The Gravedigger's Guild

by Susan E. Farris

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Southern; Women's Fiction; Family Drama; sibling rivalry; death of a parent

Synopsis

"Family secrets to be unearthed and old grudges to be forgiven."
"Dramatic, dark, and full of secrets."
"Check out this book if you love family stories told with Southern flair!"
-Amazon reviewers

Family is forever... until it's not.

Alice Matins is dead. With the passing of this Mississippi matriarch, estranged sisters Maggy and Quinn collide over the course of Alice's wake and funeral amidst a motley band of gossiping church ladies and feuding gravediggers.

As storm clouds gather, the two women unbury secrets from their past involving Quinn's husband that could resurrect their once-strong sisterly bond. But he has secrets of his own.

The Gravedigger's Guild examines the indelible ties of sisterhood and the complicated legacy we leave behind.

Sibling drama. Southern wit and wisdom. Adult second chances. And love that grows and evolves over lifetimes.

Release date: March 25, 2021

Publisher: SF Consulting LLC

Print pages: 316

Sample

Prologue: Twilight Falls

 

The magnolias and oaks groaned and stretched their deep green branches wide overhead, like an old man rising creakily from a stiff chair. In the morose twilight of early evening, the portly Mr. Roy Mullone struggled to light the torches along the walk to the Chapel of the Cross. A fickle breeze had sprung up but was doing nothing to dispel the late-May humidity of Madison, Mississippi. Or the mosquitos. He swatted at one blood-sucking devil already attacking his elbow. Branches swayed sullenly over the ancient graveyard, emitting timbrous moans the less lively occupants of the Gothic Revival’s yard would have been jealous to hear. He wholly commiserated, muttering under his breath.

“One more of these ordeals then I hand it off to a younger man. Two more at most. Three.” A string of unholy expletives followed as the Bic lighter nipped his finger. He had forgotten to soak the wicks. But Roy Mullone was nothing if not an innovator. He had gotten everyone, everyone, to show up for tonight’s grave digging, hadn’t he? Alice Matins deserved nothing less.

He massaged the swollen joints of his hand, then dug out his backup bottle of butane and carefully dribbled it on the bright cotton. With a flinch, he flicked the Bic again, but the fickle wick caught with a burst. He sighed, relieved, and trotted to the next in the long line of torches.

Twilight was slipping softly past the trees when the cars began arriving. They crunched down the gravel drive and discreetly lined the back-parking lot, leaving the spaces next to the historic Episcopalian church empty. The soft crunch of their tires resounded off the soaring river-bottom brick walls in a swelling clatter.

With a small wave towards the windshields, he turned back to his work as one by one the engines cut off and peace was restored to the clearing. The men would wait for him, one final breath of rest before their long evening of toil. A service of love for the departed. And Alice, with her years of tireless service and kindly-meant advice to each and all, was more beloved than the usual subject of interment. At least Roy thought so. 

Roy had dribbled the last of his butane on the last wick when Collins Streisand popped out of his well-worn Ford truck and strolled up, looking fresh from the shower. Unsurprised at Collins’ impatient appearance at his mother-in-law’s wake, Roy shook out his throbbing hand while watching Collins approach.

“Evenin’, Roy!” he said. He plucked the Bic from Roy’s palm and spryly lit the last torch.

“Collins,” Roy intoned, rubbing at his inflamed hand, “We save the last torch for the Father’s prayer.” Collins waved away his words, the muscles of his bicep straining against his shirtsleeve. However, he glanced towards the church, and even though the long building lay dark, Roy watched Collins’ eyes swiftly scan its tall, narrow windows with their arched tops. Roy knew who he was looking for, but Maggy Matins, Collins’ sister-in-law, had not yet arrived. Having spotted no one, Collins looked up at the heaven-pointed bell tower and let out a small sigh of relief.

Roy stared at him, waiting for a response. Catching his look, Collins shrugged. “Oh— it’ll be a’ight. He’ll understand we forgot this one time. ‘Sides, it’s not like anyone but us ever sees that part anyway.” He glanced at his watch and back at the drive.

