A/N: I'll be traveling the next two days and offline, so I'll take this opportunity to go ahead wish everybody a merry Christmas and hope you all have a wonderful time. And please take a note from Blythe; none of us know how much longer we have. Whether you are with family or friends this holiday, make the most of your time with them. Thanks again for the reviews.

(H/C)

Thomas Thornton landed at Lexington at 9:30 Thursday morning. It was roughly the same temperature at St. Louis today, somewhat chilly but clear. He rented a car and then left the airport, unable to resist a longing look at the racetrack just across the street as he turned onto the road. He had seen it from the plane, too, the giant oval just waiting for hoofprints. Wrong season for racing, of course, but he couldn't help noticing anything to do with horses. His father, and then Emily, had always joked that he had radar.

He drove to the hotel where he had a reservation, checked in, and then headed for Blythe's house, carefully timing it to arrive about 11:15, a time when any retirees thinking about going out for lunch might be starting to get ready and even looking out the windows as they considered locations. He had an appointment with the funeral director at 2:30, but meanwhile, he planned to start meeting the neighbors.

Blythe's house was much smaller than his own. Of course, she and John had retired here as an older couple, while he and Emily had had a teenager and very active family when they selected theirs. Only one level, but this house was snug and attractive in a quiet neighborhood. Thomas parked in the end of the driveway and got out, letting the door shut loudly. He walked halfway up the drive and stood on the edge of the concrete looking at the flower beds with a sad droop to his shoulders. It wasn't entirely manufactured; he had visited the house a few times before, back before John's death, and there had only been one simple bed then beside the front walk, looking like a page from a manual that said, "A proper house should have a flower bed," and then checked that box off on the list.

Now, the landscaping was expanded, the beds far more extensive and running the full length of the house other than the door. It looked like someone's pride and joy now, which it never had previously. All the flower beds were carefully mulched under for the winter, and he recognized azaleas. Two evergreen rhododendrons framed the stretch along the front walk. Each young shrub in the yard had its feet warmly tucked in, too. Picturing Blythe working out here, lovingly tending her plants, expanding the landscaping as her cramped soul slowly unfolded to the sun, was the moment that the fact suddenly hit Thomas for itself, not just for the impact on Greg. Blythe was gone. She would never see the blooms this next spring, although they would come anyway. Life went on, but Thomas took a moment of personal silence here in memory of Blythe. She had had plenty of faults, but she also had truly loved her son to the best of her ability, and she had been stifled by John. Seeing the difference in the house since his death was poignant.

The door of the house to the left opened, and a woman roughly Blythe's age came out, walking across the yard. Ah, good, here came someone to introduce herself. The old lessons of his service were still alive under the blanket of years, and he had been thinking the last day about how best to proceed. It was always better to let others initiate contact if possible to arrange that. They were less suspicious that way. He recognized this woman from the funeral; hopefully this was Patsy, the neighbor Lisa had mentioned.

"Were you looking for Blythe?" she asked, coming up to him. "She's out of town for Christmas." An open, friendly face atop a helpful soul.

Thomas kept the slight sad droop in his shoulders. "No, I was just looking at her flowers and thinking and remembering. You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Curiosity was spiked with concern.

"I'm in Lexington for a few days and had planned to come over to her house, but when I called her son yesterday, he gave me the news."

"Greg? What news?" She caught her breath. "You mean. . ."

He nodded somberly. "I'm afraid Blythe had a heart attack Tuesday night and died."

She gasped. "But she was so happy now. She'd been looking forward to that trip, talking about Greg and her granddaughters. Oh, poor Blythe. Of course, she'd had that bad car accident a few years ago, but she never mentioned health problems aside from that. She seemed fine. I can't believe it. She was . . ."

He heard the thought and completed it. "She was our age."

She shivered as if Death itself had dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Poor Blythe. And poor Greg. What a horrible thing to happen, and right at Christmas, too. Is he all right?"

"He was very shocked when I talked to him. Who wouldn't be?"

"Of course. Oh, my, this is awful. She was so happy lately." She looked back at the flower beds herself.

Thomas held out a hand. "I'm Thomas Thornton," he prompted.

She responded automatically, her mind still on Blythe. "Patsy Wilkerson. I can't believe it." She paused suddenly and studied Thomas closely for the first time. "I think I've met you," she said tentatively.

He nodded. "I was at John's funeral." His hair had still had some color then. He knew he looked more than three years older now.

She flinched at the mention of John. "That man. Did you hear the news this last summer?"

