"Okay," she agreed.

"Anything else?" Josh asked, eager to make his departure.

"Yes." He flipped the pages of the file and handed Josh a sealed envelope. "Mr. Lambert asked me to give this to you at the time of his interment, if you were present."

Surprise must have shown in Josh's face because the funeral director continued.

"I explained at the time that if this was a legal doc.u.ment, it would be best to have it delivered by an attorney."

Josh accepted the envelope and immediately recognized his stepfather's cursive scrawl, which spelled out his name.

The funeral director did his best to swallow a smile with limited success. "As I recall, when I suggested an attorney, Mr. Lambert was unwavering in his opinion of lawyers and claimed he wasn't paying one to hand over a piece of paper."

"Sounds like Richard," Josh said, smiling himself.

"I believe that's it then," George Thompson said, closing the file.

"I'll get Richard's burial clothes to you first thing tomorrow morning," Mich.e.l.le said as they stood in unison.

Mr. Thompson walked them back to the foyer. "I'll see you then," he said in parting to Mich.e.l.le.

When they were outside the funeral home, she asked Josh, "Where will you be Monday?" She made the question almost an accusation, as if it was his legal obligation to stay in town for the burial.

"Away from here," he said. "I came back because it seemed the right thing to do, but there's no reason for me to stick around any longer. Richard didn't want any formal services and it wouldn't have mattered one iota to him if I'm here for the burial or not."

"Maybe not to him, but ..." she let the rest fade.

"But what?"

"Where will you go?"

Josh hadn't really stopped to think about it. The new job would be starting up soon. At most he'd have a day or two before he needed to be there. "There's not much point in driving back to California before I head to Montana. I thought I'd take a couple of days for a trip to the ocean."

Her response was a half smile.

"Would you like me to help you choose the clothes?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No thanks. Richard had a favorite sweater he wore quite a bit. I think your mother might have knit it for him. It's pretty well worn but it seems appropriate, don't you think?"

"Sure, whatever you think is best."

She glanced down at the envelope in his hand. "When are you going to read that?"

He shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to do it anytime soon. "I don't know. In a while I guess. Do you want to read it?"

"Good grief, no," she returned and took a step in retreat. "That letter is meant for you, not me. But aren't you the least bit curious?"

He wasn't and he realized why. "I already know what it says."

"You do?"

"Richard made it clear when I first arrived. I will inherit nothing, which doesn't surprise me. The fact is, I could care less about the house and I never really wanted anything from Richard."

"You were his son," Mich.e.l.le argued.

"Stepson," he corrected. Although the two men had made peace in the end, Josh had never been a son to Richard nor had Richard been a father to him. He was unwilling to turn Richard's memory into something it wasn't.

Mich.e.l.le frowned. "When are you leaving?" she asked.

"Sometime tomorrow, probably early."

"That soon?" She refused to make eye contact.

"That disappoints you?" he asked, reading her displeasure.

"Yes ... no, I don't know what I think."

Mich.e.l.le seemed as disoriented as he was himself. Nothing felt real and yet reality was. .h.i.tting him in the face. They were standing outside the funeral home. Nothing could be more real than that.

"Everything is confusing," he murmured.

Mich.e.l.le dug inside her purse for her car keys.

"We need a drink," Josh announced. "Preferably something strong."

"What about the Pink Poodle?" Mich.e.l.le suggested.

"Sure." Josh wasn't sure they served anything stronger than beer though. They'd find out soon enough.

He left the funeral home and met Mich.e.l.le in the parking lot of the Pink Poodle. Several bulbs on the neon sign had burned out, so it read INK P O LE, which might have indicated a tattoo parlor as much as a beer hall. Things hadn't really changed that much in town since he'd left, Josh mused.

A couple of men sitting at the bar looked up when Mich.e.l.le and Josh entered the tavern. Sawdust covered the floor. He led Mich.e.l.le to an empty booth and they slipped into it, sitting across from each other.

The waitress approached their table and Josh ordered a beer. He was surprised when Mich.e.l.le asked for a diet soda, but he didn't comment.

"You okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

Refusing to meet his gaze, she shrugged.

"I know you and Richard were close ..."

"We weren't that close." She kept her chin up and again avoided eye contact.

Josh continued to study her, and after a moment he noticed that her bottom lip was quivering slightly.

"This is hard," he said, reaching across the table to take hold of her hand.

Mich.e.l.le pulled her hand from his grasp and rested it in her lap.

Surprised, Josh leaned against the stiff wooden back of the booth. They'd both been dealt a shock. While they'd known Richard's death was imminent, it still unsettled them. Dealing with death, no matter whose it was, wasn't easy.