“These things matter—”

“Say, shouldn’t he be here about now?” Collins interjected, looking over his shoulder, clearly distracted. “The undertaker will be here soon, and we should go ahead and do our bit.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “With the weather forecast the way it is, I want everything to go as smoothly as possible this evening for my family.” Roy grumbled to himself but agreed, feeling the stress behind the younger man’s words. He pulled out his cell phone to check for missed messages, his arthritic fingers protesting.

“He’s on his way. Just a couple minutes late. Let’s go ahead and show the boys the plot so we’ll be ready when he gets here.” Roy flipped his phone closed and waved at the cars. Doors swung open and legs swung out. In the gloom, the Gravedigger’s Guild shuffled up the path, men of all ages, races, and walks of life slapping backs and shaking hands as they came.

Behind them, their wives helloed at each other and trickled into the church’s fellowship hall to prepare for the reading of the Psalms, the other half of that evening’s wake. He caught delicious whiffs from the Crock-Pots and towel-wrapped casserole dishes they hefted, and his mouth watered at the thought of the potluck later. As Roy watched the couples kiss each other fondly on the cheek before drifting to their separate tasks, loneliness licked at his heart. Collins waved at his mother, Mrs. Streisand, who emerged from her car alone, as she hurried inside with a Crock-Pot full of what was sure to be her barbecued meatballs. Inside the fellowship hall, lights flicked on, oddly cheerful in the gathering gloom.

With a glance at Collins’ tanned face, blank and unreadable in the lowering twilight, he asked, “Will your father be joining us tonight? We’ve missed him at the last couple of openings.”

Collins shook his head, a grimace flickering across his tan face. “He’s away on business in Nashville—trying to work out some partnership with a hot yoga chain or something.” He shrugged, muttering, “Probably buy them outright, knowing him.”

Roy clapped him on the shoulder, his brows furrowing in sympathy. He had heard Mr. Streisand rant at his son many times for Collins’ “soft” business tactics.

“You’re a good businessman in your own way. When you’re not being a hard-ass like your ole’ man.” Collins looked at him with a purse-lipped smile and arched eyebrows. Roy looked back, eyes narrowed slyly. His stubborn nature as president combined with Collins’ explosive temper as treasurer had made for a legendary and long-standing feud within the Gravedigger’s Guild. But at the end of the day, they were practically family. Because of Alice. Roy’s gaze drifted wistfully into the trees she’d loved so much. Collins’ voice snapped him back.

“Thanks, Roy. Hopefully, things don’t fall apart at the gym worse than they already have while my hard-ass is gone this weekend.” Collins tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Right now, I just want to get through this evening without anything blowing up.” His brow furrowed, and he pressed his lips together, uncharacteristically anxious. “I don’t think Quinn can take any more stress.”

Roy nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this with a minimum of pyrotechnics.” Collins chuckled as Roy turned to greet the men who strode up around them. He looked over their jeans and sturdy shoes and nodded, a faint smile drifting across the Guild president’s face. They had come dressed to work.

The men had gathered in a half-moon around him and Collins. Richard “Rick” Seymour elbowed Collins good-naturedly while Charlie Plath fiddled with a torch, knocking it askew. Roy cast his eyes at the clouds above them, praying for patience with the meddlesome man, then clasped his hands.

“Well,” he said, drawling the word out sociably, “Let’s go take a look at Mrs. Matins’ plot, shall we?” They tramped off through the moss-covered headstones, leaving footprints in the dampening grass.

Collins lingered. Irritated, Roy turned to urge him along and saw worry pinch his usually placid brow. A dark BMW pulled up the drive and parked next to the church. Maggy had come early.

 

 

Day 1: Clouds Gather

Chapter 1

Despite the overcast sky, the red folder glared up at Maggy from the passenger seat in the watery light of early afternoon. She had no idea why she had left it there to torment her instead of tucking it into her briefcase on the backseat with her long-neglected sketchbook filled with old drawings of magnolia blossoms and cabins covered in kudzu. Or why she’d bothered to bring the briefcase—it wasn’t like she needed it after her last conversation with Heather.

