She strode out of the room, grabbing her jacket and purse from the front closet. After quietly closing the door behind her, she slumped against it and took in a ragged breath. Never in her life had her mother, or anyone, hit her. The sensation was painful and confusing and infuriating. So maybe it had been a little out of line to say what she did, but did that really warrant a slap? Although if she had to be married to Douglas, she’d probably lash out too. Jill had never seen an ounce of love between the two of them. She must have hit a nerve with her comment, though it wasn’t a very well-guarded secret that he hired women just out college as his assistants and usually ended up sleeping with them.

As she felt the uncomfortable sensation of tears burning her eyes, she stepped away from the door and looked up at the house. And that was what it was to her. A house. It had never felt like a home, not when she felt such indifference from everyone who was supposed to love her. She shook her head at the melancholy thoughts invading her brain. It had been a long, emotional day, and she just wanted to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Within a week of her father’s wake, Reagan went back to work because she desperately needed some normalcy. Staying at home meant being surrounded by the memories of her father. She couldn’t bring herself to enter the spare room where his medical bed sat in the corner, stripped of linens but not his presence. It was suffocating. Reagan planned to talk with her mom about moving back to her place soon, but she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.

Working was another story. Reagan needed to feel productive again. She needed to move. If she didn’t, she’d spend her day crying. As the tasting for Jill’s party was scheduled to start in an hour, Reagan figured today would be the best day to get back into the swing of things. Walking through the back door of Wren, she tossed her jacket in the tiny office and made her way into the kitchen. She found the large workstation covered in several types of plates and bowls. Gwen stood at the stove stirring a pot of soup.

“Hey there.”

Gwen spun around so fast that soup fell off the spoon she was holding and onto the floor. “Reagan! What are you doing here?”

“It was time to come back. You have enough on your plate as it is. With me here, today will go a little more smoothly. You deal with cooking back here and I’ll present the dishes to Jill and her mother.”

“But, Reagan, I can take care of everything. It hasn’t even been a week since—”