“Do you think –?” I repeated and Tate cut me off again, shaking his head.

“Crapshoot, Ace, Krystal can hold a grudge.”

I nodded then started to move around him but he caught me with an arm along my belly and pulled me back in front of him, his arm wrapping around my waist.

“You pissed?” he asked, his eyes studying me closely.

“No,” I answered and his head tipped to the side.

“You’re not?”

“I was…ish. I’m over it,” I informed him and he grinned.

“That easy?” he asked and I shrugged.

“You are who you are, Tate, and part of who you are is a guy who’d call a woman a sweet piece. Life’s too short to get pissed about stupid shit like that. And anyway, you’re right. I mean, I’m not a guy but even I can see Maggie’s a sweet piece.”

His body shook with the force of his low laughter and I knew he would have burst out with it if we weren’t at Neeta’s post-funeral bash.

I slid my arms around his waist as he burned out his humor.

“You seem better,” I whispered when he was done.

“She’s in the ground,” he whispered back.

I nodded. “That gives you peace.”

He shook his head. “What it does, watchin’ her search all her life, desperate for somethin’ she never found, is makes me feel she’s at peace.”

I melted deeper into him, muttering, “Right.”

His arms gave me a squeeze. “Gotta get my boy home.”

“Right,” I repeated.

He let me go, we went to Jonas, rounded up my family, Stella and Pop followed us out to the Explorer (Wood and Maggie both had disappeared) and we gave out long hugs. Jonas, Tate and I climbed into the SUV and Mom, Dad, Carrie and Mack climbed into their rental.

They went to Ned and Betty’s hotel.

Tate and Jonas and I went home.

* * * * *

Amber called while we were in the SUV on the way home, Ned and Betty phoning five minutes after we walked in. I hadn’t even taken my shoes off.

I was barely off the phone when Sunny and Shambles came by. They didn’t know Neeta so they didn’t go to the funeral but they wanted to check we were okay. Jonas talked them into staying for a cupcake. Shambles was Shambles, seeming a little less buoyant but mostly his regular self. Sunny was timid around Tate, avoiding his eyes and getting too close to his body. Clearly big, masculine men frightened her and Tate read this instantly, talking in a softer voice and making it easy to avoid him by giving her a good deal of space.

They took off and weren’t gone a minute when Wendy phoned on her break at Bubba’s and talked the whole way through it. When she was off break, she handed the phone to Twyla, who I was surprised to discover could jabber on the phone like a total girl and she only handed the phone off to Jim-Billy when I informed her of that fact. Jim-Billy had left the funeral bash earlier to go to Bubba’s. Since Neeta, I’d noticed that Jim-Billy drank less and stayed a lot more alert. He also walked the waitresses to their cars after shift and had taken to following Amber, Krystal or Jonelle home, even if it was three thirty in the morning.

By the time I got off the phone with Jim-Billy, Tate had long since taken Jonas downstairs to watch TV with him in his bed. I was still in my funeral black and I decided it was time to take off the black at the same time I decided I might never wear black again.

I was in the closet, having taken off my black blouse and thrown it in the direction of my wicker hamper when Tate came in. I was wearing nothing but my skirt, a lacy black demi-bra and the black, lace-topped thigh highs.

“Hey,” I said softly and pulled down the zip at the back of my skirt then bent to shimmy out of it. I stepped clear, twisted my torso and tossed it toward the hamper.

My hands were at one of my thigh highs when Tate’s finger wrapped around one of my wrists and I heard him mutter, “Unh-unh.”

My head came up so I could look at him and I saw he had his suit pants on but he’d taken off his shirt.

“Sorry?” I asked.

His hand slid to fold around mine and then he tugged it, and me, out of the closet.

“Tate –”

He flipped off the switch in the closet and headed to the bed.

“Honey, Jonas –”

“He’s out,” Tate said, sat on the bed, his hands went to my h*ps and he pulled me toward him in a way I had no choice but to straddle him so I did.

“He’s not sleeping too well,” I reminded Tate as my bottom came to rest on his thighs and my hands went to rest on his shoulders.

“He comes up, I’ll hear him,” Tate muttered and his hands didn’t rest, they slid up the sides of my back.

I looked down at his face which I couldn’t really see since he was looking at my br**sts in my bra, watching his hands move forward along my bra line and cup them.

One could say Tate and my sex life was regular, healthy and active but since Neeta died Tate gave new meaning to regular, healthy and active. If we weren’t looking after Jonas or I wasn’t working, Tate had me as close as he could get me, literally.

I didn’t know if he was proving to himself I was alive, he was alive or he was determined to suck as much out of life in general as he could get but I didn’t question it or him. If that was what he needed, which it obviously was, that was what I’d give to him.

Therefore, I whispered, “Okay,” but I did it beginning to get worried about his state of mind. He’d stayed strong for Jonas and he seemed okay but this behavior concerned me. I didn’t mind the intimacy; I was just troubled at his driving need for it.

His hands moved back, pushed in so my back arched and his lips trailed the lace at the cup of my bra.

One of my hands slid into his hair while the other one glided down his neck.

“Mom and Dad are staying a week,” I told him.

“Yeah,” he said against my skin, his lips moving between my cle**age then mounting the swell of my other breast.

“Carrie and Mack have to leave Sunday,” I went on.

“Yeah,” Tate repeated, one hand moving down my back so his fingers could trail the lace that rode high on the cheek of my bottom, the other hand slid forward, his thumb under his lips gliding across my nipple.

This felt good so I sucked in breath and fidgeted in his lap.

“Tate, baby, you okay?” I whispered.