Briefly, she considered pulling over and putting the folder away, but shook her head and shot a glare at the dash as the radio spewed static. After nearly two days in the car driving from New York City, she would be at her older sister Quinn’s house in a few minutes and would be able to slide the folder deep inside a dark inner pocket and not think about any of it for a while.

She didn’t know what had possessed her to stop by the lawyer’s office on the way through Jackson, anyway. At the time she had reasoned it was a chance to stretch her cramping legs, but now she found herself mentally backpedaling. Mr. Leonard would be happy to talk to her and Quinn together after the funeral. Even if Maggy was technically the estate executor, no need to go rogue dealing with this, right?

The butter yellow, Craftsman-style house with its many gabled windows appeared through the trees, ancient pecans lining the drive. Even in the gloomy weather, the small house looked cheerful and bright, bikes and soccer balls and other toys littering the yard—a homey contrast to the pull-out couch of Olivia’s six-floor walk-up where she was currently crashing after her breakup with Marcus last month. Mama had been impressed by his good looks, fancy degree, and quick rise through the law firm, and so had Maggy, but now... She cut off the thought before it could spiral further into the roiling darkness that seemed to continuously lodge behind her breastbone these days, curling up her throat like the kudzu creeping along the road to constrict her breath and choke her voice to a whisper.

She blinked hard and wiped at her eyes. She had worse things to deal with now than boyfriend problems. Rolling her tired shoulders as she stared at the house in the distance, Maggy thought of the travel set of watercolors she had left in New York. Quinn’s house would have been the perfect little vignette to paint.

As the house loomed, the paint’s brightness grew almost obnoxious. An empty Pampers box sat on the curb next to the trash, and guilt twisted uneasily in Maggy’s stomach. This would be her first time meeting her four-month-old niece, Clara. Maggy remembered the flatness of Quinn’s voice, how vaguely she’d answered when Maggy had called at her mother’s urging to suggest she come down from NYC to help out as she had done for the other babies, back in February a few days before Clara was born. Her sister’s noncommittal answer hadn’t inspired much desire to hazard her boss Heather’s ire, infamous even in the fashion industry, so she had let the matter die.

Maggy plucked at a loose thread on the wheel as she studied the yard, weeds growing up around the neon pink azaleas and deep blush roses that should have been trimmed last season. If Maggy were honest with herself, worsening deadlines at work and a long drive could only account for so much neglect on her part.

The folder glowed up at her from the passenger seat. Quinn had dealt with so much on her own with Mama’s sudden illness and the funeral, on top of a cranky newborn—it couldn’t hurt if Maggy took care of executing the estate, right? Frustrated, Maggy drummed her thumbs on the wheel. So decisive at work, when it came to her family, she became bogged down in frustration and indecision. Irritated, she slapped off the radio, its static mumblings and blips finally overwhelming her taut nerves.

She turned into the drive, pecans snapping and popping under her tires over the familiar crunch of gravel. Every time she turned down a country drive, she missed the deep and steady rumble of her truck’s engine, the proud gleam of the hood in the afternoon sunlight. But Mama had been right. With its gas-guzzling mileage and unwieldy length, it wasn’t practical for city driving. Now, there was more than the truck to miss.

She parked and sat, an ache in her heart and knuckles white on the steering wheel, staring up at the house. In the sunlight, the wide windows winked at her as if letting her in on some private joke. An abandoned scooter leaned against the front porch steps, already deep in a breezy shadow. Geraniums bobbed cheerfully in their pots between the latticed porch rails. Modest compared to most of the other area homes, the tidy little Craftsman was positively palatial to Maggy. Before this trip, she had always stayed at Mama’s, a cozy, faux-log ranch a few miles west. Despite her visits over here before, and Collins’ many snaps  of her nieces and nephews running rampant through it, this house still felt foreign and a bit off-limits without Mama’s chaperoning, or rather refereeing, presence.