"Yes, I did. Shocking, and everybody just missed it." His own guilt pushed in, and he stuffed it back down. Focus, Thomas.

"Well, I must admit, he never quite seemed right to me. Not that I suspected anything like that of course, but sometimes you just get a feeling about people, and I'd had one for years. He liked acting like a big shot retired Marine, made sure to wear his uniform on the fourth and such, but he never really was interested in doing things with people. After he died, Blythe changed." She looked at the flower beds again. "I can't believe she's gone. Poor Greg. When is the funeral?"

"Arrangements hadn't been made yet. When I talked to him yesterday morning, I think they had just taken the body away."

"Of course, it will take a little time. So unexpected, too. Do you have any idea if services will be here?"

"Probably they will be here, since she lived here so long. I thought I'd watch the paper for an obituary; it will have all the details. I don't want to pester Greg about it."

She sighed. "Yes, that's a good idea. I always read the obituaries anyway these days. Poor Blythe. I'm glad services will be here, though. She had a lot of friends, and they'll want to come. She really came out of a shell after John died. She had always been a nice, pleasant neighbor, but she never really got into things until then. Had you known her long?"

"Over 50 years," Thomas replied. "I went through boot camp with John, and then we were stationed together once. I visited them every year or two after that. So Blythe had a lot of friends here? I'm glad of that. She always seemed to like Lexington."

"Yes, she was in our travel club and a flower club, and she almost always ate lunch at the senior citizen's center. Actually, I was just getting ready to head there myself when I noticed you." She sighed again, feeling the weight of news plus the need to share it. "Probably none of them know yet."

"I guess it is heading toward lunch time," Thomas said, looking at his watch.

"They start serving at 12:00." Right on cue, the planted thought occurred to her. "Did you have any plans for lunch? Maybe you could come, too. I'm sure everyone would be glad to meet another old friend of Blythe's."

"Does the center mind guests?"

"No, not at all, as long as you're a senior."

He gave his disarming smile. "Well, I certainly ought to qualify on that account." He looked at the flower beds again himself. "Hard to think that she'll never see them bloom this next year."

"I know. She loved those flowers. Hold on a few minutes, and I'll be ready. You can follow me to the center."

"Thank you." She walked briskly back across to her own door, still quite spry for her age. He stood watching the flowers and thinking. The house. Presumably it was Greg's now, but they were happy in Princeton, and Greg would never want the house John had bought and lived in for years. It would have to be cleared out and sold, and Thomas would offer to help with that, though not immediately while setting up funeral arrangements. Give it a while; probate took months, anyway, even assuming she had a will and longer without one. But it suddenly occurred to him that the piano was in there, the piano he had bought all those years ago, the one where Greg had discovered music. It had always been there on all of his visits. He wondered if he had any chance at all of getting that himself. Greg no doubt had a far better one now, and even though he couldn't play, Thomas would appreciate the memento, possibly the one thing he had managed to do right in Greg's childhood. It was a piece of his son, a uniquely unbroken one. When the time was right, he would ask.

Patsy emerged and waved to him before backing out of her driveway, and he followed her through the city. She was a hypercautious driver, always looking multiple times each way, stopping for all yellow lights, and obsessively checking the rearview mirror to make sure she hadn't lost him. He stayed right behind her. It was a short drive to the center, and she pulled in, carefully picking a parking spot with an open one next to it. Several cars were already there, a few people walking toward the doors, and they paused at the sight of him. A close-knit pack this was, though a friendly one.

"This is Thomas Thornton," Patsy said. "He's an old friend of Blythe's, and he has some horrible news."

"What horrible news?" asked one man.

"She died on Tuesday night of a heart attack," Thomas replied. They were still on the doorstep. He knew the news would take off ricocheting through the entire center as soon as they were inside.

One of the women gasped. "Oh, poor Blythe. But she wasn't having any heart problems. Not that she mentioned anyway, and we all talk about our doctor visits."

"So you're a friend of hers?"

"I've known her over 50 years," Thomas said. He took a short step toward the door, silently suggesting that they move on in, and the shocked knot of people slowly untangled long enough to pass through the doorway. Then, as he'd expected, several of them took off to different clusters to share the news with those already at the long tables. A few stayed behind to hear more from him.

Patsy ignored the spider web of communication and simply clapped her hands together. "Listen up, everybody. This is Thomas Thornton, an old friend of Blythe's, and he found out yesterday that Blythe died of a heart attack Tuesday night!"

