DEBORAH'S POV
I drove through Portland like a woman possessed. I couldn't stop shaking. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white and bloodless, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out the radio. My thoughts ran wild and ugly. Where are you? Why did you not come? What did I do wrong?
The funeral service had faded behind me. All those faces, the polite smiles, the scripted condolences, Lana's steady arm around my waist. None of it mattered. None of them could give me what I needed. Elijah hadn't shown up, not even for my Father's burial. It was like he had wiped me from his mind and gone on with his day. Like I was an old shirt, left out in the rain.
I remembered the woman who'd told me about the steakhouse on Fifth. She said it so casually, like she was talking about the weather. I'd smiled, but inside I'd started to burn. Was it true? Could he really be eating steak, laughing, while I stood over my father's casket alone?