Quinn’s call inviting her to stay had surprised her, almost more than the other call, the one about Mama. She pushed back the memory, anger curdling in her stomach and turning her mouth sour. She released her white-knuckled grip, then pulled her bright hair loose from the messy topknot she had tossed it in for the drive. She shook away the rising heat as she shook out her hair.

The screen door of the open-air carport swung open with a creaking slap, errant children spilling out the side of the house. Collins and Mrs. Hernandez, the babysitter, followed a few steps behind, hollering. A raucous chorus of “Aunt Mags!” and “I told you it was her!” drifted through the car and she grinned, waving.

Outside her window, a matching pair of sunshine-bright mops and excited blue eyes greeted her, and four hands left lots of sticky prints. She cracked the door.

“Back up, boys! I don’t want to whack you!” Laughter answered her as the ten-year-old twins, Davy and Liam, scuffled away. As soon as she stepped out of the car she was tackled backward as strong, young arms wrapped around her waist mercilessly in anaconda hugs. Collins stood back, grinning with arms crossed as he watched his brood attack their aunt. The spry Mrs. Hernandez made clucking sounds and told them not to strangle their aunt, but she was smiling as she spoke and waved at Maggy.

“Oof! When did you get so tall!” Maggy laughed and hugged her nephews, stooping to wrap them in her arms. They smelled of funky boy sweat and peanut butter, which was smeared all over their faces. She bopped Liam on the nose, his tell tale freckles giving him away.

“Hey, you’re supposed to eat your food, not wear it!” Mouth still full of said sandwich, he grinned at her and stuck out his tongue.

“Why just eat it when I can wear it too?” He waved the PB&J and took another big bite before Davy pushed him aside and shoved a dinosaur figurine towards Maggy.

“Look what Dad got me! It even roars!” Davy’s curly hair bounced as he jumped up and down to emphasize each word. He punctuated the sentence by roaring along with the dinosaur. Widening her eyes, Maggy oohed along appropriately. Mrs. Hernandez shooed the rascals back towards the house with warnings to go finish their lunch for-gods-sake or no dessert tonight, and they shot off, pushing and shoving each other. A small hand tugged at hers and Maggy looked down to find four-year-old Kylie—with her straight, dark hair so like Collins and big, blue eyes like Quinn—looking up at her shyly.

Maggy picked her up and squeezed her in a big hug. “Hello! How’s my little sunshine?” Kylie smiled and put her face down on Maggy’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her neck. “Ok, I’m going to take that as a ‘good!’ Are you doing good?” A small nod into her shoulder and a wiggle answered her.

Collins strode up with Allie trailing behind him. With a jolt, Maggy noted that he was in gym clothes. Surely her brother-in-law wasn’t about to go to work this afternoon? They had the wake tonight, and she couldn’t imagine Quinn would be happy if he disappeared.

“She’s going through a shy phase right now.” He tickled Kylie’s ribs. She giggled. He leaned over and side-hugged Maggy. Kylie wriggled from her arms to follow her brothers in a mad dash towards the house. “You must be tired from the drive—New York is a long ways. I’ll take your stuff upstairs for you if you like.”

She nodded gratefully and handed him the keys before turning to gush over her oldest niece. Sixteen and now taller than either of her parents, it seemed Allie—named Alice after her grandmother and affectionately nicknamed “Allie”—had sprung up overnight. With dark brunette hair and dark eyes, Maggy was stunned to find her Star Wars-loving, mad-backyard-scientist niece wearing makeup. Looked like there had been some developments since she had visited at Christmas.

With a grin, Maggy bear-hugged her, then motioned for her to spin. Allie rolled her eyes but complied. Her days spent running cross-country were paying off too. She had a stunning tan and all the baby fat had melted away and was replaced with the trim runner’s physique that was hard to miss. Maggy nodded approvingly, crossing her arms and tapping a forefinger on her elbow.

Behind her, Collins hauled her overstuffed bag into the house. A minute later, he toted out what looked to be an enormous cooler and put it into her trunk. Maybe being a gym rat was good for something if it gave you muscles that could handle that without breaking a sweat. Maggy was puffing to make it up to Olivia’s apartment.

