“Why not? Don’t you have official ways of warming me up?”
He grinned. “Oh, I do. Lots and lots of ways. And I’ll be over after work to demonstrate all of them, so leave a light on for me.”
“I’ll leave them all on!” Nora called as Jed jogged away.
She stood alone in the quiet cemetery, and though she was cold, she didn’t want to go just yet. She was too captivated by the peacefulness of the place. Instead of leaving, she walked closer to the Juliana statue. She was reaching out to touch the marble woman when a snowflake landed on her coat sleeve.
Astonished, Nora glanced skyward. A snowflake landed on her cheek like a wet kiss. She laughed in delight.
She caught another one, and in the seconds before it melted into the fabric of her glove, she saw a dozen shimmering crystals. She saw daisy petals. She saw pure beauty.
“It’s snowing, Bren. A bit of magic from heaven. Just for you.”
The flakes, which were too sparse to be called a flurry, vanished as soon as they hit the ground.
Nora pulled out her phone and took a photo of Juliana’s face just as the wind blew a curlicue of snow in front of it. Later, she’d send the image to Bobbie and ask her if she had time to talk.
Knowing Bobbie, she’d call within the hour. Nora would start off their conversation by asking Bobbie about work. Then she’d fill her in on what was going on at the bookshop. Finally she’d describe the understated ceremony at the cemetery and update her friend on Wolf Beck.
After spending two days and nights refusing to speak, eat, or meet with an attorney, Beck was transferred to a secure hospital ward. By the end of the third day, he’d accepted the prosecutor’s plea deal. The sentencing hearing had yet to take place, but when Sheriff McCabe heard which judge would be presiding over the case, he’d sucked in his breath and said that Beck would spend the rest of his life behind bars. That had been enough for Nora. She didn’t want to think about Wolf Beck anymore. She wanted to move forward.
Now, as Nora glanced up at the mist-crowned mountains, she felt a sense of closure. The snow had stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the air smelling of pine and cedar. Overhead, a V of geese cut through the clouds. Nora watched their flight, admiring their neat, unwavering lines. She didn’t wonder where they were headed. She knew that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were together.
She too was part of a flock. Of a family. She’d temporarily left the formation to linger here, but she was ready to return. She was ready for pie and coffee. For small talk and light laughter.
“You didn’t fix her wing.”
The masculine voice had materialized from somewhere behind Nora. Startled, she swung around to see who would sneak up on her in a cemetery.
It was Morris Knapp.
“Forgive me.” He held out his hands in supplication. “I didn’t mean to creep up on you. I was trying not to disturb you—in case you were praying or speaking to Bren or Cecily.” He pointed to his left. “I’ve been sitting on that bench, waiting for the right moment to talk to you. You seemed lost in thought until just a few seconds ago. Then I got the feeling that you were going to leave, and I thought it would be okay to come over. I’m sorry if I read that all wrong.”
Nora saw no reason to doubt his sincerity. “No, you got it right. I was just about to head out, but I’ll tell you about her first.” Moving closer to Juliana, Nora put a hand on her shoulder, just above the missing wing. “I was there the day the wing broke off. At first, Celeste was upset. But she didn’t blame the movers. She never raised her voice. She found a use for the broken wing. I was impressed by her calm. Her graciousness. She told me that there are no mistakes in art. Only marvelous new creations.”
Morris smiled. “That sounds just like her.”
Nora stared at him. “You called her Cecily. You knew her.”
He nodded. The gaze traveling from Celeste’s gravestone to Bren’s was full of regret and sorrow. “Brenna was my daughter. I didn’t know that until recently. Cecily never told me that she was pregnant. She and I dated when we were much, much younger. And only for a few months. We liked each other, but we knew what we had was temporary. I was headed to the seminary and Cecily wanted to pursue a bohemian lifestyle.”
“You met in Alabama?”
Morris got down on his knees and began to pick stray bits of grass off the surface of Bren’s stone. “We volunteered at the same soup kitchen. She thought I was cute, and she liked my sense of humor. I thought she was pretty, and I liked her kind heart. We had one summer together. After that, we went our separate ways. Years later, I met Connie. We got married and started a family. And all the time I was changing diapers, watching soccer games, or building treehouses, I had another child.”