She pushed the other coffee toward him without answering. She didn’t want to say anything yet. “Drink it. Jill won’t once it’s been cold.”
“How are you holding up?” Tanner asked, taking her hand.
Her fingers jerked, but he didn’t let go. “Umm…I don’t know. Jemma was always around growing up. She, Jill, Brian, and Pete were the four musketeers.” When he squeezed her hand, she looked down at the grooves in the farm table. “It’s a damn waste,” she whispered, fighting tears. “She was so young.”
He pulled her out of her chair. Her bones felt like plastic from fatigue, shock, and grief, and when he enfolded her in his arms, holding her tight against his chest, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, she was,” he whispered.
The burn of tears alarmed her, but she was too tired to do more than rub her face into his fleece.
His hands rubbed her back without demand. “Shh…You should rest too. You’re about ready to fall over.”
Meredith pulled back and wiped away a stray tear.
Nudging her hand away, he traced a finger down her cheek. “You look beautiful. Probably an odd thing to say right now, but it’s true.”
No, it was dear. She realized she couldn’t move away from the heat he radiated. It was as warm and comforting as sunshine drenching a window seat on a winter’s day.
“Why are you here?” she made herself ask, her heart hopeful but still guarded.
He sighed. “I don’t have a good explanation. I only know I couldn’t stay away.”
Oh God. “This is getting complicated.”
He rubbed his hands up her arms, and then let go. “Let’s leave that for now. So, do you know what happened?” he asked again.
She sat back down and gripped her coffee in both hands. His touch felt too good. She realized it was nice to lean on someone. She’d been the strong one last night when Brian dropped off Jill, who was shaking and wrapped in a black cape and a police blanket.
“Jill didn’t see it, but others said Jemma started to shake violently. Then she stopped and went limp.” But she hadn’t puked like the kids who’d been hospitalized, so what did that mean? She shook herself. “Brian couldn’t find a pulse. She wasn’t breathing.”
“Was she using?”
Meredith pushed her hair behind her ear. “Just alcohol and pot. Pete—her childhood sweetheart—showed up with a new girl. Jemma was devastated, and she acted out.”
“That wouldn’t kill her.”
“No, it shouldn’t have.”
“Who’s handling the case?”
“Are you asking as a journalist?”
He held up his hands, palms up. “I have a journalist’s curiosity.”
Right. She needed to remember that. “Larry Barlow, the deputy sheriff, and the coroner, a family friend. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy. Grandpa checked to make sure it’s being expedited.”
Grandpa had called her an hour or two ago after coming by late last night to check on Jill. He was heartbroken, but his gut was quivering too. They’d have to wait and see what the autopsy report said.
His fingers drummed the side of the cup. “Her family will want to know why.”
“Yes. My parents are flying back for the memorial service.”
“I should go. You need to rest.”
The realization that she didn’t want him to leave made her hand clench around the coffee. Not good. Still, she followed him to the door. He stuffed his boots on and wiped up the snow-melt on the floor.
When he opened the door, their gazes locked. “I’ll call you later to check on you guys.”
“Don’t you need my number?”
The wind ruffled his thick hair as he started down the sidewalk. “Don’t insult me, Mermaid,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m a journalist.” He jogged to his car, making footprints in the snow.
She shut the door and leaned her forehead against it. A warmth cupped her heart.
He called you, Mermaid, Divorcée Woman practically sang. How sweet.
Yes, it was.
Chapter 19
Nearly a thousand people attended Jemma’s funeral, a mix of college students and Dare residents. The college had offered the use of the basketball arena. Meredith winced at the squeaks from people’s shoes meeting the treated wood floor. Somehow, it ruined the sacredness of the ceremony more than the hydrogen stadium lights.
People cried all around her on the cold metal bleachers. Everyone was still in shock over the autopsy report. Jemma had died from a heart murmur. Meredith couldn’t believe it. Her grandpa had thrown the report on the floor and stormed out of his office, leaving her to pick it up with shaking hands.