A Forever Kind of Love

Mya Dubois stood before the charcoal-gray casket holding a single-stemmed white rose he’d seen her slip from the generous spray draping the head end of the casket. She’d stood in that same position for the past ten minutes, preventing the cemetery workers from lowering the coffin into the ground. He’d caught several shared looks of agitation between the workers, but they seemed resigned to it. They must be used to guilt-laden family members holding up their day.

Corey Anderson pushed away from the wall of the stone mausoleum he’d been resting against and walked over to where she stood, stopping a foot behind her.

“Welcome back home, Peaches.”

Her back became even straighter, that proud neck stiffening even more.

“And here I was hoping to get through the day without speaking to you,” Mya said without turning around, her bland words laced with sarcasm.

“And here I was hoping you’d left that sass back in New York City,” Corey replied, unable to keep the tinge of amusement from his voice. Not really appropriate given where they were standing. “Come on, Peaches. These guys need to finish their work.”

“Can I finish saying goodbye to my grandfather?” she snapped.

Corey looked over at the two workers. One held up his gloved hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. He heard a delicate sniff, and Corey’s heart softened just a bit as he saw Mya’s shaking hand wipe at the trail of tears that had begun cascading down her cheek.

She looked over at the two cemetery workers. “Thank you for waiting.” Then she did an about-face and headed in the direction of the church hall.

Corey was next to her in three strides. “Mind if I attempt to be a gentleman and escort you?”

“I can manage,” she answered.

“Peaches, don’t be this way.”

She stopped and turned. She sauntered up to him, one delicate brow raised over her topaz-colored eyes. “That’s the last time I hear you say the word peaches,” she said with quiet warning. “Even if you’re eating one, you’d better call it a plum. You hear me?”

This time Corey didn’t try to stop the smile from pulling at the corner of his mouth. Very few people in the small town of Gauthier, Louisiana, could talk to him in that tone of voice and get away with it.

And only one could look so good while doing it.

Damn, he’d missed her. As far as he knew, this was Mya’s first trip back to Gauthier since she’d left over fifteen years ago, and Corey doubted she would stay one minute longer than necessary. She probably had her boarding pass tucked inside that little black purse she’d been clutching throughout her grandfather’s funeral service.

Mya took off again for the church hall. Corey followed a few steps behind, admiring the view. How she managed to balance on those sexy heels once they reached the gravel parking lot was beyond his comprehension, but that was the case with just about everything Mya Dubois had ever done in her life. Why should this be any different?

* * *

Mya pushed off with her toe, setting the porch swing on a gentle sway. Her iced tea had grown watery, but she sipped anyway, hoping to quell the heat.

“Springtime in Louisiana,” Mya murmured as she used her forehead to wipe condensation from the glass. She could go back into the air-conditioned house, but the atmosphere in there was more oppressing than these record-high temperatures.

Mya knew she should have booked her flight for this afternoon. Guilt had forced her to add another day to her trip, but with Elizabeth milking the grieving-daughter role for all it was worth and the houseful of nosy neighbors prying into her life, Mya wanted nothing more than to be on a flight back to New York.

Maybe she could come back in a few weeks. Then she could sit back and enjoy a rare visit back home with her grandparents.

Her grandmother. Granddad was no longer here.

Mya took another sip of tea. It had a hard time flowing past the lump in her throat. Maybe she should go back in the house. She’d rather be curled up in Granddad’s old recliner, inhaling the scent of his pipe smoke. But the thought of facing the dozens of townsfolk who’d followed them back to the house after the repast at the church hall kept her butt planted firmly on the swing.

If she had to hear one more I’m so sorry for your loss, she would start screaming and never stop, which was why she’d changed into a pair of khaki capris and a sleeveless V-neck tee and had escaped to the porch nearly an hour ago. Mya welcomed the solitude like the unexpected breeze that blew every so often. She knew she should be social and help entertain the well-wishers who’d come to help her family grieve, but her grandma, Aunt Maureen and her mother, Elizabeth, were in there, and if there was one thing Elizabeth Dubois knew how to do, it was work a crowd.

Mya heard the squeak of the screen door’s hinges, followed moments later by, “What are you doing out here?”

Speak of the devil. Still wearing her Prada pumps, no doubt.

“I’m enjoying this nice spring day,” Mya answered with a drawl as her mother walked over to the swing.

“Nice?” Elizabeth scoffed. “It feels as if it’s a hundred degrees out here. Al Gore warned everyone about global warming.”

Mya rolled her eyes, placing her glass of iced tea on the thick railing that ran across the top of the porch.

Her mother waited for the swing to sway forward then sat on the opposite end from Mya. “So, how’s it been, honey?” She patted Mya’s knee as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to chitchat like a normal mother and daughter. Normal and Elizabeth Dubois should never be used in the same sentence.

“Let’s not do this,” Mya implored.

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” her mother said in that prim and proper way that went down Mya’s spine like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“When you have to try, that’s a good indication that two people probably shouldn’t be conversing.”

Elizabeth’s perfectly made-up face twisted with reproach. “When did you become so angry?”

Mya squinted as if thinking hard. “Around 2007 or so. March, if I remember correctly. Snagged my favorite panty hose on the subway. Everything’s just gone downhill since then.”

Her mother stood. “I don’t know why I even try to talk to you.”

“Makes two of us,” Mya murmured underneath her breath. She watched her mother walk back through the door she’d just come from, her entire body heaving a sigh of relief.

Even if she were up for drama today, she still wouldn’t give Elizabeth the satisfaction. A post-funeral catfight would be the hand her mother fanned. She would play the victim card until its edges were tattered.

Mya pushed the swing again, then brought her other leg up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on her knees.

She wasn’t an angry person; Elizabeth just brought out the worst in her. Always had. Mya knew it wasn’t healthy to hold such a long-standing grudge, but despite many attempts, she just could not let go of the resentment she felt toward her mother.

Maybe if she had ever, just once, sensed an ounce of regret in Elizabeth for walking away from her own child.

“Yeah, right,” Mya snorted.

The few times Elizabeth had bothered to visit after leaving Mya’s grandparents to raise her, she spent the entire time talking about the glamorous life she was leading with whomever happened to be her boyfriend at the time. She’d tell Mya she needed to straighten her hair, learn to flirt, do whatever it took to attract a man so he could rescue her away from this godforsaken town, before she ended up like her Aunt Maureen. Mya would prefer to be like Maureen over Elizabeth any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Mya had made it out of Gauthier, but she’d done it on her own. She hadn’t needed anyone to rescue her. And, unlike Elizabeth, she hadn’t left a baby for others to raise.

Even though she’d come close.

Mya shook off the disturbing thought. She continued to sway, pulling in deep breaths as the swing rocked back, letting them out when she went forward. She’d love to spend the rest of the afternoon out here, but it was time to go into the house and face the judgmental stares. Every expression said the same thing: it took her grandfather dying to bring Mya Dubois back to Gauthier.

Just as she reached out to grab the rail post, the swing stopped and Corey Anderson plopped down next to her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

She had managed to avoid him since their meet and greet in the cemetery. It was a trend Mya wanted to continue.

“Believe it or not, I was just leaving,” she said, rising from the swing.