Her eyes were studying me. The endearing, glazed-over look they’d had when I’d first moved away from her was turning into something else. I was confusing her. Damn it.

“I wanted your first kiss to be special, Maggie. That was all,” I said, hearing the lie in my own voice.

Her hand dropped to her side, and her gaze fell to the ground. “It was. Both of them. In different ways,” she said without looking at me.

Was she hurt? Why wasn’t she looking at me?

“Are you okay? Did I do something I shouldn’t have? Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She lifted her gaze and gave me a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. There was sadness to it. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not upset. Just taken by surprise. But not upset . . . Thank you.”

We didn’t talk about it again. I led us back to the truck, and Maggie sat beside me as we looked out at the town. We talked some but not much. This was all I needed. Having her here with me. When I was alone, I’d let myself remember how she felt in my arms. How she tasted and the sounds she made that drove me crazy. But for now I was just thankful I had her with me.

Around three that morning I got Maggie safely back up to her room before heading home. Momma was sleeping peacefully. I was sure the pill had helped. I thought about taking a shower, but I took a sniff of my shirt. I could smell the faint scent of vanilla. I decided I wouldn’t shower or even change.

I climbed into bed and went to sleep thinking about Maggie. I held on to memories of that kiss to keep the other memories back. I wasn’t ready to face them yet.

The next day was full, helping Momma make funeral arrangements. Dad had left several requests about his funeral. It was tough reading the paper where he’d written them down. Several times I reached for my phone, wanting to hear Maggie’s voice. But I never dialed.

I had to be strong for my mother today. I couldn’t keep reaching out for Maggie.

Making sure my momma ate and slept took all my attention while I answered the door and took in the food people in town were bringing. Where they thought we’d put all this, I didn’t know. We had more food than we had space. I filled up the freezer and fridge. Now things were just sitting on the bar. For the last pound cake that had arrived, I’d just put it on the table.

Why did they think food would help? Getting my mother to actually eat was hard enough. I sure couldn’t eat all this by myself.

The funeral was scheduled for three days after Dad’s passing. Dealing with the arrangements, the phone calls, and my mother had kept me from talking to Maggie for more than an hour the past couple of nights. I hadn’t been to school this week, and I didn’t make the mistake of going to get her. I was so emotional right now, I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t kiss her again. Pull her closer. My need for her was changing and growing, and I was scared of it. I didn’t trust myself to push things further with her and not mess up. I always messed up.

I would not lose her.

I Wish I Had Been There

CHAPTER 31

MAGGIE

I didn’t wear black. There would be enough black. Enough sadness. I didn’t remember much about my mother’s funeral. The only thing I did remember was the black. I hated all the black. My mother hated black. She said it was drab. Everyone needed some color in their life.

Jude wouldn’t have liked all the black either. He’d liked to laugh, and he’d looked for the brightness in life. I chose a green dress that matched my eyes. Because he’d said my eyes were pretty.

Uncle Boone, Aunt Coralee, Brady, and I all rode together to the graveside ceremony. Most funerals in the South were held in churches or funeral homes before they took the casket to the grave. But West said his dad hadn’t wanted a long ceremony for people to mourn. He wanted it quick. Easy. Nothing fancy.

We parked along the street like everyone else and then made our way to the large white tent where people were beginning to gather. I searched for West until our eyes met. He was standing by his mother, watching me walk toward him. Today would be the day it would finally become real to him.

My mother’s funeral hadn’t been when it had sunk in for me, simply because I hadn’t been well then. My mind had been refusing to accept what I had witnessed. But I knew seeing his father lowered into the ground would hit West hard. And I would be there if he needed me.

West motioned for me to come stand beside him. I didn’t glance back at my aunt and uncle to make sure it was okay. I knew they’d understand. I walked past the rows of people until I was close enough for West to take my hand in his. The firm grip told me he wasn’t okay.

“I like your dress,” he said, leaning down to whisper near my ear. “It matches your eyes.”

I glanced up at him. “Your dad liked my eyes. He said they were pretty.”

A sad smile touched his lips. “Yeah, he did. He’d like that dress, too.”

Others arrived and came to say their condolences to West and his mother. Through it all he never let go of my hand. When the minister began speaking, West’s mother sank into the chair placed behind her and sobbed quietly.

I could feel West tremble beside me when it was time for him to lay the rose on his father’s casket. I eased my hand out of his and waited as he walked forward and put the red rose down. “You’ll always be my hero,” he said, loud enough that I could hear him, as he stared at the casket.

When he turned and walked back to me, I could see the tense expression on his face. He was holding back the emotion I knew was strangling him while trying to stay strong for his mother.