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said carefully. “I came because I thought I could help you.”
    “Really?” Linda practically shouted. “My husband is dead , Octavia, and I have two kids who haven’t
    shed a tear since I told them their dad isn’t coming home, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. How can
    you possibly help me?”
    Octavia ached over her sister’s palpable agony, while acknowledging her own inadequacy to offer
    comfort. She just wasn’t made that way. So she opened her purse and removed the check she’d written.
    “Here.”
    Chapter Four
    LINDA STARED at the check in her hand. “Ten thousand dollars?”
    “There’s more if you need it,” Octavia said, her voice smug.
    What she needed was to be able to tear the check into little pieces and toss them at her sister’s designer
    shoes. But she couldn’t…ten thousand dollars would catch her up on mortgage payments, utilities,
    insurance. Plus she’d yet to receive bills from the hospital and the funeral home. Still, her pride kicked in.
    “I can’t take this,” she said, extending the check.
    “Of course you can,” Octavia argued, folding her arms. “Don’t suddenly stop being the sensible one.”
    Octavia had a talent for wrapping censure around a compliment. Linda hesitated, loath to take money
    from her arrogant sister, but knowing what it would mean for her children in the short term. “I’ll pay you
    back,” she said finally.
    “Nonsense,” Octavia said with a wave. “Now…what can I do to help you get ready?” She removed
    another item from her purse and held it up. “I brought waterproof mascara.”
    Linda smiled. That was Octavia — every problem in the world could be solved with money and
    makeup. But she was happy to submit to her sister’s ministrations because she barely had the energy to
    dress herself, and she wanted to look nice for her husband’s funeral.
    Her husband’s funeral .
    The words were preposterous…incongruous…ridiculous.
    Since the doctor’s pronouncement, she’d been going through the motions of living. She couldn’t stop
    — she had children to care for and a household to run and burial details to arrange. She’d made decisions
    no woman her age should ever have to make — this casket, those flowers, that gravesite.
    If she’d hoped Sullivan’s mother would help, she was mistaken. Upon hearing the devastating news,
    Marbella Smith had to be hospitalized herself. Her doctor had assured Linda over the phone her mother-in-
    law would recover, but was too fragile to travel for the memorial service. Linda had a hard time picturing
    Marbella as “fragile,” but the woman had just lost her only child. Still, some part of her wondered if not
    coming to the funeral was Marbella’s final act of disapproval of the life he’d chosen.
    “There now,” Octavia said, standing behind Linda in the bathroom mirror.
    Linda stared at her reflection, impressed. Octavia knew how to work wonders with discount clothes,
    and the makeup kit had come in handy, even though most of the pots of color and stain had been violated
    by chubby finger pokes.
    “Can I ask you a favor?” she said to Octavia.
    “Sure.”
    “I’d like to go early to the funeral home to take care of some paperwork. Would you and Richard bring
    Maggie and Jarrod with you?”
    She knew she was asking a lot because her sister had an aversion to little people. But to her credit,
    Octavia stiffened only slightly. “Of course.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Your little girl is quite the prima donna.”
    Linda bit back a smile. “Yes. She couldn’t be more like you if she were your daughter.”
    Octavia sniffed. “I’ll go help her pick out something more appropriate to wear than the blinding outfit
    she has on.”
    “Good luck.”
    Linda watched her slim, gorgeously put-together sister walk away, and squelched a pang of envy.
    Octavia had known what she wanted in life from a young age, and had set her sights on getting it. She’d
    parlayed her pageanting and