She’d been so focused on making it to the funeral in time that she hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after. There would be loose threads to tie up, but she didn’t even know what they were yet. She’d been bequeathed their home and their business, but they wouldn’t actually be hers until the estate had been settled. She wasn’t sure if she would be allowed to stay in the house until then. If she wasn’t, her options were limited to retracing her journey across the country to return home or somehow pulling together the money to stay in a motel.

Someone close to her parents had arranged their funeral. A Mr. Kent, the lawyer had said. He hadn’t been able to give her any contact details. He hadn’t given her much at all except a location and a time for the service.

The marquee’s canvas sides quivered in the wind, creating a flapping sound that nearly drowned out the conversations beyond. Margot hesitated for a heartbeat, then ducked her head and stepped through the opening.

Inside was warmer than she’d expected. Standing heaters had been erected, and they not only took the bite out of the air but cast a soft golden glow across the space. Folding tables stood along one of the walls. The legs dug into the soft dirt, and paper tablecloths rustled as the crowd brushed past them. Platters of sandwiches and cakes cluttered the surfaces.

Closer to the door, another folding table held thermoses filled with boiling water beside bowls of tea bags and jugs of milk. Margot took up a paper cup, added a spoonful of instant coffee, and filled it. The acrid odor promised it would be bitter, but she didn’t care. She was just grateful to hold something warm.

The subdued tones from the church had almost fully dissipated. Chatter flooded from every direction. Many groups stood near the standing heaters, shuffling as they tried to get feeling back into their limbs.

They all knew each other well. Leafell was a small town.

A woman, eyes trained on Margot, covered her mouth as she whispered something to her companion. A man nudged his friend and nodded toward her. They knew who she was, Margot realized. It must be obvious. She would be the only person there who wasn’t from town.

Maybe, like the funeral director, they had been waiting for her.

Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t bring herself to meet the curious glances but pushed through the gathered, searching for a corner that might offer somewhere quiet to stand.

A dense group had collected near the tent’s back wall. Margot had assumed it was another food table, but as she drew nearer, she realized it bore stacks of plastic wineglasses. A man and a woman were behind the table, uncorking bottles and pouring generous measures to those who had clustered around them.