Falling Fast (Falling Fast #1) (2 page)

Mia Wentworth had spent her first two days in Chambliss sitting out on the deck or walking the beach with a big floppy hat that drooped down over the top half of her face. Her parents were busy going through paperwork and talking to the attorney’s secretary, the funeral home, and the bank. They’d demurred her offers of help by saying that it was “grown-up business matters.”

Bah. She
was
a grown-up. She wanted to take some of the load.

Today was the memorial service. She leaned closer to the mirror under the bright lights and applied a second coat of the thick makeup that covered the mottled skin along her right temple and down her jawline. There would be lots of people there, but she knew very few. Her heartbeat tripped at the thought of one of them.

Raleigh.

She splayed her hand over her collarbone to calm her skittering pulse, the heel of her palm brushing against the scarred skin there. It nearly covered the divot-shaped scar left from the port during her cancer treatments. What would he think if he saw her like this, naked in the glaring light? Scarred skin covering her shoulder and arm all the way down to her hand. Down the side of her waist and hip. Her breasts rose and fell with her breaths at the thought of standing naked with him.

Or was that at the memory of the times she had been naked with him? Lying in his arms, their bodies plastered together. Moving in a rhythm as old as time, even if it had been brand-new for her. She had held on to those memories—the scents and sensations and soft laughter and the times they’d looked into each other’s eyes and the world had just stopped—during the pain and the surgeries and the rehab after the crash. They’d been her escape. Her lifeline.

She traced her finger along the scar across her stomach, now a soft, shiny arc. Raleigh had asked about it once, tracing it as she was doing now. She’d told him it was from a bicycle accident. She hadn’t been able to tell him about the malignant tumor, the first of many. Couldn’t face how his expression might change to pity.

But you lied to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Sheesh, she still hated herself for that.
It was only supposed to be a summer romance. A flirtation. It wasn’t supposed to be…love.

“We have to leave!” her mom called.

“Coming!”

Mia quickly dressed in linen pants and a beige top with sleeves cut long enough to cover the scars on her upper arms. She looked at the exposed scar tissue from her elbow down.
Showing some scar tissue is nothing compared with what you’ve been through. You’ve faced long-assed needles, surgeries, death!

Not that her parents had ever discussed the mortality rate of alveolar
rhabdomyosarcoma
with her at the age of eight or ten or twelve…when she was first diagnosed and every time it had returned. But she knew by their reactions, by overheard conversations, that it was serious. Later, she’d found out that the survival rate was sixty to eighty percent, though she had been closer to sixty, given her circumstances.

With a deep breath, Mia headed to the door of the room where she’d always stayed during their visits. A room she hadn’t seen in seven years. A few phone calls, cards, a shared Christmas in Colorado—the extent of her connection with her grandmother since the crash.

She stepped into the living area, where her parents stopped and looked at her.

“You’re wearing light colors,” her mother said in her disappointed tone of voice.

“I told you, Nancy wouldn’t want people wearing black to her memorial. She said she always wore white or red to a memorial to celebrate life, not mourn it.”

“That’s just what people say when they talk about death. Besides, wearing black is the proper thing to do.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Mia to dash into her room and change.

Her father glanced at his Rolex. “We don’t have time.”

Though Mia had her own car, she rode with her parents to the cemetery. Had her grandmother planned to pass during early summer, when the days were kissed by sunshine and light breezes? That would be just like her, to think of others. She had left instructions that her memorial—not a “funeral”—was to be held at the cemetery, not in a church. She hadn’t stepped foot inside a church in twenty years, as far as Mia knew.

“I don’t understand why she liked this place so much,” her mother said, looking around in disdain as they drove through the downtown area, with the old brick buildings claiming to be historic. “Then to insist on being buried here…”

Her father kept his eye on the road, his mouth a tight line the way it always was when she went on and on about his mother. “Mom wasn’t a city girl. She told me the moment she arrived in town for vacation she made up her mind that she wasn’t leaving.”

“Making us come down here to see her every year,” her mother groused.

Her father’s fingers gripped the wheel. “We haven’t been down in seven years.”

