Chapter 5
For a few quiet seconds, there was nothing but the stillness of the room. Then George came back to her, followed by everything else—the house, the funeral, Montana.
She reached over and gently brushed her fingers through Isaac’s black curls. He didn’t wake. She took that mercy and slid out of bed.
The day had yet to begin, and she already wanted it to be over. She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at her reflection in the dark screen of the television. Her black dress hung on the bathroom door like a ghost.
Kara couldn’t cry for George. Maybe that was what made her feel the most hollow. Everyone would look at her today, searching her face for something, but all she had was fatigue. A bone-deep exhaustion from carrying secrets for far too long.
Still, she would show up today, standing there nodding solemnly to condolences. Because that’s what a good daughter does. Even if she never was one.
She opened the curtains. Sunlight spilled into the room, bold and defiant against the lingering shadows of the day. There was something cruel about how the sun still rose, how the world kept spinning like it didn’t know who had died or what he had done.
The radiance of the morning continued to mock her as she dressed in black, not in mourning, but in obligation.
The day ahead promised nothing but uncomfortable glances, stiff embraces, and all she wanted was to be on the other side of it.
“Is it bad that I want you right now?” he mumbled, voice husky with sleep and something else.
“Yes,” Kara said flatly, stepping into the light from the bathroom. “I love being wanted, truly. But maybe not right now, while I’m deciding on which nearly identical black dress to wear to my father’s funeral.”
Isaac groaned and flopped onto his back. “Show me?”
She held up two dresses, one with a scoop neck and one with a higher cut.
“Left.”
After a moment’s thought, she chose the higher neckline and leaned over to kiss Isaac.
“I already laid out your suit. Socks and dress shoes,” she said with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d been up for hours.
He lifted his head a few inches. “You ironed my shirt, too?”
“Of course I did. I can be a perfect housewife after all.”
Isaac smirked, then winced. “That joke makes me wildly uncomfortable.”
“Good,” she replied. “You can be uncomfortable while I get us coffee. Let me know if you need help with your tie.”
He watched her, wrapping himself in the soft hotel robe. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly.
She stopped in the doorway, not looking back. “Let’s survive the day. Then you can get sentimental.”
Kara grabbed two coffees from the café before heading over to the bar for a shot. The whiskey burned all the way down.
Isaac looked distinguished. His black tailored suit complemented his caramel skin, accentuating his broad shoulders and solid, well-built frame. Kara couldn’t help feeling a little out of place beside him.
“You look beautiful,” he said, as if sensing the shift in her mood.
She smiled softly. “Let’s go. We can’t be late.”
The chapel was small, with high ceilings and wooden beams that groaned with every gust of the mountain breeze. A wreath of white lilies hung over the closed casket, and the air smelled of pine and perfumed grief.
Kara sat at the front, Isaac’s hand loosely around hers.
Zoe sat on the other side, silent, chewing the inside of her cheek.
Most of the attendees were scattered townsfolk, old family acquaintances, and people who had barely spoken to George in the last decade.
But still, they came. That was the thing about death—it made people show up, if only for the performance.
A local pastor stood to deliver the service. His voice was gentle, deliberate. “We’re gathered here to remember George William Nicholls, a man of quiet words and quiet habits,” he said, his gaze settling briefly on Kara and Zoe. “He was not without flaws—but who among us is?”
Kara looked down at her lap, fingers knotted in the fabric of her black dress. “George served his country, raised two strong daughters with his wife, and built a life here in these mountains. He was stubborn. He was proud. He was ours.”
Her throat tightened. She didn't think she would cry during the service, but something about the phrase he was ours tugged at her. A part of her still wanted to scream:
He was broken, and he broke us, too.
“May he rest in peace,” the priest concluded solemnly, just before launching into a violent coughing fit. His assistant rushed to the pulpit with a half-opened bottle of water, uncapping it hastily and handing it off.
Kara and Zoe stifled their laughter, eyes wide but shining.
That must have been divine retribution for words that didn’t belong to the man in the urn. Kara pinched the inside of her arm, knowing if she looked directly at her sister, she'd completely lose it.
The priest took a long sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, everyone… Where was I?”
“Lying!” Uncle Richard shouted from the back row without hesitation.
Laughter rippled through the chapel like someone had opened a window, letting in fresh, cool air. Even the priest chuckled as he shook his head, tapping the microphone to continue.
Kara leaned over to Isaac and hid behind her hand. “It’s hard to say anything good about him.”
“Your whole family seems to know that,” he replied under his breath, lips barely moving.
She smirked, hiding it behind her folded hands.
The priest continued, trying to keep things on track. “George Nicholls was a complicated man.”
There was a collective, almost reverent murmur from the room — a quiet wave of agreement.
Complicated.
That was generous, but today was for closure, if such a thing could be found.
Kara stared at the image above the empty casket. When Zoe confirmed that Kara hadn’t wanted to see him, there hadn’t been much to discuss. She’d gone ahead with the cremation right away.
Kara was grateful for that. She couldn’t imagine having to stand over an open casket and see George for the first time in years.
