Into the Sunshine: Of Love and Loss Series Book Two

13

It rained all through the evening and into the early morning hours on Tuesday. But as everyone in the somber Simmons household sat down for breakfast before leaving for the funeral, glorious rays of sunshine finally burst through the gloomy clouds.

"Looks like Edgar convinced someone upstairs that enough was enough," Mable whispered, slicing into her breakfast sausage. Her voice was barely audible over the clatter of cutlery on plates.

"You really think so?" Thomas sniffled around a massive mouthful of food. His tear-studded lashes glinted in the sunlight before he rubbed the evidence away with his sleeve.

Mable blinked several times in an apparent attempt to keep from crying. Then, with a vulnerability that Everett had never witnessed before tinging her voice, she said, "He was always exceptional at getting things done—wouldn't surprise me if he's persuaded a few angels into shutting off the waterworks on the day of his funeral. He knows how much I detest standing in the rain."

Everett resisted the urge to give his aunt a commiserating pat on the hand—she'd most likely stab him with her fork—and turned his attention to the food on his plate.

It was the only logical choice he had. The alternative was to give in to anxiety. A painful throb had already settled at the base of his skull, most likely from refusing to allow the barrage of memories of Elyria's funeral to fully form. He had awoken earlier than usual in a cold sweat, sick at the thought of today's events, unable to escape the certainty that he was on the verge of reliving the second most agonizing day of his life.

He blinked, bringing his plate of food into focus, and forced himself to finish eating despite his lack of appetite. Iris sat to his right, a slight but blessed distraction because she wore what had become his favored perfume, smelling like she'd bathed in warm, floral sunshine. Everett rolled his eyes at himself, fully aware the description didn't make sense. But it was the first thing that came to mind whenever she was near, and he had yet to find words that could capture the scent any better.

"You're doing it again," Iris whispered, nudging him with her left elbow before eating the last of her breakfast.

Mortified heat bloomed in Everett's cheeks. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and straightened in his chair. "Apologies," he muttered. Then he shoveled in the last two heaping forkfuls of his breakfast, chewed with more vigor than necessary, and swallowed before relenting to the urge to explain himself, "You smell good."

"Well, that's a relief," she quietly drawled, nodding. "I was beginning to worry I'd used ether instead of perfume."

Everett threw back his head and laughed, drawing Mable's bemused and slightly disapproving attention. Timothy and Thomas smiled and wiped at the tears flowing down their faces before finishing their breakfast.

Stifling his mirth, Everett muttered an apology to his aunt, but when it ended with a giggle, he grabbed Iris's hand and limped from the room.

"That's the third time this morning," Iris continued, leaning close and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as they walked toward the nursery.

"What is? Figuratively running away from—"

"No, you goose. Your breathing has dropped dangerously low while you've imitated the Leaning Tower of Pisa."

"You've been keeping count?"

"Out of concern for your wellbeing."

"Fear not," he chuckled. "The fix is easy—"

"Stop bathing? Keep my distance from you?" She drawled.

Everett's stomach twisted into anxious knots. "Nothing quite so drastic," he muttered, his steps faltering.