Pretend Mom Read Free Page A

lawns.
    In reality she supposed death might not
be her real fear, it was more the process of dying. Death was such
an active partner in her life. Not hers, but her loved ones. One by
one, they had died on her.
    She found her family's graves without
any trouble. She knelt beside her sister's grave first, she gently
slid a finger over the letters on the stone. It was cold. Not at
all like her sister. Audrey had always been a warm, vibrant person,
full of life and possibilities.
    A northern breeze filtered the air,
stirring the dead leaves about the grounds like a ghost swishing
through an old house.
    "Oh, Audrey, I miss you. I'm so sorry I
missed the memorial service but I was already on a plane for
Australia when I heard about it. I almost couldn't go on stage
again . . ." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "At least you're
with our parents now. You aren't alone. Probably less lonely than
me. I miss you so." A tear spilled. "I've come home 'cause Emily
called and asked me to. That, and to put old ghosts away, so I can
get on with my life. You knew how infatuated I was with Kevin. I
thought it a childish crush, but I wanted to be sure. I have to be
sure."
    She moved her fingers slowly over each
letter. "Something is going on I think, but Emily's not ready to
talk about it. I don't know what, yet. I guess she'll tell me in
good time. And the boys—oh, how they've grown. And into such little
gentlemen, too."
    Another tear spilled.
    "It feels good to be home, Audrey, but
I can't stay long. My life is in New York now. I've met a man, a
man I work with, who has serious intentions. Problem is, I'm not
sure how I feel. I hate putting him off, but I'm not sure. I mean,
Ed just doesn't give me that bubbly feeling of being in love. Maybe
I expect too much. I guess deep down I felt that coming home might
give me a few answers. Maybe I haven't put my feelings for Kevin
away, yet. Or maybe I just don't love Ed. All I know is, I've got
to find answers."
    Her hand shook. Tears Dixie had held
too long poured freely. Why did crying always release the tension?
Such a release, she mused silently. She placed the fresh
wild-flowers at the head of her sister's grave and she watched her
own tears being soaked up by the hot, dry ground. It felt good, and
right, being here alone, able to cry.
    "Buttercups and Indian paintbrushes,
your favorites," she murmured. "You used to say they were God's
flowers, put on earth to be cherished."
    Dixie had no idea how long she stayed
there, kneeling over the graves, talking as though someone might
answer, but the sun was slowly sinking when she finally
straightened and got to her feet.
    Hearing a noise behind her, she turned
in time to see her mother's old friend, Mrs. Butie. She called a
hello. Mrs. Butie clutched at the expensive flower arrangement in
her hands as she proceeded to a far corner of the cemetery, where
she turned to stare at Dixie. Mrs. Butie's husband had died nearly
twenty years ago, but she always placed flowers on his grave one a
month.
    Suddenly, Dixie wished she'd chosen
something more appropriate to wear. It wouldn't make a difference
to anyone but her; everyone had his or her own preconceived ideas
about her by now. Small towns were like that. Nothing she did or
said would change them. Cut-offs and a T-shirt seemed out of place
with Mrs. Butie staring at her so.
    Pulling her large frame rigid and
adjusting the midriff of her dress with a snort, Mrs. Butie
grunted. "I'd heard you'd come home. And we all know why." Mrs.
Butie pulled the few weeds about the older grave site.
    Dixie bowed her head, confused by the
outburst and hurt by the sting in Mrs. Butie's voice. How could
Mrs. Butie know why she was home? She wasn't sure herself. "Good to
see you again, Mrs. Butie," she called and walked away, trying not
to run or look back. Not a very clever comeback, but then Dixie had
never been clever with words.
    Life was unfair. She couldn't make Mrs.
Butie like her, so she wouldn't try.
    There was