The reaction fired off in all directions, the room a beehive of conversation. Patsy steered Thomas to a table, and he sat down between her and another woman. "Mark, you're the reverend," she said to the man across the table, who looked more like he was heading off for a day of golf than to church. "Don't you think we ought to say a prayer or something?"

He stood up, and the room fairly quickly came to attention, circles of silence sweeping out from him like a tossed rock into water. "Shhh." "Quiet!" "He's going to say something." Obviously, he was somewhat a spokesman routinely for the group. He made a few comments about Blythe and her contribution to the senior community, followed by a brief prayer, and then sat back down, and conversation resumed, though more quietly now.

"I'm Mark Hansen," he said across the table to Thomas. "Glad to meet you. I knew Blythe well."

"Did she go to your church?" Thomas asked. He honestly had no idea what Blythe's specific beliefs were, didn't think she was a very devout follower of anything, although she had mentioned God a few times in passing. He definitely needed to find that out. Nobody better to ask than a preacher who knew her.

"Sometimes. She certainly wasn't the most faithful attendee, but she's come occasionally for years on special days like Christmas and Easter. It was more often than that after her husband died." There was a slight twist of the lips at "her husband." This man knew. "I hope she found some comfort there dealing with things. Technically, though, it's not my church anymore. I'm retired."

"Aren't we all?" the woman next to Thomas said. "What did you do, Thomas?"

"I was in the Marines - that's where I met John and Blythe - and then I had a desk job after that for about twenty years."

"John." The woman shook her head. "I cannot believe everything about John that was in all the news. How could anybody do things like that? And their poor son. He never came to visit them; I guess I know why now."

"Blythe was so proud of Greg," Mark Hansen put in. "Always passing around pictures of him once she joined the group. Pictures of Abby and Rachel, too."

"Such adorable girls," Patsy agreed. "She had new ones just a few months ago. They were from Abby's birthday."

With a pang, Thomas realized that probably everyone here had seen pictures of his granddaughters, had heard proud tales of them. He had never even seen a picture yet himself. They were called to the buffet at that point, and by the time his plate was filled and he had sat back down, he had control of himself again. Regrets later privately. He was here on assignment. "So Blythe was in the travel club," he said. "I'm glad she got to branch out some and do things for herself after John's death."

"She was in the flower club, too," said Karen, the woman next to him. "She donated some flowers for a sale we had recently to benefit the cancer hospital. She had the most gorgeous azaleas this year, too. They were good last year, but this year, they were spectacular. I envied her those azaleas. Mine never look like that."

"You put them too much in sunlight," Patsy commented.

"Of course, the azaleas came after John," Karen went on. "Really, I can't imagine what it was like living with a monster like that for 50 years. She never knew, though. She'd say that sometimes, after everybody knew, I mean, with the trial. She never mentioned it before that. Even then, it wasn't much, just saying she was proud of Greg, but she did say several times if someone else brought it up that she'd had no idea. Blythe was sweet, but she wasn't the most observant person around. I think I would have known myself, but she didn't."

"I never did like that man," Patsy reiterated.

"Greg had to be very strong to have survived it," Thomas said. "I'm sure he doesn't like to talk about John, though, and the trial was hard on him. We need to be careful what we say at the funeral."

"Of course," Mark Hansen agreed across the table. "We don't need to talk about those things while he's here." There was a general nodding of heads within earshot. Thomas relaxed a little; the other man would see that the word was passed around, and the group would follow his lead. "When is the funeral, by the way?"

"Not arranged yet the last time I talked to him," Thomas replied. "I guess we'll have to just watch the obituaries."

The meal went on with conversation all around, a good bit of it touching on John, and Thomas was glad Greg didn't have to be here with this group as they adjusted to the news. There were a few questions for him, of course, about his own background, but they also talked about Blythe for herself, and gradually, little details of her recent life came out. She had loved flowers. She was an enthusiastic traveler. She had volunteered for the adopt-a-grandparent project at the nearest school for those kids who didn't have their own, and she had volunteered at the cancer center, too, answering the phone there one morning a week. Everyone had liked her. She had been very proud of Greg and his daughters. Thomas just let them talk, bumping it back to Blythe and John in the rare moments it started to stray, letting them get the reaction out. He did not milk them for details on Rachel and Abby, and none were offered. Obviously, they assumed that any old friend of Blythe's had seen pictures and heard stories himself.

