She stepped onto the front porch and waited for the taxi to pull away. This was the first time in almost a year that there was measurable distance between them, and the farther he was away from her, the stronger she felt the tension, like a rubber band pulling tautly, ready to snap. She wanted to run after the taxi. She wanted to dive into his arms and make this all disappear. Instead, she turned and, through the window, saw her mother, Marilee, and Quinn sitting stoically in front of the television, three stunned figures. She took a deep breath, knocked on the door, then entered.

The moment she did, the hysterics started again.

Eby looked good, and Marilee hated her for it. And whenever little Quinn got too near Eby, cautiously happy to see her, Marilee would pull her away and tell her that her father would be alive if it weren’t for Aunt Eby. It took three days of sleeping on the couch, wearing the same clothes, for Eby to finally look sufficiently bad enough for Marilee.

In the days they spent apart, George arranged for a tombstone for Talbert. He had already been buried, but there had been no memorial service, so George organized one for him. George also met with a realtor to find Marilee a home. Lastly, he destroyed the dresser, burning it outside and burying the marble top under the magnolia tree in their backyard.

The night of the memorial service, George was shocked to see Eby so bedraggled. Marilee had insisted Eby wear a black dress, an ill-fitting one that belonged to their mother. Marilee had wanted to shine, to be the beautiful widow. And she hadn’t wanted anyone to ask Eby about her honeymoon. The moment anyone approached Eby in the chapel, happy to see her back, Marilee would wail and call attention to herself. Once, she even pretended to faint.

George took Eby home after the service, despite Marilee’s protests. Eby had been too tired to argue with him. She would make it up to Marilee the next day.

He’d left every light in the home on for her so it would look cheery. But when they walked in, they both knew.

“We can’t live here. We’re going to have to sell this place,” Eby said as George closed the door.

“I know.”

“I suppose it’s for the best.” Eby sighed. “It doesn’t feel like home.”

“We’ll find it, Eby. I promise. Look at this.” He reached over and took a postcard from a stack of mail piled in a large basket by the door. “A friend told me about some investment property down south—a lake and some cabins. I’m going to take you there for the weekend, just to get away for a while.”