Chapter 21
The Miami heat hit Tara like a wall of moisture and memories as she and Will stepped off the plane at Miami International.
Even in late February, the air carried the weight of summer, so different from the crisp mountain air of Blueberry Hill that had become her sanctuary.
Palm trees swayed in the breeze beyond the terminal windows, and the familiar sounds of Spanish conversations mixed with English reminded her of the life she’d left behind.
“You okay?” Will asked, taking her hand as they made their way through the crowded airport. His calloused fingers were warm and steady, grounding her in the present when everything around them pulled her backward.
“I forgot how overwhelming this place could be,” Tara admitted, adjusting the strap of tote bag.
She’d packed carefully for Patty’s funeral, choosing clothes that honored both her grief and the tropical climate that never quite matched the solemnity of death.
Will pulled their bag as they walked across the sidewalk.
They’d just packed one suitcase, sharing it as this would be a short, devastating trip.
The taxi ride to the funeral home took them through neighborhoods Tara knew by heart.
Past the grocery store where she’d shopped for thirty years, the park where Evan had played little league, the restaurant where she and Harry had celebrated anniversaries back when their marriage meant something.
Each familiar landmark felt like reopening a wound she thought had healed.
“It’s strange being back,” she said, watching a jogger in bright, athletic wear pass by the taxi window. “Like visiting a museum of my former life.”
Will squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to stay any longer than necessary. Just the service and maybe a quick visit with Matt.”
The funeral home was exactly as Tara remembered from a friend’s service years ago: hushed voices, the cloying scent of lilies, and the peculiar lighting that made everyone look either too pale or artificially rosy.
Patty’s photograph sat on an easel. She’d wanted to be cremated, had asked for her ashes to be tossed into the ocean.
The photograph showed her as she’d been before Alzheimer’s stole her spark.
Bright auburn hair, mischievous green eyes, the kind of smile that had gotten them both into trouble more times than Tara could count.
Matt, along with their sons, Ben and Tim, who were studying at the University of Florida, stood near the casket receiving condolences.
Patty’s husband looked like he’d aged a decade in the months since Tara had last seen him.
His usually neat hair was disheveled, his suit hanging loose.
When he spotted Tara, his face crumpled with relief.
“I’m so glad you came,” he said, pulling her into a fierce hug that smelled of grief and aftershave. “She would have been so happy to know you were here.”
“Of course we came,” Tara replied, her voice thick with tears she’d been holding back since the airport. “Patty was... she was my best friend in the entire world, Matt. I couldn’t not be here.”
Will shook Matt’s hand with the quiet sympathy of a man who understood loss. “I’m sorry for your loss. Tara’s told me so much about Patty. She sounded like an incredible woman.”
“She was,” Matt said, his voice cracking.
“Even at the end, when she didn’t know who I was, there were moments.
.. little flashes of the woman I married.
She’d smile at me like she used to, or laugh at something on TV the way she always did.
” He wiped his eyes with a tissue that had clearly seen heavy use.
“I keep thinking I should have done more, should have seen the signs that she was planning...”
“Don’t,” Tara said firmly, placing her hand on his arm. “Don’t do that to yourself. Patty made her choice because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing herself completely. You gave her thirty years of love and devotion. That’s what she would want you to remember.”
The service was small but meaningful, filled with stories about Patty’s fierce loyalty, her terrible cooking, and her uncanny ability to know exactly what someone needed before they knew it themselves.
Tara spoke about their friendship, about how Patty had given her the courage to leave Miami and start over, about the generosity that had made her new life possible.
Afterward, as people lingered over coffee and the kind of dry sandwiches that funeral homes seemed to specialize in, Tara noticed a familiar figure across the room.
Her stomach dropped as she recognized Harry, looking older and somehow smaller than she remembered.
His hair, once salt-and-pepper, was now completely gray, and there were deep lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there during their marriage.
Beside him stood a woman not much older than Ally with expensive highlighted icy blonde hair and a designer handbag that probably cost more than most people made in a month. She looked bored and kept checking her phone, clearly impatient to leave.