She refocused on Allie. “Well, it looks like some of the Matins-family fashion sense has rubbed off on you after all,” she said, surveying the nerd-chic look Allie had going on with her Vans and ripped jeans. Allie smiled and flipped her hair back.

“I tried. Do you like it?”

“You look fabulous!” She wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders, which she had to stretch up a bit to do, and they strolled towards the house. “And I hear you’ve been doing well with track, even won a few medals. Enjoying it?”

“It’s all  right. I don’t know if I’ll run next year; it takes a lot of time and I have to go to practice during the summer. Thinking about taking art instead now that Gran won’t be coming to all the meets.”

Quinn was going to flip when she heard that. Maggy nodded, trying to play it cool. “If that’s what you want to do. But tell me about life! I need all the gossip!” Biting her lip, Allie looked towards the windows.

“Can you stay? For a while, I mean.” Maggy paused and drew Allie to a stop to listen. The girl glanced at the windows again nervously. “Things have been… tense. Since Clara was born. I’ve been trying to help, but it’s been really hard the last few days since Gran died. I’m…” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she blinked hard. “I’m worried about Mom. She hasn’t been herself.”

Maggy rubbed Allie’s arms and pulled her in for a hug, reaching for the best words. “I’ll stay for as long as I can, sweetie.” She stepped back and looked at her. “What do you mean by tense?”

Allie gulped. “Mom’s been so snappish the last few days. Hollerin’ at us and randomly exploding. I know we’re a handful, but she’s usually so patient and takes time to explain things. Now, she’s just going, ‘Do it ‘cuz I say so’ and storming off.” She rubbed at her arms. “She loves having music playing on the radio and it’s been silent.” Alarm bells went off in Maggy’s mind with aching familiarity. “And I keep finding her alone, just crying. The littlest things seem to set her off.”

Maggy worried at her lip. “Things will be different with Grandma gone. People—well, people who are grieving aren’t themselves. Try to remember that.” A loud clatter echoed from inside the house, and she could hear Collins hollering at Davy and Liam. “I’ll see what I can do to help your mom.” As they strolled towards the house, she thought about the contents of her luggage. If she was going to stay past the weekend, she might need to borrow some clothes from Quinn. All her clothes were on the formal side. Not that she had many casual clothes to begin with, in her line of work. Maybe now was a good time to invest in some comfier clothes. She swung the screen door open with a creak and reminded herself that clothes of any kind would have to wait until her bank account wasn’t screaming at her.

It was calmer inside than she had expected. And eerily silent, just as Allie had said. Through the window over the sink, Maggy could see Mrs. Hernandez surveying the twins and Kylie from her perch on a lawn chair as they ran in dizzying loops around the backyard. Collins leaned on the island sipping a glass of water, staring up the stairs to his left, a gym bag at his feet. He set the water down and took a step as if about to climb the stairs, but halted, brow creased. On the marble counter of the island stood eight dark jugs of sweet tea and several bright tubs of sliced lemons. Maggy blinked, then chuckled. The cooler Collins put into her trunk earlier suddenly made more sense.

“I take it, Quinn went a little overboard in prepping drinks for tonight?” she asked. He shot her a scowl and shrugged but remained silent. Taken aback, she wondered what was eating him. Allie shrugged, palms up, and mouthed, “Good luck,” before scurrying upstairs. Parched from the car, Maggy set her purse down and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.

As she filled it at the tap, she watched Collins from the corner of her eye, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Allie had been right about the tension. Impudently, she decided to test it.

“Are you about to head to one of the gyms?” she asked. She kept her voice even and neutral.

“Oh, don’t you start on me too!” He snapped and turned to face her. She looked at him, eyebrows raised. She motioned at his sweatpants and branded shirt.

“Saw the clothes and thought I’d ask. It’s just a question.”

He rubbed at his forehead and leaned back on the island.

