“Wes, that’s not a discussion to have at the table. We had such a wonderful day. Let’s not spoil it any further.”

Lane’s gaze was drawn to her mother. Ever the Southern socialite, sweeping everything under the rug, pretending life was perfect. Did it eat at her like it did Lane? Or was it easier to live the lie rather than face the truth?

“It wasn’t suicide.”

Lane looked up at her father. His dark brown eyes locked on to hers.

“I was just on the phone with Sheriff Huggins and it’s not a suicide.” Her father ate a bite of potato salad. His gaze was still fixated on her.

“Are you sure?” Lane’s mother gave an off-putting laugh. “This is Walton.”

If Charlie hadn’t told her himself, Lane would be wondering the same thing, but she knew the truth. The thought of him churned an unusual desire to see him again. Why? Because he makes you feel safe—even for just a moment. He makes you feel worth protecting. That truth pierced something she’d been trying to deny since the second Charlie exited her home, leaving a tangible void in his wake.

Reminding her just how alone she was.

“So, it’s . . .” Meagan leaned forward, her eyes round. “M-u-r-d-e-r?”

“No. It’s hom-oh-cide,” Wes said around a mouthful of food. “Man, I wish I was a trial lawyer.”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Lane was used to her brother’s indifference, but he was taking it to a whole new level. “Someone was killed, Wes. Do you get that?”

“What? It’s not like they went off and killed themselves.”

“Wes!” Her mother’s voice was sharp and snatched the attention of everyone at the table. “We will not continue this discussion any further. It is over.”

Lane pushed her plate away. “I’m not feeling that well. I think we should go.”

“We’re not finished.” Lane’s mother rose from the table. “We haven’t had dessert.”

“I’m just messing around, Lane.” Wes twirled his fork between his fingers.

“Come on, Noah. It’s time to go home.” Dessert was the last thing she wanted to stomach. She appreciated her mother’s attempt to bring order back to the meal, but it was too late. Her appetite was gone and she was done being reminded of her past.

“But, Mommy, I didn’t get any peach cobbler.”

She kissed his forehead. “We’ll get something at home.”

“You know, they say laughter is the best medicine.” But the humor in her brother’s voice from a second ago was gone. He ran a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. His eyes met hers. “Lane, I’m sorry.”