Excerpt

Seven
Few mourners stood at the graveside when they laid Lydia Conrad to rest. Several more had been at the funeral home, but not all had opted to come to the cemetery on this hot August afternoon. Near the head of the grave, Corky stood with an arm around each of his children. Tyne had never seen him look so smart; his dark suit may be wrinkled, but he stood erect and steady.
Tyne, holding tightly to Morley’s hand, could not bear to let her eyes linger on the children. But she saw how Bobby held onto his father’s leg, and buried his face in the fabric of Corky’s trousers. Rachael stood straight, hands clasped in front of her, lips set, blue eyes boring into the casket that held her mother.
For the past two days, Rachael had neither cried nor spoken more than a few words to anyone. Her demeanor had been sullen. Yesterday when Tyne, hoping to involve her in activities around the house, asked her to fetch a jar of fruit from the basement, Rachael had leapt from her chair, eyes blazing.
“No, I don’t have to. You’re not my mommy.” She ran from the house, banging the door behind her.
Tyne had not been able to withhold the tears as pain settled around her heart.
Pastor Beecham said a final prayer over the casket,

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