“One shouldn’t take chances. You really never know. But, on the positive side, I do think Kit is . . . sensitive . . . to that sort of thing.”

“Okay. You’ve got me convinced. I’ll go give her a call,” Meg said, before slipping through the crowd to look for her phone.

Sarah watched Meg go, wishing she had taken Brianna with her instead of leaving Brianna here. Meg knew Sarah was upset with Brianna. Meg knew that they weren’t talking—

Oh.

That’s what was happening. Meg had just engineered this moment, leaving Brianna with Sarah, hoping that the two of them might finally talk. Sort things out. But Sarah felt far from conciliatory, and she turned away from Brianna, reaching for one of the little cards tucked in the nearest floral arrangement.

Tom, our thoughts and prayers are with you and the children. Love, the Deluceys

“Nice card?’ Brianna asked.

Sarah eased the little card back into the equally tiny envelope. “Yes.”

“Who was it from?”

Sarah tried to give her the envelope but Brianna wouldn’t take it.

“How long is the silent treatment going to last?” Brianna asked, her naturally husky voice sharp with exasperation and mockery.

Sarah looked down her nose at her sister. Brianna might be older, but she was tiny, barely reaching Sarah’s shoulder. “I have nothing to say to you, Bree.”

“You’re being such a drama queen.”

“Go away. I’m sure there is someone in the house you can torment.”

“This is stupid. You do know that, Sarah?”

“Of course it’s stupid to you. You were the one who was there with Mom. And you were the one who got to say good-bye.”

“Mom needed to go. She was in pain.”

A thick knot filled Sarah’s throat. She swallowed hard, but it just grew bigger. “Please just go away.”

Brianna’s delicate features tightened. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Sarah. Wasn’t trying to hurt any of you. I was just focused solely on Mom that night, wanting what was best for her—”

“Death?”

“She was dying.”

“And you hurried it along.”

“What?” Brianna’s voice spiked, echoing too loudly in the period living room, momentarily silencing all other conversation.

Sarah saw the Martins, Hughes, and Keegans—all friends of her parents—glance at her and Brianna before quickly looking away.

Brianna leaned toward Sarah and dropped her voice. “You make me sound like Dr. Kevorkian!”

“If the shoe fits . . . ?”

“All I did was hold her hand, and tell her how much she was loved—”

“And what a good job she’d done, a great job, but she’d fulfilled her responsibilities, and now she was free to go.” Sarah blinked, clearing her vision, furious, so furious. “And she did.”

“She needed to go. She was hurting.”

“I get that.