"Ms. Chauvin?" She stopped and glanced back at the fireman. "You might want to call Ben Mitchell, at the state fire marshal's office in Baton Rouge. He could tell you a lot more than I can."
"Thanks, John. I'll do that."
"What was that all about?" Cherry asked.
"Nothing. I needed some air."
Cherry frowned slightly and glanced over her shoulder, obviously annoyed with her answer. "Jill Landry married him. You remember Jill? Met him through her sister, in Jackson."
"He seems like a nice guy."
"I guess."
Avery stopped and looked at the other woman. "Are you trying to tell me something, Cherry?"
"No. I just thought you should know…he's not from around here, Avery."
"He found Dad," she said sharply. "I was asking him about it. Is that okay with you?"
"I didn't mean anything-" She glanced from Avery to her brother, expression wounded. "I just…I'm worried about you, that's all."
"I'm a big girl, Cherry. I don't need protecting."
"I see that." Color flooded her cheeks. "I won't make that mistake again. Excuse me."
"She was only trying to be your friend," Matt said softly, tone reproachful. "She cares about you. We all do."
Avery swore softly. "I know. I just reacted."
Matt laid a hand on her arm. "I understand. Just don't-" He paused. "What?"
"You're hurting. I'm sympathetic to that. We all are. But don't push us away, Avery. We love you."
She swallowed hard, eyes burning. He was right. Alienating the people who cared about her would do nothing but leave her more alone than she already was.
She caught his hand, squeezed his fingers. "Thank you," she whispered. "Your friendship means more to me than I can say."
He curled his fingers around hers. "I'm here for you, Avery. I've always been here for you."
The moment was broken by three older women. Members of her mother's quilting group, she learned.
Matt greeted the women, then excused himself. She watched as he made his way through the crowded room, heading in the direction Cherry had gone. He meant to find and comfort his sister.
She would apologize later, Avery promised herself, turning back to the three, accepting their condolences. The Quilting Bees, as they called themselves, exited, leaving Avery momentarily alone.
She swept her gaze over the gathering, stopping on a group of men who stood at the far end of the room. They spoke to one another quietly, expressions intent. She recognized several of them; though by face not name. None had spoken to her tonight. As she watched, one of them nodded toward someone outside their circle. The others glanced in the direction he indicated.
She turned. They seemed to be discussing a woman she didn't recognize. Tall, slim and sandy-haired, she wore a simple black skirt and white, button-front blouse. She was alone, standing by a tall, potted fern. Something about her expression looked lost.
Avery frowned and shifted her gaze back to the men. They were definitely looking at the woman. One of them laughed. She didn't know why that struck her as wrong, but it did.
She darted another glance at the woman. Who was she? A friend of one of the men?
"Avery, honey, I'm so sorry."
She dragged her gaze from the group, meeting the eyes of the woman who had been Avery's first-grade teacher. She accepted the woman's condolences, hug and promised to call if she needed anything.
Avery turned back toward the group of men. They had dispersed. The woman they'd been talking about was gone as well. She checked out the thinning crowd, searching for her without luck. She wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.
It wouldn't surprise her, she acknowledged, glancing toward her father's closed casket and experiencing a moment of pure panic. Nothing would surprise her anymore.
CHAPTER 12
Hunter stared at his computer screen, the things he'd written swimming before his eyes. Mocking him. With a sound of disgust he hit the delete button and watched as the cursor ate one letter after another until nothing was left but the blank page.
How could he write when the words filling his head were ones he had flung at Avery? How could he envision his characters when her image crowded his mind? Her hurt expression. The accusation in her eyes.
She had looked at him as if he were some sort of monster.
Dammit! Hunter pushed away from the desk and stood. At the kitchen door, Sarah whined to go out. The dog had been antsy and agitated all evening-much as he himself had been.
He ignored her and made his way through the apartment and to the office in front. Empty, dark save for the blinking message light on his answer machine, he recalled the space as it had been: filled with the scent and color of flowers. Now it smelled as colorless as it looked. Like blank paper and law books.
He crossed to the front window and peered out at the dark street. From this vantage point he could see Gallagher's roof, one block over. They were all at Phillip's wake, he thought. His mother and father. Cherry. Matt. Most likely the entire town.
That's the kind of town this was.
He had figured Avery wouldn't care to see him. And he sure as hell hadn't wanted to see the Stevens clan. He wasn't certain he would have been able to hold his tongue.
And the last thing Avery needed was a confrontation.
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Phillip. What a mess. Dammit.
Hunter dropped his hands, acknowledging grief. Frustration. Truth was, he longed to be there. Longed to pay his respects to a man he had always admired. One who had become his friend. And who he now missed.
Some might have considered their friendship unusual, he supposed. After all, their ages had been separated by thirty years. But they'd had loneliness in common. Feelings of alienation. And a tremendous amount of history.
History that had included Avery.
Yeah, great. Avery. Some send-off for his friend. Ringing accusations at her. Hitting her where she was most vulnerable. Where she was already hurting.
She had called him hateful. And cruel.
Maybe she was right, he thought. Most probably she was.
What was it about him? Why was everything always black or white? Why couldn't he swallow his thoughts? Blur his personal line just a little? And who the hell was he to think he owned the high moral ground?
Everything he touched turned to shit.
Hunter glanced over his shoulder, toward the apartment. He longed for a drink. He needed one. The need clawed at him. He pictured himself walking to the kitchen, selecting the immediate poison of choice and drinking until he no longer possessed the ability to question the course of his life.
Drink to the point where he felt little but cynical amusement when someone he cared about called him hateful and cruel.
He swallowed hard against the urge. Wallowing instead in the pain. His anger and frustration. His feelings of loss. For they were real. Authentic. As much a part of life as breathing.
Never again, he promised himself, fisting his fingers. Never again would he anesthetize himself to life's highs and lows.
Sarah pawed at the kitchen door, then woofed softly. Hunter turned in that direction. She hadn't been out that long ago. Or had she? When he worked, he lost track of both time and the mundane details of life.
He exited the office and made his way to the kitchen. The dog whined. "Okay, girl." He grabbed the leash from the hook, snapped it to her collar and opened the door. She leaped forward, dragging him through the door and into the alley before he got a firm grip on the lead.
When he did, he yanked hard on it. Sarah heeled.
"What's up with you?" Hunter bent and scratched behind her ears. Instead of sinking on her haunches and sagging against him in grateful ecstasy, she stayed at attention, muscles taut. Quivering.
He frowned and turned his gaze in the direction of hers-the narrow, dark alley. "What is it, Sarah? What's wrong?"
She growled, low in her throat. The fur along the ridge of her back stood up.