“Is that...?” Will asked quietly, following her gaze.
“My ex-husband,” Tara confirmed, her voice steady despite the churning in her stomach. “And I’m guessing that’s wife number two.”
Harry looked up and met her eyes across the room. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he said something to the blonde woman and made his way over, leaving her looking even more annoyed.
“Tara,” he said, stopping a few feet away. Up close, he looked even worse. His skin had that reddish look alcoholics got, and his expensive suit couldn’t hide the fact that he’d gained significant weight. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Patty was my best friend,” she replied simply. “Of course I’d come.”
Harry’s eyes darted to Will, taking in the protective way he stood beside Tara, the engagement ring on her finger, the quiet confidence of a man who had nothing to prove.
“This is my fiancé, Will,” Tara said, surprised by how natural the word sounded. “Will, this is Harry.”
The two men shook hands with the polite tension of people who knew they were measuring each other. Harry held on a beat too long, his gaze sharp with the kind of assessment that had served him well in business and poorly in life.
“Congratulations,” Harry said, though the word came out strained. “I hope you’re... happy.”
“Very,” Tara replied, meaning it completely. “How are you, Harry? You look...”
“Tired?” he finished with a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, turns out karma’s a real thing. Mandy took our son and moved to California with some tech billionaire she met at a charity gala.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “Apparently, I wasn’t wealthy enough anymore. Her father fired me.”
Despite everything he’d put her through, Tara felt a flicker of sympathy. “I’m sorry. That must be difficult.”
The young woman across the room cleared her throat loudly, tapping her foot with obvious impatience. Harry glanced back at her and sighed.
“I should go. Brittany doesn’t like being kept waiting. We got married a month ago. She’s an influencer or something.” He looked at Tara with something that might have been regret. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you found someone who appreciates what he has. I was an idiot to let you go.”
“You didn’t let me go, Harry,” she said gently. “You chose someone else. There’s a difference.”
After he left, Will wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You okay?”
“Actually, yes,” she said, watching Harry escort his much younger wife toward the exit.
“I feel... free. Like the last chain from my old life just broke.” She’d heard from Christina that Mandy had met someone else.
Her daughter and Mandy sporadically kept in touch, and Mandy sent her baby pictures from time to time.
Christina said she’d told Mandy she was expecting — that it was nice to have someone else to talk to about being pregnant.
They said their goodbyes to Matt and the boys, promising to visit when they were in town again, knowing it might be years before that happened. As their taxi pulled away from the funeral home, Tara looked back one last time at the building where they’d said goodbye to her dearest friend.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she said to Will. “I couldn’t have done this alone.”
“Yes, you could have,” he replied, kissing her temple. “But you didn’t have to. That’s the difference between this marriage and your last one.”
As they headed back to the airport, Tara felt the weight of grief mixing with an unexpected sense of closure.
Patty was gone, but the love they’d shared, the friendship that had sustained them both through the worst times, would live on in the choices Tara made every day.
And Harry... Harry was just a cautionary tale now, a reminder of what happened when you chose fear over love, convenience over commitment.
* * *
Christina wandered through the narrow aisles of the Sip and Shop, Blueberry Hill’s combination convenience, clothing, and odds and ends store, picking up the random items Tara had requested for the cottage.
With her mom and Will in Miami for Patty’s funeral, she’d volunteered to handle the grocery run, grateful for something to do that didn’t involve sitting alone with her thoughts.
After she’d picked up the groceries at Spilled Milk, she’d popped in here.
She’d wanted to go to the funeral, to say goodbye to her mom’s best friend, but she didn’t trust herself not to throw up the entire flight and knew Patty would understand.
At almost four months pregnant, her body was barely showing any change, but Mandy said she’d been the same way, not showing until she was seven months.
At least the morning sickness had mostly passed, replaced by a constant exhaustion that no amount of sleep seemed to cure, though Emily reassured her, she’d get a burst of energy soon.