Once the meal was over, Thomas left promptly, saying he was meeting someone, but promised to return tomorrow again for lunch with the group. He went back to his hotel, called the ME's office and an airline (giving his own credit card), and then looked at his watch. No time for a long walk, which was what he felt like. Actually, he felt like a long ride, but that wasn't possible, either.

Several dozen random people were ahead of him as far as information on his own granddaughters, and the sting of that was sharp. Greg's choice to leave the girls home for the funeral didn't bother him; he was far more worried about his son just now. But having the entire senior center passing around so casually multiple pictures of his granddaughters when he hadn't even seen one did. Promising himself a good walk later on, he instead made himself sit down and just breathe, refocusing. Always, he wanted to be doing something either mentally or physically. Waiting was hard. As he'd told Lisa, he really wasn't nearly as patient as he could force himself to be.

Four priceless words from Lisa at Christmas (had that really only been four days ago?). You are making progress. He hung onto them, savored them, encouraged himself with them. It had only been six months. Against 50 years of misunderstanding and missed opportunities, that wasn't long at all. But Greg didn't need to worry about him trying to use the current crisis to his own benefit; what his whole being longed for was normal times, simple family moments. Being part of it all.

He missed Emily especially at moments like this. Missed her soothing presence, missed talking to her and getting her wise advice. He had definitely been the more intelligent one, not that she was any slouch, but it was surprising the times that she saw something that he had missed. His perception could be just a little narrow sometimes, especially the more deeply his emotions were involved. He had wished more than ever in the last six months that he had her advice about Greg, and he had even tried to imagine what she might have said and put it into practice. They had discussed Greg often, of course, but never with all the current facts in hand. He pulled the pictures out of his wallet and looked at them again. Emily. Tim. Greg, a wallet-sized reprint of the recent one at the piano, the one picture his son had sent him. He studied his son's strong face, scarred but finally at peace. His granddaughters had a happy family to grow up in, at least. Whenever Thomas finally managed to enter their lives, at least he would only be starting from ground level from their point of view, not several floors down into the subbasement.

Someday. Hopefully someday soon. He was healthy, but he couldn't help being aware of the sands running in the hourglass. He hoped he would have a lot of years with both Greg and the girls. Lisa, too; his son had picked an excellent woman. You are making progress.

Right now, though, he needed to go plan a funeral. He replaced the pictures in his wallet, stood, and took a few deep breaths, then headed for the door.

The funeral home seemed identical to the others of his life, somber and professional. You even found yourself walking quietly inside them, as if the dead might be disturbed somehow by too much noise. The funeral director himself was equally somber and professional. Also a little curious, but he had the self control to put that quality on the shelf. He obviously had followed the media at the trial.

"So, Mr. Thornton, we had a call from Dr. House. You have full authorization to make arrangements as you choose. She had a funeral service already on file, but as I remember, her husband made both of them."

Thornton sat down at the chair in front of the somber, professional desk. "We were afraid of that. I doubt we'll stick with that version, but just out of curiosity, what did he ask for?" The director slid the printout across the desk, and Thornton skimmed it, feeling his anger rising again. John had specified a eulogy from Greg. In lieu of flowers, people were asked to contribute to a fund for a Marine charity. Minimal music. He even wanted "dutiful wife" printed on the program beneath her name.

"No," Thornton said. He gave himself the satisfaction of ripping the sheet across, though only once, and was grateful all over that Greg didn't have to see that service, not even on paper, much less in person. "Toss that whole service out. John can still foot the bill, though."

A very brief smile cracked the other man's professional mask for a minute, and he suddenly seemed more human and less like a job description. "That won't be a problem." He took out a note pad. "So, what do we want in her service?"

"First of all, no eulogy from Greg. The only thing he should have to do is come. The one time I heard her mention her funeral, she said she would like eulogies, though. I'm thinking maybe from her neighbors, people at the senior center. There's a Mark Hansen there who would be good."

The funeral director, who probably knew every preacher retired or not within a 50-mile radius, nodded. "He does a very good eulogy."

"Patsy Wilkerson, her neighbor. Blythe had a lot of friends after John's death. I'm sure Patsy would be willing, and she could probably suggest a few others. The Marine charity can wait for someone else." A former Marine, he dismissed that without a second thought. "She loved flowers. So let the people give flowers." On they went step by step through the service with the music and all the other details, using the little he knew and filling in the rest, scheduling times. Thomas told him that the body should be flying in tonight, and the man said they would see that it got picked up at the airport. Then Thomas was taken to the casket room and picked one out. That was the hardest part for him, memories of Emily and Tim surging up, but he dutifully stuffed them down for later and selected one with light blue lining, her favorite color. Patsy no doubt had an emergency key to the house and could retrieve a favorite dress; the funeral home should ask when they called her about a eulogy. The director wrote it all down, nodding.