Kara's mind drifted off, through Aunt Lillian's awful rendition of I Fall to Pieces by Patsy Cline.
Outside the stained-glass windows, the sky was beginning to cloud over; the pastor closed his leather-bound book and bowed his head, and the doors at the back creaked open. A few heads turned.
Kara glanced back.
A man stood in the entrance, tall, dressed in dark jeans, a pressed black shirt, and a long gray coat that brushed his boots. He removed his hat respectfully, revealing graying hair cropped close to his scalp. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes found Kara almost immediately.
Her heart stumbled.
She knew those eyes.
No.
It can’t be.
Zoe noticed too. “Kara,” she whispered under her breath, “Who is that?”
Kara didn’t answer.
The man nodded once in their direction and took a seat in the back row. He didn’t look at anyone else.
As the final prayer was said and the congregation was dismissed. Kara made her way out slowly, the heels of her boots crunching softly against the path.
Isaac offered her his arm, but she was still watching the stranger. He remained seated as others passed, head bowed slightly, hands folded over his knee.
She couldn’t stand it. She turned to Isaac. “I’ll be right back.”
Approaching him felt surreal, like slipping into a dream she'd worked hard to forget.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said under her breath when she reached him.
“I had to see you,” he replied quietly. His voice was deeper now, heavier with time. “And I had to pay my respects.”
“You knew my father?” she asked, voice caught between disbelief and suspicion.
He looked up at her fully now, something soft and painful in his gaze. “I knew you,” he said. “Now I know what he did.”
Kara’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say I’ve followed the breadcrumbs.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. Kara was still thinking of what to say when Isaac appeared, brows drawn tight. “Everything okay?”
The man stood slowly and extended a hand. “Just an old friend. Elias.”
Isaac took it warily. “Isaac White. Kara’s fiancé.”
Elias nodded.
Kara’s mind was spinning. She hadn’t heard that name in years. Elias Carter. A name from her past, older than all the things she buried.
“We’ll talk later,” Elias said, then tipped his cap to both of them and turned away, disappearing down the path like smoke in the wind.
Kara went rigid. Zoe came up behind her. “So are we going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”
Kara shook her head slowly. “No. No, I don’t think we can.”
She felt like a spotlight had suddenly been placed on her. Clinging to Isaac, she became painfully aware of every eye in the room.
“Let’s head over to the house,” Peter offered.
“Oops, I almost forgot the urn.” Zoe spun around.
Kara must have spaced out because all she could do was blink, and somehow, they were already back home from the chapel.
They stepped into the house, where the reception was already underway.
“Why was he so mysterious?” Isaac laughed. “It was like he was some kind of spy. I can’t believe he’s just an old coworker.”
Kara frowned slightly. She didn’t remember telling him that, but she must have.
Kara fell into autopilot, doing whatever she could to get through the gathering. Everyone seemed to have the same questions—how long was she staying, and were they invited to her wedding?
The last of the guests had left, their cars disappearing down the long driveway one by one. What remained was the uncomfortable silence that always seemed to follow a funeral.
What’s next?
Kara was standing alone, staring out the window at the darkening yard.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Kara turned. “What?”
Zoe hesitated, lowering her voice.
“They were talking about the house.”
Kara made a face. “Who?”
“Most of them.” Zoe sighed. “Led by Lillian, of course.”
Kara’s expression tightened. “What about it?”
“They’re whispering about who’s going to get what. How much the house is worth. What the land could sell for. They’ve been walking around like this place is some kind of free-for-all. I haven’t mentioned that we’re selling,” Zoe continued quickly. “This is just you and me. I haven't told anyone.”
“They already think it’s theirs,” she murmured.
“Pretty much.” Zoe gave a humorless laugh. “Lillian was practically measuring the walls with her eyes.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m serious.” Zoe folded her arms. “She was asking questions about the bedrooms, the acreage, whether the furniture was staying. And she wasn't exactly subtle about it.”
She shook her head.
“I can't believe them.”
“I can.” Zoe’s voice softened. “They’ve always been like this.”
Kara turned back toward her sister.
“We just buried George,” she said quietly. “And they're already fighting over his house.”
“I know.”
Zoe nodded, her expression sad.
Kara swallowed and looked back out the window.
“Thank you.”
Zoe reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“Whatever happens with the house, Kara... we decide. Not Lillian. Not them. Us.”
George's ashes settled in the trunk of Zoe’s minivan. The house was quiet now. Kara stood by the window, fingers grazing the sheer curtain.
“You were always good at disappearing,” Zoe said finally, voice soft but edged.
Kara turned slowly, glancing at Isabel before meeting her sister’s eyes. “Zo…”
“I waited. I waited months for you to call and tell me you were okay. But you didn’t. You just… vanished.”
Kara swallowed. I had to.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Kara sat beside her sister, the couch shifting under their weight. She stared down at her hands. “That last day…I saw something.”
Zoe turned to her, eyes searching. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry…” she sputtered, the words catching in her throat. It wasn’t just about timing—she simply didn't dare to speak the truth. The damage would be impossible to undo.
Kara said sorry again before leaving, promising to explain everything soon—because none of it mattered until she found Elias.