Читать книгу This Time for Good - Carmen Green - Страница 10

Flowers Memorial Chapel was a quaint white and blue building. Planters of neatly manicured evergreen bushes lined a discreet path to the back of the building as the driver parked in front between even white lines. A ray of sunlight kissed blooming pink and fire-red cymbidium, distracting Hunter from the somber reason for their visit. Silence hugged them and he waited, knowing what Alex was feeling. He’d lost both his mother and father too young, and he remembered sitting in a freezing Chevy Caprice, looking at the wilted flowers in his sister’s hand, waiting for her to tell him it was all a mistake. Her eyes hadn’t lied when she’d looked at him.

“We’re here?” Alexandria asked him as she absently pet her dog.

“Yes. Do you want to sit here for a few more minutes?” The heater was on, the engine still running. Although it was California, the weather was colder than Atlanta by at least fifteen degrees.

Alex shrugged her shoulders as if the move was costing her physically. “No. Let’s go inside.”

Hunter tapped once on the window and Frazier opened the door.

“Hunter?” She still hadn’t moved and he wondered why no one had called her to see if she were all right. Where were her friends? Her mother? Why was she here all alone with him?

“Yes?”

“My phone, please.”

The last thing he wanted was to fight with her. But why would she need it? “We’re about to go inside. Why don’t we go back to the hotel, and you can talk to anyone you’d like then.”

“Now, please?”

“Really, Alex, you don’t need it.”

She shook her hand at him and said nothing.

“You’re like Dr. King. A peaceful resister.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t use it in there.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Hunter.”

Had she fought like a hellcat, he’d have an argument and when he’d run out of arguments, he’d have simply ignored her, but her cool-under-pressure approach got to him.

Now he felt out of control.

Hunter finally handed the phone to her. Stepping from the car, he offered her a hand out.

She alighted with her hat securely in place and tipped her head back to see him.

“You sure you don’t want to leave that thing in the car,” he asked, the wide brim making a dramatic statement.

“That’s a silly question. It matches my dress.”

He hadn’t seen the dress, her coat so long it was nearly to her ankles. They walked up the steps and he opened the door, allowing her to walk in sideways. Every move she made was delicate and smooth. But she seemed apprehensive. “Which way do I go?”

An attendant approached. “Your name, please?”

“Mrs. Marc Foster. This is Mr. Hunter Smith.”

The man opened his mouth like a gaping fish, then he closed it. Holding out his hand, he guided them to a room at the far end of the chapel. “Please proceed inside when you’re ready. Ma’am, may I take your coat?”

“Of course.” Alex unbuttoned the silk, transferring her purse from one hand to the other while Hunter helped her slide her arms from the sleeves. She stepped forward and he swallowed his surprise.

The sleeveless dress was white with black polka dots. A white silk sash bustled slightly from the waist to her knees. The dress probably cost more than a suite at the Four Seasons, but that wasn’t what he was concerned about. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for a funeral.

The attendant, again, didn’t say a word. He gestured to show Hunter where the coat would be stored and hurried off.

“White, Alexandria,” he said. “This is a funeral.”

“I don’t believe it’s my husband. So why should I wear black?”

She took her bag from him, and on impossibly high heels, walked up the center aisle.

Following at a discreet distance, Hunter slid onto a chair and sat down. Alex was no longer his responsibility. If she’d worn an ice blue-colored dress with orange shoes, a pink hat and purple dots on her skin, that wouldn’t be his problem.