should have said she had an errand to do in town, but Kayla didn’t like lying to her daughter, even for her own good. Besides, in her experience lies backfired and made matters worse. Equivocating rarely got her anywhere, either, not with her precocious daughter. The children gazed at her, clearly expecting a better explanation than the one she’d just fumbled. She had no choice but to explain.
“Ethan’s father died last year. He was buried in the cemetery on the other side of town. You remember, we saw it when we were driving to San Antonio to see the Alamo.”
“That’s where Davy Crockett was killed,” Megan stated.
“Yes, it is. Well, there’s also a cemetery on the Broken Spoke, and Ethan is having his father buried there today.”
“They dug him up?” Brad asked with the fascination boys seem to have with the macabre.
Kayla shook her head and wished she’d prepared a convincing lie beforehand. “They’re moving the casket, the box he’s in.”
“They won’t open it, will they?” Heather asked.
“No, no. All anyone will see is the casket.”
“Can we go, too?” Megan asked.
“I won’t be long and Grandpa—”
“I want to go,” Megan insisted.
“It wouldn’t be polite to leave your friends here.”
“I’d like to go, too,” Brad announced. “I’ve never seen a casket, ’cept in movies.”
Kayla glanced at Heather, trying to gauge her reaction.
“I’ll go,” the girl said.
Kayla shook her head. “It’ll be better if you all stay here. I won’t be long, then we can play some games, and I’ll fix a special supper. Do you like fried chicken? I’ve got a really good recipe. Megan will tell you how good it is.”
“People came to see my mommy’s and daddy’s caskets,” Heather said. “I didn’t know all of them. The people I did know told me they were sorry.”
A lump formed in Kayla’s throat. “You can tell Ethan you’re sorry when you see him next time,” she said, amazed the words didn’t come out strangled.
“I’d like to tell him today. I don’t mind seeing a casket.”
This wasn’t turning out the way Kayla had anticipated or wanted.
“Are you sure?” She hoped the girl would change her mind. “You really don’t have to. It’s all right to offer your condolences on Friday when you have your riding lesson.”
“Ethan’s my friend,” Heather replied with more determination than Kayla would have expected.
Boyd came to the rescue. “Why don’t we all go, then we can come back here and play dominoes. Have either of you ever played Mexican Train?”
And so the five of them piled into Kayla’s Toyota. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. Would attending this burial further traumatize the girl? On the other hand, children were more resilient than adults often gave them credit for, and Heather seemed to understand what was going on.
“If we get a chance to talk to Ethan—” she turned into the ranch road “—all you have to say is ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or ‘I’m sorry about your father.’ We’ll stay only long enough to let him know we’re his friends. Okay?”
She heard a muted chorus of okays from the backseat.
Kayla was surprised at the number of vehicles parked around the arena. Father Noah’s maroon pickup was among them.
They didn’t have any trouble finding the gravesite. It was on the hill behind the house, past a grove of oak trees.
She recognized some of the people gathered there. The town’s mayor. Tall and statuesque, Miranda seemed to be perpetually on the move. Even now, as she spoke quietly to Noah, she seemed ready to bolt.
Millicent Niebauer was there, of course, taking it all in.
Frances Haase, the town librarian, was almost as tall as Miranda, but narrow and angular in build. Kayla knew the fiftyish woman was on the town council and the Home Free land giveaway board.
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