The key turned smoothly.
It felt...wrong...that anything should go smoothly.
The whole world should be snarled and prickly and off-kilter and difficult. That was how she felt.
There was no rational reason for her to feel that the world should reflect her emotional state. It never had before.
But...that had been when he was there as an emotional lightning rod.
Even the world should be haywire without his grounding presence.
She realized she was still standing, staring at the door of their "Mighty Hut," gripping the key so tightly a mold could be made from the impressions. Of course, the casting would be marred by the lines of her skin, unusable in court.
Christine tugged the forefinger of her other hand. "Mama, in!" Huge blue eyes peered up from under the lace on the bonnet Angela...or someone...had tied under the little girl's chin and Christine smiled crookedly while squinting against the sun.
It should have rained today. It was always raining when things changed for them.
It was raining when he talked to the air less than two weeks before.
Raining when she kissed him then watched him getting soaked behind her cab.
Raining when she'd climbed into bed with him and they'd made Christine.
Raining when they wheeled him into surgery with her holding his hand...and when she'd walked, every muscle rigid, into the waiting room, still gowned, to tell her...family that this time he'd coded in response to the anesthesia.
She'd been raining then too, droplets falling unheeded.
Another splashed onto her daughter's cheek.
"Don't cry, Mama." Christine reached, and Brennan picked her up and stepped inside.
The first thunderclap sounded as the door latched behind them.