“You Matins women and your ‘questions.’ Yes, I’ve got to go sign some new-hire paperwork over at the Lefleur gym—the one that we opened right before Clara was born—and there’s a piece of equipment that’s acting up I need to check on. It shouldn’t take long.” Maggy shrugged and hmmed in her throat. His voice ticked up, defensive. “Jesus, you’re just like your mama with the side-eyes and all that. If I don’t go do it now, I won’t be able to until Sunday afternoon at the earliest and the dang thing’s too expensive to get torn up.”

Stung, she clacked the glass down. She fought to keep her voice even. “I understand work pressure, Collins.” She leaned her hip on the island across from him. She was achy from the long drive and didn’t want to sit at one of the new-looking, country-chic barstools. Quinn must be on a redecorating streak.

“How could you? You don’t own a business. Or multiple in my case. My dad co-signed the loan for Lefleur and he’s on my back because membership isn’t where it needs to be. And with the new baby always crying, I haven’t had the energy to tackle it…” As the words tumbled out of him, he trailed off and rubbed at the back of his neck, flushing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t lay all of that on you. Forget it.” She chewed her lip, wondering if she should tell him.

“I just got fired.” His head shot up.

“What? You love that job!”

If only he knew what it was like. “We were on a deadline. When I told my boss I was leaving for the funeral, she said that was job abandonment and fired me on the spot.”

His mouth fell open. “Is she crazy?”

“Kinda. Yeah.” They looked at each other for a moment and then laughed, rocking back and forth at the absurdity of something so stupid.

“You could sue, ya’ know.”

“That’s what Olivia told me. But I don’t even know if HR will let it go through. Or if I’d want to sue. Or if I want to go back. There’s a lot of ‘ifs’ right now. I just want to get through this weekend.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and sipped at her water, considering how thoroughly her life had fallen apart in the last few weeks.

He rubbed at his face. “Shit.” He glanced up the stairs again. “This is really bad timing. But look, I saw the folder.”

Maggy held a poker face even as her heart flipped. Shoot, she had forgotten to put it away. So, he was so pissy about that? As he put down his glass, she decided a good offense was the best defense.

“You had no business looking through my things.” She set her glass down as well, clasped her hands, and pinned him with her stoniest “I am the boss here” stare, perfected from years of working in the cut-throat fashion editing industry. Forget that her career was going up in flames right now, she at least had some skills to show from it.

He waved a hand dismissively, not put off by her glare. “How long have you known?”

“Known what, exactly?”

He put his hand on the counter and stared her down. “Known that you were estate executor!”

She relaxed a little, forcing her shoulders to ease down from where they had taken residence up by her ears. So, he hadn’t read any farther than she had.

“For your information, I only found out yesterday—Mr. Leonard called. He said I should come sign the paperwork.” She twisted her earring. “So, I swung by on my way through Jackson. I haven’t even read the will yet… haven’t been able to make myself.” He scoffed, and she raised her eyebrows. “I swear I didn’t know. Mama never said anything to me about it.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Collins stood up straighter. “You need to tell her. Soon.”

“I will.” Maggy took another sip of her water.

“Quinn doesn’t like when things are kept from her.”

With a long exhale, Maggy stood too. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“Then why don’t you go tell her now?!”

She huffed, hating how their interactions always devolved. Collins was such a hot head she could never take him seriously. How had they ever dated? “There’s no need…”

“There’s plenty of need!” His volume rose and a flush began creeping up his neck.

“If you’ve forgotten, you married my sister, not me, so stop trying to order me around! It won’t work.” At her reminder, he colored tomato red, his fists clenching on the counter. Inhaling slowly and letting it settle, she rubbed at her eyes, sore from staring at the road. She had too much angst in her own life right now to deal with his.

At his continued silence, she offered a token explanation—not that she owed him one. “Look, I’m waiting to talk to Quinn about it until we can both go to Mr. Leonard. He knows all the details of the will and how executing an estate even works. It just makes sense!” She held up a hand as Collins opened his mouth to retort. “I’m not going to drop a bomb on her. But I have NO answers right now, so I think it’s best if we don’t worry about it right this second. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow after the funeral.”