"I know you cared a great deal for Richard," he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "I'm grateful to you and your family for looking after him. After my mother and Dylan died you were probably the only people left in his world who cared about him." Consumed by grief, Richard had made an art form out of rejecting family and friends. He'd isolated himself. His world had fallen off its axis the day he buried his son. At one time Richard had been different. Josh remembered the sound of Richard's laughter when Teresa had been alive and the pride that shone in his eyes as he watched Dylan play football. At one time he'd had it all.

The waitress delivered their drinks and Josh paid her, including a generous tip. He took a sip of his beer, but Mich.e.l.le did nothing more than hold on to her gla.s.s with both hands while staring off into s.p.a.ce.

Because she seemed so curious about the letter, Josh pulled it out of his coat pocket, scanned the contents for any surprises, and found none. When he'd finished, he handed her the single typed sheet.

Mich.e.l.le looked surprised as she accepted the letter. She, too, quickly read the few lines and then set it down on the table.

"He asked you to look after Teresa and Dylan's graves, but not his own."

Josh chuckled. "He expected me to plant weeds over his grave and frankly the thought is tempting."

"Josh."

"Pretty ones," he clarified, hoping to get her to smile.

"You don't have a problem with the monies from the sale of the house going to charity?"

"None whatsoever." In fact, he was pleased his stepfather had settled upon those particular charities. Cancer research in honor of Teresa and brain trauma research in memory of Dylan.

Once again, she looked away.

"You okay?" he felt obliged to ask again.

"I'm fine." She took one small sip of her soda and then pushed the gla.s.s aside. "So this is it then?"

"How do you mean?"

"You said you're leaving tomorrow morning."

"Yes."

"I already told you I have Richard's clothes picked out for his burial so there's no need for you to stop by the house again, is there?"

"No, I guess not." He hadn't thought it through. "I'll stop by to say good-bye in the morning."

"Just like that," she whispered, sadness r.i.m.m.i.n.g her eyes. "You really mean to just drive away and not look back?"

The question hung in the air between them.

From Josh's point of view the answer was obvious. "Is there a reason I should stay?" he asked, genuinely curious as to how she would respond.

"I think there is," she countered.

"And that is?"

"Us, Josh. I know this discussion probably makes you terribly uncomfortable, but I won't apologize."

She was right, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"Before you say anything, allow me to make a simple observation. When you left Cedar Cove ..."

"You mean after Richard kicked me out of the house?"

She ignored his sarcastic tone. "You left and you've been wandering ever since-first in the military and now with your job."

"I don't want or need roots," he insisted. "I haven't since I was seventeen years old."

"Everyone needs someone, Josh." Her voice was soft, gentle, knowing. "Who is that person in your life?"

He shook his head, indicating that he didn't have an answer.

"You have a choice now," she said in the same even tones. "You can continue wandering through the desert, living with a chip on your shoulder-"

"Or?" he asked, interrupting her. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but he had a fairly good idea it wasn't good.

"You can-"

"Stay in Cedar Cove," he offered, breaking in a second time.

"No," she countered swiftly. "That's not what I was going to say." She held his gaze for a long time and then shrugged and slid out of the booth. "In fact, forget I said anything. You've already made up your mind. I wish you well, Josh, I really do. I appreciate that you came. Although he'd never admit it, I'm sure Richard did, too. I wish you peace."

Without a backward glance she walked out of the Pink Poodle.

Stunned, Josh sat in the booth for several seconds while he attempted to a.s.similate what had just happened. The two of them had been through a great deal in the last two days and he wasn't about to let it end like this.

He found her standing by her car, one hand on the hood and the other over her eyes.

When she heard him, she quickly reached inside her purse for her car keys.

"Mich.e.l.le," he said, rushing into the parking lot. "Wait, okay ..."

She straightened and turned to face him, her eyes wide. Josh didn't know what to tell her, what to say. He wasn't even sure he knew what she wanted from him. What he did know was that he couldn't just let her walk away. Not like this. He might never see her again and the thought saddened him. The sensation was akin to the way he'd felt when he realized Richard was close to death. Unfamiliar emotions tugged at him.

"Did you have something you wanted to say?" Mich.e.l.le prompted.

He thrust his hands into his pant pockets "I don't want us to part like this."

Again she appeared to be waiting, looking for him to say something more. "I want to be sure you know how much I appreciate your help," he said, stumbling to find the right words. If she wanted him to stay in Cedar Cove, surely she knew that was impossible.

"You're welcome," she whispered. "Have a good trip to the ocean and to the new job site."

"I will," he said, and still found it hard to leave. He backed up a few steps. Really there wasn't any reason to stick around. He unlocked his car. He paused and waited, thinking she might say or do something to stop him.

She didn't.

Josh tried to think of an excuse to not leave, but none immediately came to mind. He slid behind the steering wheel, started the engine-the whole time feeling this incredible need to call a halt to all this, take her in his arms, and hold her against him. The pull felt magnetic and strong, tugging at him, but still he resisted.