"One final thing," the director said as they returned to his office after selecting the casket. "About the burial. It's a joint site, you know; John House purchased a double plot. Do you want her buried next to him?"

Thomas sat back a little, the impact of that one pushing him into the back of his chair. Oh, boy. Lost in planning of the service itself, that one hadn't occurred to him. The trouble was, Blythe had specifically mentioned at another point during that funeral dinner after John's service that she wanted to be buried next to her husband, that she had always liked the idea of a married couple resting side by side. Of course, that was before she had known the truth about John. Part of him thought that she really belonged next to John; part wanted to free her from that. And what about Greg? For the first and only time in everything, he chickened out. "I'm not comfortable making that decision. Could you excuse me a minute while I make a phone call?" The director discreetly withdrew, closing the office door, and Thomas dialed the new number he'd added into his cell phone last night.

Lisa answered on the second ring, sounding tense. "Hello?"

"Lisa, it's Thomas. I'm arranging the service, and I have one question. John had purchased a double plot; do we want to bury her next to him?"

"Mmph. That's a tough one."

"She actually said she would like that. I don't think she knew the truth yet when she said that, though."

She sighed and reluctantly passed the buck in her turn. "Just a minute. I really think I'd better ask him that." He obviously was in the same room, as she didn't do any more than turn her head. "Greg? There's a double plot. She said once she wanted that, but that was before. Do you want your mother buried next to John or somewhere else totally?"

Silence for a few seconds, and then a soft snarl. "What the hell difference does it make where we bury her? It's all a hole in the ground, and it's not like they're going to be having dates or something down there. I don't care. Let him decide."

"Okay." Thomas heard footsteps as she retreated to a different room. She sighed before speaking again, and then she bravely took the decision herself. "I think it's going to be hard either way, but yes, go ahead and bury her next to John. She . . . she belongs there, really, and you did hear her say that yourself. Give her the service she wanted, but use the burial plot that's already there." Her voice was tight, clipped, hating the decision even as she had to make it. He'd only actually met her once, but he could picture the worry in her face. Still, he was grateful that that bombshell for better or worse would not come back on him. He had enough issues with Greg without adding more.

"Thank you, Lisa."

He heard her weak smile. "You shouldn't have to make that call. You're doing so much already, but that one shouldn't be on you. There isn't an easy answer, though. John would still be there in absentia even if he isn't in fact."

"I'll make the burial private," he said. "Just immediate family, no crowd. That will be easy to set up; they were already separated. The service is on Monday at 10:30 a.m. The burial is that afternoon at 1:30. No procession from the funeral home. I thought a break in between the two might help him, give him a chance to rest a little."

"That's a great idea. Is everything else set?"

"Yes." He didn't go into details, leaving it up to her to ask if she wanted. She didn't, at least not right now.

"Thank you so much for this, Thomas."

"You're welcome. I'll let you go now, but I'll be in touch. Goodbye, Lisa."

"Goodbye, Thomas."

He hung up. The printout of the original service was still on the funeral director's desk in two pieces, and he picked it up and tore it firmly across, now making it four, then deposited it in the wastebasket. He wished the past could be edited and replaced as easily. Then he opened the door. The director was close at hand, though a respectful distance away. "Go ahead and use that site next to John, but the burial is private. We need to specify that in the obituary."

"Of course. We won't even list a time in the obituary, just say private burial at a later date."

They finished up the final details. The obituary would run tomorrow. It was 3:30 when Thomas left the funeral home, and he felt absolutely run over, the memories crowding in. He knew he needed to give them free rein and take a break from this day as time for himself. Back at the hotel room, he started to switch to his tennis shoes to head out for a walk, then paused. First, he picked up the phone and called down to the main desk. This was horse country, after all, and even if winter darkness was coming before too long tonight, he could make a reservation for tomorrow morning. He had needed a new pair of boots anyway. "This is Thomas Thornton in 534. Is there any place around here that I can rent a horse?"

Five minutes and a phone call later, he had an appointment at 9:30 tomorrow morning. Putting on his tennis shoes, he picked up his iPod, cued up his father's recordings, and headed out with his memories for a long walk.