. Probably Laura had imposed her will on the arrangements.
After contacting her parents from the hospital, Destiny hadn’t tried again. Further attempts to convince them she was their daughter would cause them and her anguish. She’d lost her mother and father, her death carving a rift and opening an aching void in her chest. Intellectually she understood their reactions, but she’d internalized their shock as rejection, disownment. She was their child, their blood. How could they not recognize her? If they didn’t know her, no one else would either.
Not even her sister. She and Laura had shared a tighter-than-tight bond like twins born five years apart, except Laura had been adopted. The instant she’d laid eyes on the tiny baby brought home from the hospital, Destiny’s five-year-old self had fallen in love. So had Laura. As a baby, she’d reach for Destiny before their mother. When she’d fall or get scared, she’d cry, “Des,” not “Mama.” Had that been the source of problems between Laura and their mother all along?
Perhaps her death would draw Laura and her parents together in a way that life never had. She hoped something positive would rise out of the tragic circumstances.
Chance helped her out of the car, but speculation furrowed his brows.
“What?” she asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You look like you have a question.”
He shook his head. “Let’s go or we’ll be late.”
Her behavior would be deemed gauche if she arrived tardy at her memorial service.
A canopy was erected in the near distance, chairs beneath it. People were seated. As they approached, she recognized cousins, aunts and uncles, people she’d worked with, friends, high school classmates. Finally she spotted her parents, her dad as dark and somber as their black clothing, her mother contrastingly pale like all emotion had leached away. They were speaking to neighbors, receiving condolences, no doubt. Her heart contracted. I’m so sorry . Their grief was so unnecessary. She scanned the crowd in search of her sister.
How could she have missed her? Laura sat front row, center, wearing a purloined red sweater—Destiny’s cashmere cardigan. She choked off a laugh and a sob. Nervy. Perfect. Growing up together, a sticking point between the sisters had been Laura’s inclination to borrow Destiny’s clothes without asking.
Her gaze on her sister, she stumbled in the grass, but Chance steadied her before she could fall. “Are you okay?” he asked, and she knew he referred to more than her physical state.
“Not sure,” she answered truthfully.
Laura appeared engaged in conversation with an aunt, a buxom, middle-aged woman, but Destiny recognized her sister’s polite-but-I’m-not-listening expression. Her parents huddled alone, temporarily without company.
“I’d better go speak to my…Destiny’s parents.” Had Chance caught the slip? She risked a glance at his face. She read no surprise or curiosity in his expression.
Poster collages of photographs commemorating her life stood on easels. Graduation—high school and college. Christmases. Her Facebook profile photo. The bad-haircut one. Good grief, she supposedly had died , and that picture still surfaced! One bad choice would haunt her forever. She stifled a snort and trod over dewy grass.
On her
Chapter Eight
What had started as a tiny trembling in her knees as they’d left the house turned to serious knocking upon arrival at the park. Chance cut the engine and covered her icy hand. “Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” Which meant not at all. Courage had bled away. In a bizarre twist of fate, she would attend her own funeral. Alive.
He squeezed her hand, and she said, “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll get your door.” He exited the vehicle.
She was grateful her parents had acceded to her wishes and had her cremated. She’d have freaked for sure if she had to view her body. Probably Laura had imposed her will on the arrangements.
After contacting her parents from the hospital, Destiny hadn’t tried again. Further attempts to convince them she was their daughter would cause them and her anguish. She’d lost her mother and father, her death carving a rift and opening an aching void in her chest. Intellectually she understood their reactions, but she’d internalized their shock as rejection, disownment. She was their child, their blood. How could they not recognize her? If they didn’t know her, no one else would either.
Not even her sister. She and Laura had shared a tighter-than-tight bond like twins born five years apart, except Laura had been adopted. The instant she’d laid eyes on the tiny baby brought home from the hospital, Destiny’s five-year-old self had fallen in love. So had Laura. As a baby, she’d reach for Destiny before their mother. When she’d fall or get scared, she’d cry, “Des,” not “Mama.” Had that been the source of problems between Laura and their mother all along?
Perhaps her death would draw Laura and her parents together in a way that life never had. She hoped something positive would rise out of the tragic circumstances.
Chance helped her out of the car, but speculation furrowed his brows.
“What?” she asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You look like you have a question.”
He shook his head. “Let’s go or we’ll be late.”
Her behavior would be deemed gauche if she arrived tardy at her memorial service.
A canopy was erected in the near distance, chairs beneath it. People were seated. As they approached, she recognized cousins, aunts and uncles, people she’d worked with, friends, high school classmates. Finally she spotted her parents, her dad as dark and somber as their black clothing, her mother contrastingly pale like all emotion had leached away. They were speaking to neighbors, receiving condolences, no doubt. Her heart contracted. I’m so sorry . Their grief was so unnecessary. She scanned the crowd in search of her sister.
How could she have missed her? Laura sat front row, center, wearing a purloined red sweater—Destiny’s cashmere cardigan. She choked off a laugh and a sob. Nervy. Perfect. Growing up together, a sticking point between the sisters had been Laura’s inclination to borrow Destiny’s clothes without asking.
Her gaze on her sister, she stumbled in the grass, but Chance steadied her before she could fall. “Are you okay?” he asked, and she knew he referred to more than her physical state.
“Not sure,” she answered truthfully.
Laura appeared engaged in conversation with an aunt, a buxom, middle-aged woman, but Destiny recognized her sister’s polite-but-I’m-not-listening expression. Her parents huddled alone, temporarily without company.
“I’d better go speak to my…Destiny’s parents.” Had Chance caught the slip? She risked a glance at his face. She read no surprise or curiosity in his expression.
Poster collages of photographs commemorating her life stood on easels. Graduation—high school and college. Christmases. Her Facebook profile photo. The bad-haircut one. Good grief, she supposedly had died , and that picture still surfaced! One bad choice would haunt her forever. She stifled a snort and trod over dewy grass.
On her
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