A Star Tribune serialized novel by Jane Fredericksen
Chapter 4
The story so far: Gina is killed as she walks home from the engagement party.
Here she was again, staring out the window.
It reminded Kacie of how little things had changed since that night. She remembered the sirens and the shawl, the sharp ring of the phone call that followed; Bernie's anguished call that really told them nothing more than Kacie had already surmised. The tear spilling down Thea's cheek as confirmation.
Kacie didn't need to hear, didn't want to hear, but they told her anyway. They told her what she already knew in her heart, yet no one could tell her why.
They skipped around the perimeters. Gina had been drinking. Perhaps she hadn't looked as she darted into the street. It was dark. The driver was sober, but perhaps distracted. No excessive speeding. There would be inquiries, but Kacie sensed that in the end, no fault would be assigned.
It was an accident, pure and simple. But nothing was that simple.
Every night in the silence of her room, Kacie asked why.
The Pirate was strangely quiet on the subject. "Fate o' the wind, Lass," was all he would say. "It takes who it will."
So Kacie asked the wind. So far, there had been no reply, not even a whisper. She kept asking, kept listening. She was confident the wind would bring an answer, but it had been still for three days.
Cloudy and still. Clouds rolled in again that next morning and refused to leave. They lingered, still. No rain, no sun, no wind, no answer. Nothing had changed; everything had.
Kacie sat in her same bedroom, dressed in black, staring out the window. Her head bobbed with each stroke of the hairbrush. Behind her, on the bed, Thea coaxed the tangles out of Kacie's hair.
The young girl's gaze shifted to the wind chime on the latch. No answer. It hung lifeless and still.
And still …
"He'll be there, won't he?" It was not so much a question, as a realization.
The brush faltered only a moment, but it was enough. Thea's voice, however, was even. "Who will, honey?"
"My father," said Kacie. "He'll be there."
The brush strokes became harder. "Let's hope not."
Kacie persisted. "You know who he is, don't you?"
The brush strokes quickened.
"Don't you?"
Thea stopped brushing. "Maybe I forgot. Some things are best forgotten." She reached over to the desk and picked up a hairclip fitted with a white gardenia. Thea stroked the petals, and then fixed the clip into Kacie's hair.
"Here," Thea said, her voice thick. "Your mother always loved these." She stood, reached out her hand. Kacie took it.
"Let's go," Thea said.
* * *
The funeral parlor was situated near the top of the hill, in the center of town. It was a small, modest building with no windows. Kacie thought that was a shame. She understood the reason for privacy, but behind the parlor stretched the beautiful expanse of Lake Superior, a stunning view of the Apostle Islands and the sky beyond.
Yet, here they were, locked away. Gina would have laughed at the irony. That lovely, bubbly laugh that rose and fell like a waterfall …
Kacie swallowed hard and tightened her grip on Thea's hand as they pushed open the door. Immediately, people turned and began drifting toward her.
Kacie recognized most of them. Regulars from the restaurant, fishermen or sailors in ill-fitting suits, uncomfortable ties. Fellow waitresses with blotchy makeup and anxious eyes. Competing colognes and perfumes orbited in and out, expressing condolences, trying to give voice to a nameless sorrow.
Tomorrow: Chapter 4 continues.
