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  Brandon's request was eloquent and simple and information technology touched her. April recognized that Brandon wasn't some kid with a hidden calendar. Like her, he was lonely. He also had something cached deep inside his psyche that was painful. She guessed it had to do with the loss of his female parent. She wouldn't probe. If he wanted to talk nearly it, he would.

"I would like that very much," she said. She gazed out to the open ocean. A sailboat leaned into the wind against the horizon. "You know, I've watched those boats from the first solar day I arrived, and I'd love to go sailing on one. Do you call back we could practise that one-time?"

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Till Death Do Us Part,

the companion to For Better, for Worse, Forever.

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Text copyright © 1997 by Lurlene McDaniel

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eISBN: 978-0-307-81598-9

RL:4.seven

v3.ane

Contents

Cover

Other Books by This Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Affiliate 3

Affiliate 4

Chapter v

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Affiliate 9

Chapter 10

Affiliate xi

Affiliate 12

Chapter 13

Chapter xiv

Affiliate fifteen

Affiliate 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter nineteen

To Flo Conner

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. In that location will exist no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the quondam order of things has passed away."

REVELATION 21:4 (NIV)

one

At the acme of the hill, a girl, her red hair gleaming in the sun, stood gazing out at the bounding main. As she lifted her eyes skyward, she turned and spun in a circle, her arms flung out direct and wide.

She stopped spinning, reached into the pocket of her shorts, and took out a red balloon. She put it to her lips and blew, filling it upwardly then that it rounded out. She tied it off, then reached back into her pocket and pulled out a long thin yellow ribbon. She tied 1 stop securely to the balloon'southward knotted tail.

Every bit a balmy breeze blew from the sea, she unleashed the ribbon and the balloon flew upward. She shielded her optics from the glare of the sun and watched as the air current caught the balloon and pulled it so that it rose until information technology became a tiny red dot lost confronting the endless blue sky.

Brandon Benedict couldn't believe what he was seeing. A girl—a cute daughter—with hair and so fiery red that it glistened in the sun like sparks from a fire stood shielding her eyes as a ruby balloon sailed up into the vibrant blue sky high higher up the island of St. Croix.

He'd gone hiking alone in the green hills. What an odd thing to discover. She hadn't seen him, so he stayed behind some bushes, out of her line of vision. She appeared to be conducting a individual ritual.

Brandon decided non to intrude, but when his heel crushed a dry out branch, its loud crack made the girl whirl and catch sight of him. He heard her gasp, and so shout, "What do you want?" Her fists were clenched and he thought that she might strike him.

"Nothing."

"Why are you spying on me?"

"I wasn't spying." Her aroused gaze bore into him, and he felt defensive.

"Why are you upward here?"

He felt his acrimony ascension as he replied, "It'southward a costless country, you know. I was just out hiking. Sorry if I ruined your twenty-four hours."

At present she looked less aroused, more embarrassed. "I idea I was solitary."

"And at present you will be." He turned and started back down the hill.

"Wait!" she called after him. Her voice was gentler now. "I'm sorry. I didn't hateful to yell at you. Yous but surprised me, that's all."

His irritation vanished and he turned back to her. Her blueish optics were heavy with sadness. He felt it like an electric current. He recognized that sadness. Even now, he could feel the darkness of his own pain, but he shook information technology off every bit he smiled. "I'm Brandon Benedict. I live on St. Croix. I hike upward in these hills a lot. I had no idea anyone was up here. I didn't mean to scare you."

"My parents have rented that business firm." She pointed and he saw the white barrel tile of a roof below. "I'm April Lancaster."

"You're renting the Steiner identify? I've grown up here. I know most every house and its owners on this side of the isle," he explained. "The Steiners were regulars at the Buccaneer Golf Class until Mr. Steiner had a heart attack. They moved back to the States. I work at the Buccaneer. Afterward school and during summers, I mean. But I guess I'yard telling yous more than you lot probably want to know."

She offered a tentative smile. Information technology pleased him immensely. "It's okay. Actually, we've been hither three weeks and I haven't met a soul."

"You lot're kidding! You're and so pretty. I—I mean, all you have to do to come across people around here is show up in Christiansted." He waved in the general direction of St. Croix's largest urban center. "There's nightlife down there."

The veil dropped over her eyes once again. "I'm non into partying."

He itched to know what would make such a pretty girl so pitiful and isolated. "Everything effectually here is low-primal. Even our parties. Where did you come from, anyway?"

"New York. Long Island, actually."

"How long will you be staying?"

She shrugged. "Equally long every bit it takes."

"As long equally what takes?"

"Forget it," she answered quickly, then added, "we don't accept a time limit on our visit. Maybe until the weather turns horrible."

