Lillian gone? Mason couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want it to be true. She was a gentle soul, a warm, caring person. He couldn’t picture the house without her. She was the heart of it, the heart of all of them. He wasn’t ready.
“No,” Harlow whispered. “She can’t be gone. She can’t.”
Robyn straightened. “I need to—”
“No,” he said gently, meeting her gaze. “I’ll handle whatever has to be done. You stay with the kids. I’ll go with Salvia.”
He wanted to say more, to explain that he was offering because he was good at logistics, at separating emotion from the job at hand, not because he didn’t want to be with her.
She nodded slowly, then kissed him. “I knew you’d be a rock. Thank you.”
She pulled her children close. He crossed to Salvia and patted her shoulder.
“It’s on me now,” he said quietly.
Salvia led the way out of the kitchen.
twenty-nine
ROBYN COULDN’T THINK, couldn’t feel, couldn’t do anything but continue breathing. She had no idea what was going on or what was expected. Soul-crushing sadness overwhelmed every other emotion. Yes, Lillian had lived a good, long life surrounded by those she loved, and of course everyone would want to pass away peacefully in their sleep, but what about those left behind? What about the sense of losing family?
Robyn stood in Lillian’s office, telling herself to take a seat at the desk and pull out the bottom drawer. In there was a folder that was to be opened after her death. Lillian had told her so a dozen times. All the details of her funeral were planned, including the menu for the wake that would follow. There were lists of people to notify and oh, someone had to let the lawyer know.
But instead of moving forward, she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to keep her heart from spilling out.
She couldn’t be gone, she just couldn’t. The world couldn’t function without Lillian’s bright spirit, nor could Robyn. Lillian had been a constant her whole life—loving her, supporting her, always there for her. Lillian had played dress-up with her and read with her. Lillian had been the one she’d talked to when she got her period.
Later, when Leo had passed, Robyn had stayed for the summer, helping her aunt pick up the pieces. They were family.
“Mom?”
Harlow walked into the office. Her daughter looked as shell-shocked and stricken as Robyn felt. Pale, eyes red from crying. She seemed smaller, somehow. More frail and less capable.
“What are you doing?” Harlow asked. “Do you need help?”
“I need to go through one of the folders in her desk,” Robyn said, wishing it wasn’t necessary. “Lillian had everything arranged. The contacts, the instructions. All I have to do is call Gregory, her lawyer.”
Harlow shook her head. “Mason’s doing that.”
“What?”
“In his office.”
Robyn opened the desk drawer. It was empty. Concern caused her to hurry downstairs. She found Mason in his office, paperwork spread out on his desk. His laptop was open, and there was a spreadsheet on the screen.
He stood as she approached, then walked to her and pulled her close.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m shattered.” She drew away and stared at him. “What are you doing?”
She heard the accusation in her tone, saw the confusion in his eyes, but didn’t care. Who did he think he was, taking over like this?
“While you were with the kids, I pulled Lillian’s after-death folder. She told me about it shortly after I got here. Once you arrived, she asked me to be the one to take care of things if she passed away. So you didn’t have to. I’ve spoken to Gregory and the funeral home. Everything is arranged. Salvia has the menus. I’ve started calling people to let them know what happened. Austin wanted to help with that, so I gave him part of the list. He’s in the library.”
His voice was so calm, she thought. His words all made sense, and Lillian asking Mason to handle the logistics so Robyn would be spared was just like her. As for what Mason was doing—there were no surprises. He did the job thoroughly, seeing to every detail. There was no flinching from what was uncomfortable or difficult.
The anger—probably a mask for her grief—faded, leaving her with nothing but emptiness.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling her legs start to shake. “I don’t know why I was mad. It’s ridiculous. I’m grateful you’re taking over. I don’t think I could do it.”
He led her to a chair and waited for her to sit, then pulled up a seat and settled across from her. After taking one of her hands in his, he looked into her eyes.
“I’m going to be here through all the hard shit. Every second of it. Nothing you say or do will scare me away. I’m not interested in judging you, and I have no expectations beyond the fact that you lost someone you’ve loved your whole life. You deal with that. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She nodded, unable to speak. The tears returned, and her throat got tight. Everything hurt so much more than she thought it would.
Cord walked into the room. He glanced at them, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “So, ah, Robyn. I thought I’d, you know, ask if I could help or something.”
Go home! That would be the biggest help, she thought fiercely. Cord was nothing but deadweight. But before she could tell him that, Mason rose.
“Cord, Salvia needs to get food into the house. We’re going to have a lot of visitors. She’s not feeling up to dealing with that by herself. You’re someone she feels comfortable with. Would you help her? I know she’d appreciate it.”
Cord looked between them, then nodded slowly. “Sure. She’s in the kitchen?”
“She is.”
He shuffled out.
Robyn stared after him, then turned back to Mason. “You made him go away. How did you do that?”
He gave her a faint smile. “He said he wanted to help, so I gave him a job to do. Later I’m going to tell Kip to wash the serving pieces. Unless Harlow needs him.” He raised a shoulder. “Lillian wanted an English high tea served at her wake. That’s going to be a lot of coronation chicken.”
“How do you know about coronation chicken?”
“I’m a well-traveled man.”
She started to laugh, then sob. Mason was instantly at her side. She leaned into his strong body and knew he would take care of her and her children, no matter what.
“You’re hurting, too,” she whispered into his chest. “You loved her, too.”