Because of Mia. At first, because she wasn’t in any condition to travel. Then it was that Grandma was
“consorting”—Mia’s
mother’s word—with the boy who had corrupted and disfigured their daughter.

At the time, Mia had been at a low point, having suffered through yet another surgery, with the prospect of continuing disfigurement. Grandma had called to say hello, then announced that she was putting Raleigh on the phone. Before he’d said more than a few words, Mia had blurted out that she couldn’t talk and hung up. A torrent of grief and regret poured from her, leaving her a sodden mess.

Through so much of her hospital stay and the pain, thinking about Raleigh had strengthened her. Hearing his voice, though, had knocked her completely off balance. The heartbreak had been so unexpected, so
huge,
that she hadn’t known how to process it. She had coping skills for facing surgery, facing her death and the deaths of the kids she got to know in the peds oncology ward. Counselors helped her with all of that. She had nothing when it came to losing love.

Later, she’d written a letter to Raleigh, sending it to her grandmother to give to him. She’d never heard back. Not that she blamed him. It was time to move on for both of them, she’d told herself.

Another lie.

Would he be at the memorial? Mia’s fingers involuntarily curled into her linen pants as she imagined seeing him. Her breath stopped. She needed to be prepared, just in case, so she let her mind conjure up a scenario. Seeing him in the crowd, wide shoulders filling out his shirt, face chiseled by the intervening years. Him striding close, gathering her hands in his, saying how much he missed her in that honey-rich voice. Her sinking against him, bracing his face in her hands, kissing him—

Whoa!
Bad idea. Feelings from a long, long time ago. So no, amend that scenario.

He’s there, in oil-stained jeans, T-shirt tight over a beer belly, and a pregnant girlfriend. No, wife. Make him a little more respectable. But not totally. He ducks back to the car during the ceremony to sneak another drink of beer, leaving the wife standing awkwardly by herself.

Yeah, better. Much safer.

She caught herself looking for him as they arrived, even though they had come early to make sure the arrangements met her parents’
specifications.
At least as much as Grandma’s instructions allowed. Mia couldn’t help smiling. Grandma knew her son would want to do it his way—or, more specifically, his wife’s way. And she was damn well going to make sure that didn’t happen.

Three chairs sat beneath the green tent where the casket stood, facing the rows of chairs set up under a huge oak tree. Rows and rows of chairs.

Mia walked over to a woman with long silver hair who was tying white ribbons onto the chairs. “Can I help?”

Gratitude, or maybe relief, colored her smile. “That would be great.” She handed Mia a roll of ribbon that shimmered in the light. “Just do it the way you’d like. Your grandma was a free spirit. She wouldn’t want it all uniform or anything.”

Mia couldn’t help glancing at the casket as she wove ribbons through the arms and legs of the chairs. The casket was nothing fancy, per Grandma’s directive. But she didn’t want to be cremated. Mia remembered her saying she’d rather rot than be dust. Just the kind of thing her grandma would say in her snappy way.

I wonder if she had faced death once, too. Or maybe it was just getting older. Once you stare that monster in the face a time or two, it doesn’t scare you as much.

Mia thought of all the times she’d considered picking up the phone and calling but hadn’t. She’d sent emails, cards, chatty updates, but going no deeper. She never talked about the support group for disfigured people she’d joined, and where she met the only other man she’d ever dated. Or the fear that, because of the chemo, she wouldn’t be able to have babies. Maybe because she was afraid her grandmother might relay it to Raleigh.

She ran her finger over the silky ribbon and whispered, “Grandma, I’m sorry I didn’t call more often. Or visit. Coming here…” She released a soft breath and wiped the moisture from her eyes. “It would have been too painful.” The sunlight played off the scars on the backs of her hands.

“Just in time,” the lady said, tossing the remainder of her roll into a large plastic bin. She made her way over and held out her hand to Mia. “Here, I’ll take yours. Nice job.”

Mia followed her gaze to the cars that were beginning to pull up and park. She scanned each group as they emerged and meandered toward them. Some recognized her father from the dredging project. Few recognized her mother, who spent most of her time in Florida visiting a college friend in Miami, flying home to oversee some charity ball, or any other excuse to flee Chambliss. Some met her gaze and smiled. Many knew about the accident and were probably assessing how she had fared. From a distance, with the heavy base makeup, she could almost pass as normal.