He took a step back, crossed his arms, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Fine. But it’s on you when she reacts badly when she finds out you waited.” With that he grabbed his gym bag and stormed out the garage door behind her, letting it fall to with a bang. She listened as he cranked his truck with a loud rev and backed down the drive, spraying rocks.

Before she could move, her phone dinged for the first time in hours. She dove for her purse by the sink and emerged with the glowing device. Thumbing it open, she scanned her messages hopefully. She had already sent her resume and cover letter around to a half dozen other publications. She didn’t know how she felt about staying in fashion; it had been more Mama’s passion than hers, a way “to put Maggy’s artistic talents to good use.” But with her bank account dwindling fast, now was not the time to consider a career change. The thought of gas money for the drive back to New York made her cringe; she’d probably have to sleep in the car.

Her eyes dimmed when she read the text from her temporary “roommate” and best friend from art college Olivia. She was the only one of her friends from school who hadn’t told her she’d sold out when she’d taken her first job in fashion editing, and she’d been there the day Olivia’s first show had tanked and overnight she’d had to figure out how to rebuild her career.

Hey sweetie! Thinking of you. Heather called. I had to tell her like 5 times that you’ll pick up your stuff when you get back. She tried to get me to come get it. I guess you blocked her number? (Good for you ) She said you weren’t answering.

Maggy tapped out a quick reply.

 Yeah, I blocked her after she cussed me out when I told her I couldn’t turn around & drive 10 hrs back to pick up 1 box of things. Told her to leave it with security. #nothankyou #dramafreeforme

More drama from Heather when she desperately needed a break. For the last six months, Heather had thrown tighter and tighter deadlines and ridiculous demands at Maggy. By the grace of God, she’d met them all. She didn’t know if Heather were trying to make her quit or testing her to see how she would handle a promotion. What she had not expected was being fired on the spot when she had told her boss that she needed to take two weeks of bereavement leave. With that, she supposed she had her answer. Nervously, she wondered if Heather had blacklisted her.

A string of hearts and party crackers finally answered her text. With a smile, Maggy silenced her phone and went to find Quinn and hopefully, her newest niece.

They were upstairs in Kylie’s sunlit room, Quinn drowsing in the overstuffed armchair she always used when nursing, a little swaddled bundle held to her breast. Worried, Maggy noted the dark circles under her eyes and new lines sneaking across her forehead. She wondered if she should send her a care package of the eye cream and retinol moisturizer she used or if Quinn would be insulted by it. With a shrug, she filed it away as a question for Collins. Maggy gently shook her shoulder.

“Hey! I’m here,” she whispered. Guilt snaked around her throat and squeezed, and she took a step back, swallowing hard.

Quinn stirred, pulling her shirt back in place. Honey-bright hair the same shade as Maggy’s fell in her eyes and she pushed it behind her ear, smiling wanly.

“How was the drive?” Quinn asked in a whisper as she shifted Clara. The tiny baby stirred and hiccupped out a cry and Maggy watched as Quinn visibly held her breath until she settled.

“It was long,” Maggy answered. “Same as always. But I’m very excited to see this little one! How are you holding up?” She spoke softly, sensitive to how tense Quinn was with this baby; she had never seen her look quite this on edge before. Quinn didn’t answer, distractedly swaddling the blanket a little tighter. Touching her older sister’s shoulder gently, Maggy repeated her question. Even as a new mother at nineteen, Quinn had been such a confident mom, always two steps ahead of Allie’s shenanigans and chuckling indulgently at her antics while seeming to continue effortlessly navigating her college classes—with a hefty dose of help from Mama. It wasn’t like her to look out of sorts and anxious.

“Hmm? Oh, we’re making it.” Quinn sat back, settling the baby gently into the crook of her arm. “It’s been pretty rough the last couple of days with everything, but we’re making it,” she repeated. With a big yawn, she leaned her head back. “Is Mrs. Hernandez here?”

Maggy nodded. “I left her in the backyard corralling the boys and Kylie.”

“Good. Good. Maybe we can get a proper nap in before tonight.” She rubbed at her face and groaned, the air whistling out. “I take it Collins has already left for Lefleur?” The word drawled sarcastically. “I could hear y’all a bit downstairs.”

