Good Neighbors (Book 1 of the Home Again Series)

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  It was a gray day, breezy, and threatening rain. Fortunately, the rain held off for the duration of Richard Carmichael's interment, but those in attendance grasped onto coats and hats, struggling to pay attention to the minister as they tried to keep warm.

  At the end, Brennan was surprised to feel a real sense of relief. By age thirty-two he was blessed not to have suffered any true loss in his life. Oh, yes, he'd lost Lois, and that had certainly been devastating, but that had been the loss of a relationship, not a life. Any funerals Brennan had attended had been for the aged relatives of friends and colleagues, no one over whom he'd felt any grief or personal loss.

  Now, however, he was seeing his friend Richard laid to rest, quite literally. The ritual ended up giving him a sense of resolution. Richard's long and painful battle with his cancer was over.

  As the balance of the gathering hurried to their cars parked along the winding road that ran through the expansive lawn of the cemetery, Brennan looked toward Liam. The teenager, standing between Clint and Erica, stared at the ground, his expression solemn. Impossible to tell if he was feeling any similar resolution or relief.

  Quite by accident, Brennan happened to catch Erica's eye as he shifted his gaze. He'd tried to keep his distance from Richard's estranged daughter even as he'd helped make the arrangements. But he hadn't been able to avoid noticing her. During the last few days, she'd appeared eerily calm, almost an automaton. But now, for just this one brief moment while their eyes happened to meet, he saw deep anguish and almost...pleading.

  He felt arrested. Confused. Was she asking him for something?

  In the next instant, whatever he'd seen in her eyes disappeared.

  Looking away, Brennan told himself to ignore whatever he might have seen. Beneath Erica's outer calm surged a storm. He didn't want to get caught in it. He couldn't afford to get caught in it.

  Clint tugged at his striped tie. It was clear he didn't wear one very often. "Guess we better head back to the house. Some of these people will be going straight to the reception from here." He looked toward Brennan. "You'll be there, right, bro?"

  "Of course." In fact, Brennan planned to drop in only briefly. Give the family some space. Give himself some, too, or at least some space from Erica. He did have matters he wanted to discuss with her and Clint about Liam, but that could wait until tomorrow.

  "Good." Clint nodded. "Let's go, then."

  As the four of them walked in a group toward their various cars, Brennan saw Erica lean toward Clint. In a low voice, she asked, "Who are all these people?"

  Clint shrugged as they walked along between headstones. "A mix. Friends from Dad's work. From his church."

  "Dad went to church?"

  "How do you think the minister was able to talk about him—?" Brennan saw uncharacteristic exasperation briefly seize Clint before he visibly calmed himself down. "He changed, Erica."

  She frowned, clearly not understanding.

  Brennan made sure not to catch eyes with her again in that moment.

  No more was said until they reached their cars, parked one behind the other. Then Erica looked over at Liam. "You want to drive back with me or with Clint?"

  Still gazing downward, Liam lifted his shoulders. "Doesn't matter."

  Erica stilled.

  Brennan read concern. She obviously cared about her little brother. The question was if she cared enough.

  Clint cleared his throat. "Listen, I want all of you to know. I'm going to be here for Liam. He'll live with me and all. Dad wanted that. He even put it in his will." Clint eyed Liam seriously. "You get that?"

  Finally, Liam raised his gaze from the ground to look at his brother. A strange expression crossed his face. Fear? Guilt?

  Guilt didn't make any sense, but Brennan could understand suspicion. Clint had arrived late to the funeral, muttering something about having to avoid Judy.

  "Sure," Liam said, his voice hoarse.

  "I mean it," Clint insisted. Then he swore. "Shit. I can't believe it. I can't believe she's here."

  Brennan turned to look in the direction Clint's gaze had shifted. A slight hill of grass overlooked their position. At the top of it, about a hundred yards away, stood a bright red car. Judy's car.

  Brennan didn't know Clint's wife well, but from what he'd seen of her, he got the impression of a bright, determined, and ultimately self-absorbed creature. According to Clint, she'd got it in her head that he was cheating on her. They'd separated, and now she appeared set on making his life miserable.

  "This is the absolute— I gotta go." Clint turned.

  "Clint—" Erica called.

  "Later." Clint waved as he rushed toward his truck.

  Looking toward the crest of the hill, Liam sighed. "When is she going to give up?"

  Brennan reached over to squeeze Liam's shoulder. "Clint'll work it out." Of course, it would be ideal if Clint could work it out sooner rather than later, but he did not appear ready to take the actions necessary to stop Judy's bad behavior.

  Erica frowned as Clint climbed into the cab of his pickup. "He'll show up at the house, though, right?"

  Brennan cleared his throat. "I'm sure he'll be there...if he can." Which was doubtful. Judy would follow him there, and Clint wouldn't want that.

  Erica turned, and this time their eyes did meet. Again, for a moment, he saw her inner feelings of uncertainty and confusion. He saw a plea that, though ill-defined, was clear enough. Help.

  An emotional shudder went through him. She'd jumped into this whole situation cold.

  He had to give her credit for jumping in.

  "I'll lend you a hand at the reception," he heard himself offer. Jumping in himself.

  But what else was he supposed to do?