How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Chapter 92

The old woman's appetite had improved a lot; she even finished another half bowl

of soup.

The small pot of soup Elodie had simmered was nearly gone.

Even Jarrod had helped himself to more than a little.

Elodie wasn't surprised-he'd always appreciated her cooking.

After dinner, Jarrod stepped outside to take a call.

Elodie waited a few minutes, then followed him out.

She found him under the porch, smoking. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, she walked over. "Do you have a moment?"

She wanted to talk to him about attending her mother's memorial.

When he saw her coming, Jarrod shifted his cigarette away, then stubbed it out.

"How long have you been out here?" His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing.

Elodie realized what he meant he probably thought she'd overheard his conversation. Was it Sylvie on the line?

"Just now. Right after you hung up," she replied coolly, her chest rising and falling with the chill.

Finally, Jarrod glanced up at her, slipping one hand into his pocket. His tone was casual, almost detached. "I was drunk that night."

Elodie blinked, not following at first.

"I trust you won't make a fuss about what happened

understood—he was referring to that night

her spine;

her not to stir up trouble between him

was a mistake for both of us, Mr. Silverstein. You don't need to worry,"

both rest

the chilly

he looked

word, he

"On the 24th, do you have time? I was hoping you could

Get some rest. I have things to do tonight," he interrupted, barely

didn't even wait for her to finish her

nothing-no anger,

many times over the

always too busy with work or suddenly out of town. Even when she'd pleaded for just half

heart inevitably grows cold. But this year

grandmother and the rest of the family were taking this third anniversary seriously. Skipping an ordinary memorial was one thing, but if he missed this formal gathering, the truth about their broken marriage couldn't be hidden

Unless-

the anniversary and explain, face to face, that they were

was always busy, always elsewhere.

heart returned to its familiar,

nothing more

advance. Whether he showed up depended

nothing

would remember. No

a way-no discussion