“Yes. Sorry if we disturbed you.” Maggy watched as Quinn closed her eyes for a moment, frowned deeply, and rolled her shoulders. She stood up, handling Clara as carefully as a live grenade.

“Well, at least I can always tell when you’re here because you get Collins good and riled up. The way you two bicker. What was it this time?”

The red folder flashed in Maggy’s mind and she bit at her lip. “I asked Collins why he was in gym clothes. He got a little bit defensive about it.” It was half of the truth. Quinn glanced at her and nodded.

“Not surprised. I kinda gave him heck over that earlier.”

Quinn laid Clara down in the crib before flicking on the baby monitor. Maggy hesitated, then stepped up beside her and gazed down at her sleeping niece, with her dark wisps of hair, button nose, and puckered lips. Her chubby little cheeks shot a pang of envy through Maggy as she gently traced a finger across her sleeping niece’s palm.

“She is such a pretty baby, Quinn.” She put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. Quinn covered it with her own.

“She is. I don’t get to see her peaceful like this very often, but she is a pretty baby.” Quinn conceded. “My little surprise baby.” Maggy squeezed her hand. “And it’s about dang time you came to see her!” Quinn said, a lighter note in her voice as they turned to leave the room.

As they went down the stairs and sat in the surprisingly tidy living room together, Maggy filled her in on what had been happening: her increasing workload at the magazine and unexpected dismissal, the fights and breakup with Marcus. She tried to keep it light, seeing Quinn’s growing fatigue.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry about all of that. It sounds awful,” Quinn murmured. Picking at the lint on the couch, Maggy looked to where her sister was curled up around one of her many handmade throw pillows. The room was filled to bursting with framed inspirational artwork, snuggly blankets, and cozy throw pillows—even more so than Maggy’s last visit. Over the monitor, the baby bleated then quieted, causing Quinn’s shoulders to shoot up to her ears. Allie’s words echoed in Maggy’s head. She studied her sister as she spoke, knowing Quinn got crafty when she was feeling cooped up at home.

“It was. It still is. I need to find a new apartment and now a job. It’s a lot to deal with.” Maggy watched as Quinn glanced at the baby monitor again, then buried it underneath the pillow. Maggy looked down, plucking at the couch, stomach churning. “How have things been here? I was so worried about you and Collins dealing with everything—” Quinn cut her off.

“We’ve got everything arranged and Catherine has been wonderful, marshaling the ladies to get the house clean and drop off enough casseroles for the entire summer. All we have to do is bring drinks tonight for the wake and open the front door tomorrow for the reception.” Quinn spoke crisply but wouldn’t meet her eye; her lips paled. Maggy’s heart pinched at the mention of Quinn’s best friend Catherine and she licked her lips.

“I meant with Mama passing... and how you’re feeling.”

Quinn fiddled with the pillow’s fringe. “I’m ok. Or at least ok for the circumstances. I mean, we just lost our mom.” She sniffled and reached for a crochet-covered tissue box. Maggy pulled the lint out from under her nail. It still didn’t feel real to her, Mama being gone. She had even started dialing her number on the drive down, habit kicking into gear with the car. She looked at Quinn’s reddened eyes, so bleary and pleading for understanding.

Quinn continued, “I just don’t know what to do without her. Think about it: we’re orphans now.” The thought landed like a sucker punch, and Maggy struggled to inhale, pressing a hand to her diaphragm and willing the muscle to move. Quinn spewed on, “Like how am I supposed to deal with that? I don’t feel like I’ll ever be whole again, ya’ know?” Tears streamed down Quinn’s face and she blew her nose loudly, turning the tissue and blowing even louder. She looked at Maggy, waiting.

Maggy blinked at her, mind stuttering as it struggled to process that she was truly alone in the world. She shoved her fist further into her abdomen, willing herself to breathe. Finally, air whooshed back into Maggy’s empty lungs, cold and shocking.

“Yeah, I know,” she lied, feeling numb. “I know what you mean.”