Brandon laughed. "Then you've got a long visit. It's ever beautiful hither. Summer can get hot, just that'll exist months from at present." He came closer and saw that her complexion was the color of foam, with the faintest hue of rose across the span of her nose and her cheeks. He realized he was gawking and felt self-conscious. "You need to be carefu

50 of the sun. It can fry you, even on cloudy days."

"Thanks for the advice."

He was running out of small talk, simply he didn't want to walk abroad from her. "They say too much lord's day tin can cause cancer." She gave him an odd, about amused look he couldn't read. "You're not agape of cancer?"

"No." Her reply, low and soft, sounded and so final that information technology made him shiver.

"I'k running off at the rima oris," he confessed. "I, um, guess I should be going."

"It was squeamish to meet you lot," she said politely.

"Expect, if you always want someone to show yous the sights—"

"That'south all right. I appreciate it, but I'1000 not looking for company. Cipher personal," she added hastily.

Information technology struck him that she probably had a boyfriend back in New York. A girl equally attractive as April must have a young man. "If y'all modify your mind, I'yard in the phone book nether William Bridegroom. That's my father."

She shook her caput. "I won't modify my listen."

Feeling awkward, Brandon turned and jogged downward, skidding on the rough terrain merely not looking dorsum until he'd come to the bottom of the loma. Stopping to catch his jiff, he turned for a wait. She stood, small against the blue sky, looking upwards. He decided she was searching for the balloon, and he too gazed up. All he could encounter were puffy clouds and a seagull or ii. The airship was gone. He hoped it had gotten to where she'd wanted it to go. Information technology surprised him when the idea of heaven crossed his mind.

April scanned the brilliant blue heaven until the brightness made her eyes water. The balloon was gone. It had been swallowed upward. She wished she could still see it. It represented her link with Mark. The cerise balloon had been her tribute to Mark until the boy had come along and interrupted her. Brandon. Brandon's face was then dissimilar from Mark's. Brandon had sun-streaked brownish pilus and blue eyes; he was tan, muscular, and robust-looking. Mark, who'd had curly dark chocolate-brown hair and intense deep brownish eyes, had been tall and thin, a victim of cystic fibrosis. Mark was expressionless and zilch could alter that atrocious reality.

She shivered from the memories. Her female parent was probably worried about her by now, then April started down toward the villa where gardens teeming with exotic flowers slashed color along the white stucco walls. Her parents, at the breakfast table, looked up, and her mother asked, relief flooding her face up, "Out for a walk?"

"Aye. It's a squeamish morn."

Her male parent lowered the fax he'd been reading from his role in Manhattan. Apr couldn't get used to him in Bermuda shorts and flowered shirts; she'd rarely seen him in anything but a suit, back home. "Hi, princess." A smile split his face. "Hungry? Mango and papaya?" He gestured toward a platter of cut-upwardly tropical fruit.

"Maybe later. I'll be in my room."

As her parents exchanged glances, her mother said, "You lot should eat something."

"I'chiliad not hungry."

She wasn't in her room for five minutes before her female parent knocked, came in, and eased onto the bed, where Apr sat staring out the window at the sea. "Dearest, we should talk."

"I don't want to talk."

"Nosotros're concerned about yous. It'south been months since Marker—"

"I know how long information technology'southward been. I don't demand y'all to remind me."

Her mother sighed. "We thought that coming to St. Croix would help."

Apr bit back her irritation. Information technology wasn't her parents' fault. In fact, they'd tried everything to help her feel ameliorate. "Coming here has helped," she said earnestly. "If I'd had to stay in New York, I'd take gone crazy."

"But to usa it doesn't seem to have helped. Yous barely consume. Yous go on to yourself day in and day out. You never want to become anywhere with us. It'due south a wonderful island, April. We idea nosotros'd go into town this evening and eat at a Danish eating place in Christiansted. Fine food."

"You and Daddy go. I really don't desire to." Why couldn't her mother leave her alone?

"Apr, it's not only your low that worries the states. We're fearful about your health too. You are feeling all right physically, aren't yous? I mean, you lot aren't experiencing headaches and non telling us, are yous?"

April hardly ever thought about her health these days. It seemed equally if the headaches, featherbrained spells, blackouts, and vi weeks of radiation treatments that she'd had to endure considering of the encephalon tumor had never happened. Or at least, hadn't happened to her. She'd been and so focused on Marker, so consumed with his hospitalization and, in spite of his imminent expiry, her delivery to having a wedding that she'd shoved her ain problems aside. "Dr. Sorenson told us the tumor was dormant, and I've no reason to call back information technology isn't," April answered truthfully.

"I know what he said, but what matters is how yous experience."

"I feel fine," April insisted through gritted teeth. "I mean as fine as a person can feel who watched her fiancé die."

