To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater Page A

least they had returned to the slope before the storm hit. Silverstone never would have found the butt under the new snow cover. Claire hoped he was now convinced Stephanie and Boyd had been murdered. Or was open to the possibility.
    Roger declared he was taking a nap and went upstairs.
    Judy wandered around the living room, staring out the window and straightening pillows that didn’t need straightening.
    When Claire heard her daughter sigh, she decided action was called for. She started up the dishwasher and walked into the living room. “I want to make a sympathy basket for the Continos. I could use your help picking out items. Come shopping with me.”
    Judy rolled her eyes and plopped onto the sofa. “Mom, one of your baskets isn’t going to make them feel any better about losing Stephanie.”
    Claire took a lot of pride in creating those gift baskets for the customers of her part-time business, but she refused to let Judy see how the flippant comment bothered her. “No, but it will let them know we’re thinking of them, that we care. Maybe that’ll give them some small amount of comfort.”
    â€œI guess it’s something to do.” Frowning, Judy picked distractedly at a sofa cushion. “I’d rather spend the afternoon with Nick, but he said he and his folks wanted to be by themselves today.”
    Claire sat beside her daughter. “How serious are you two?”
    â€œI really don’t know. We got pretty close before I left for France, but it’s only been e-mail and phone calls since then.”
    Claire didn’t ask how close, because she suspected she didn’t want to hear the answer—that Judy had slept with Nick. “What about since you returned?”
    â€œThat’s just it. This vacation was supposed to be a reunion, to see if we still felt as strongly about each other. But Stephanie’s death changed everything. I’ve tried to talk to Nick, to help him deal with it, but he’s been so distant.”
    Claire stilled Judy’s hand. “You’ll pick that sofa cushion apart. Look, Nick’s probably not ready to share his grief with you yet. Men feel they have to be strong, can’t show emotion. Especially young men.”
    â€œWhat am I supposed to do?”
    â€œJust let him know you care, so when he’s ready to open up, you can be there for him.”
    Judy hugged the cushion against her chest. “What if he’s never ready?”
    â€œThat could happen. He may want to keep his grief private and may never feel comfortable sharing it with you.”
    â€œNo, that’s not what I meant.” Unshed tears glimmered in Judy’s eyes. “I’m afraid he’ll never be ready to pick up where we left off. That he’ll keep on backing away from me.” She bit her lip. “I wish I knew how he really felt.”
    â€œHas he ever said he loves you?”
    Judy shook her head. “He’s said he cares for me, wants me, needs me, and that he loves being with me, but he’s never said those three words, ‘I love you.’”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œI haven’t said them either.” Judy kneaded the pillow. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ve never been in love before. I don’t know if what I feel for him is love or not.”
    â€œWhat do you feel for him?”
    â€œHe makes me feel good, really good about myself, like I can do anything I want to, as long as he supports me. And until this happened, we could talk about anything for hours and hours. You know what I mean?”
    â€œOh, yeah.” You’ve got it bad, honey. “Remember, I’ve had twenty- six years’ experience loving your dear old dad. Tell me, when you’re together, do you always feel the urge to touch him, stroke his hand or ruffle his hair?”
    â€œYes.” With an excited flounce, Judy turned toward Claire. “And I always want to do things