Mia wandered over to her parents, taking in the new wave of people drifting toward the tent. No Raleigh.

He probably wouldn’t come, knowing her parents would be there. She had to convince herself of that so she could relax her bunched-up muscles and roaming gaze. The tight coil of her heart.

But you hope he comes. Just to drink in the sight of him. The memories.

She turned around to take in the people milling about, some sharing a story and laughing softly, others crying. Grandma had volunteered at the Chamber of Commerce and at Meals on Wheels. She would be missed by many. No one but her mother was wearing black.

The director gestured for everyone to take a seat, and Mia settled onto the chair at the outside edge. She scanned each and every person.

No Raleigh.

He’s not coming. Get over it already.

The director, who knew Nancy from their volunteer work, welcomed everyone and said how touched she would be by the turnout. He introduced Mia and her parents, then spoke at length about the wonderful and sweet and feisty Nancy.

As Mia teared up over his sentimental words, she saw him. She blinked, just to make sure, but her heart knew immediately. The director’s voice faded into the roar of blood in her ears.

Raleigh.

He stood behind the last row of chairs next to the thick trunk of an oak tree, in khakis and a maroon button-down dress shirt. His hair was trimmed, and he was clean-shaven. Not an ounce of fat on him judging by the way his shirt lay flat against his stomach. She gripped the edges of the chair as the ground tilted. Or was
she
tilting?
God, don’t let me fall off the chair! No, you’re dizzy because you, uh, forgot to breathe!

Carefully, she pulled in a long, deep breath. Then another. The world was still blurry, and she wiped at her eyes to clear them—and found Raleigh in her sights. Which was even more startling, because she was pretty sure he was looking right at her.

She forced herself to breathe again, to shift her gaze to where it should be. The director invited people to come up and share a story or their thoughts. There was no hesitation as the first person stepped up to the microphone stand positioned in front of the chairs.

Several people spoke from their hearts over the next twenty minutes, and everyone dabbed at their eyes, including Mia. She wrestled with whether to go up, but to put herself on display was more than she could bear. Her father went up and sounded like a politician as he thanked everyone for coming. The director made one last call, and Mia’s eyes went to Raleigh again. He leaned forward, his hand clenched on the tree. He clearly wanted to go up, but he looked at her father. Then at her. Then he rocked back on his heels again, his face tight with the war inside him.

Come up. I want to hear what you have to say. About Grandma. About your friendship with her.

I just want to hear your voice.

He remained in the shade of the tree. Mia certainly couldn’t think him a coward, not when she, too, was afraid to go up and speak. Facing cancer and burns wasn’t as hard as facing people, she mused. Wasn’t that crazy?

But then she stood. Walked to the microphone and fumbled as she adjusted it to her height. Cleared her throat and tried hard not to look at Raleigh. Instead, her gaze skipped across the rows and the ribbons dancing in the breeze.

“Thank you all for being part of her life. I…” Her eyes betrayed her, zeroing right in on Raleigh. Her thoughts froze. Time was suspended, everyone—every single person—focused on her. She cleared her throat, heat rising up her neck. “I’m jealous that you all got to spend time with her. To know her as a friend.” Her gaze went to Raleigh again. “Thank you,” she said again, thrashing herself for the impulse as she took her seat.

She would have no regret, though. If all those weeks and months and years of hospital stays had taught her anything, it was to let no opportunity slip by. Especially the ones where you left words unsaid. Important, life-changing words.

She searched through the people all getting to their feet. Raleigh leaned against the trunk now, his head tilted back. As though it was all too much to bear. The impulse now was to go to him.

But the director asked everyone to form a line to pay their respects before the casket was lowered into the ground. Mia had to follow her parents to form a reception line, where everyone offered their condolences before stepping up to the casket. Mia’s heart squeezed so tight that she could hardly breathe. Would Raleigh shake her hand? Hug her? Say in a low, intimate voice how very sorry he was for their loss?
Their
loss, because it was as much his as hers. Maybe more so.