"Oh, dearest …" Her female parent reached for her.

Apr turned away. "Don't. Please. I don't recollect I tin stand one more tear."

That evening her parents went into town for dinner and April moped around the sprawling business firm. Far out to bounding main, she saw a storm brewing, the clouds on the horizon grey and angry looking. She fell asleep on the sofa and in her dreams relived the terrible night at the racetrack. In slow movement, she saw Mark'south car strike the bumper of the car in front of him. She saw his auto spin out of control, hit the retaining wall, and catch burn. She tried to run onto the track, but in her dream, her feet had taken root in the grandstand and all she could practise was watch helplessly.

A roar similar flames split the night and she screamed Marking's proper name. So she bolted upright, and rain was rain her face. Wind had toppled a lamp and it had broken on the tile floor. Gasping, sobbing, she stumbled off the sofa and struggled against the wind to shut the French doors. By the time she'd closed them, she was soaked, and rainwater had puddled on the floor and stained nearby article of furniture.

The tropical squall had moved like quicksilver, sending shards of lightning from the sky to the basis, furious in its intensity. She leaned against the door, watching copse and bushes whip in the dark, watching frail flowers rip from branches and smear on the drinking glass. And she felt a kinship with the flowers. She knew what it was like to be torn autonomously and sacrificed to the winds of fell fate.

two

Brandon paced about his room similar a caged animal. His father was out of boondocks on concern. Not that Brandon cared. They didn't have much to say to each other these days. Brandon flopped on his bed, his hands clasped behind his caput, and stared up at the ceiling. It had been a lousy calendar week at school. He'd all but slept through his classes, he'd been so bored. And even though he'd taken on extra hours at his task, he wasn't tired enough to fall into bed so totally exhausted that he could bank check out. And forget.

He thought about calling his best friend, Kenny, but remembered that Kenny was out with Pam, his reddish-hot romance of the past few months. Mentally Brandon skimmed his list of other friends and rejected the thought of calling whatever of them. Truth was, he'd been in such a nighttime mood for the past five months that nobody wanted to be with him. Even Flo, the daughter he'd dated since the previous summer, had dumped him.

"You lot've got to get over it," she'd said with a toss of her blond head. "Life goes on, Brandon. You lot tin't crawl in the grave with your mother, you know." She'd told him she was sorry, but that she wanted to accept fun her senior yr, not be tied downward to a guy who was so moody.

Brandon sat upright and wandered out of his sleeping accommodation and into the kitchen. The place was spotless. His father saw to that. Not at all similar the mess his mother had barely maintained when she was alive. He searched through the refrigerator, now well stocked by the housekeeper who came every solar day, but zip appealed to him. He slammed the door and hurried out of the room and into the den, where his father kept a bar.

He pawed through the assortment of bottles. He could have annihilation he wanted and there was nobody in that location to police force him. He could

get stinking drunk. And pass out. Except that was the form his mother had chosen, and await where it had gotten her. He felt like jumping out of his skin. The house was and then placidity. And so solitary. He missed his mother. Despite the low that had ruled her life for the previous three years, he missed her and wanted her back. People don't come back from the dead.

Brandon knew he had to exit. Go somewhere. Maybe getting lost in a crowd would help. Possibly it wouldn't. All he knew was that he couldn't hang around this house with its ghosts and memories. He grabbed his car keys and bolted out the side door.

The audio of the doorbell startled April. Her parents were out for the evening and they had no friends in St. Croix that she knew of who would drop past. Maybe it was someone upward to no adept. It occurred to her that she had opened up the house after the tempest. Cool tropical air stirred through the French doors, which led to the garden. Anyone could walk in. No need to band the bell. In New York doors were locked and bolted, and their house in Long Island had an elaborate security organisation.

The bell chimed over again and she went to the door, flipped on the light switch, and saw Brandon Benedict through the clear glass panes of the front door. He waved and smiled. "Call back me?"

"Aye. What do you desire?"

He leaned against the doorjamb. "Visitor."

The fashion he stood came across equally loneliness. His smiling was more bravado than happiness. "Um—my parents—" She stopped. Should she admit that she was alone? Notwithstanding, if he'd meant to impairment her, he could have done so when they were on the hill. Deciding against sending him away, she unlocked the door and opened information technology. "My parents are out to dinner, but they'll exist back soon. You can come in."

"Thanks." He stepped over the threshold, his hands jammed in his pockets. "I know I shouldn't have just popped in on you. You fabricated information technology clear that y'all weren't interested in seeing me again, only I was hoping you lot might alter your mind."

She gestured to the sofa in the living room. The two of them sat, and she curled her legs up under her and turned to him. "I didn't mean to exist rude. I but haven't been in the mood to meet new people."

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