A cold September breeze whipped at the fallen leaves near where she stood in front of the mahogany coffin. Roxanne St-Clair's curly long strands of hair were blown into her eyes. Unconsciously, she tucked them behind her ear as she glanced over at the lone man standing across the coffin from her. She turned her attention back to Father Joe, who was completing prayers for the final farewell of George Lafrance.

From his dark well-cut suit to his cold green eyes, this stranger, who resembled George, had to be the estranged grandson, Philippe Lafrance. The grandson no one knew existed until a few days ago.

Father Joe closed his bible and lowered his head in silent prayer. Roxanne took this moment to caress George's mahogany coffin in her own final private farewell. She would forever be grateful and indebted to the compassionate man.

Ten years ago, he'd given her a chance at a better life when he took her in, becoming her last foster parent, her only family.

Father Joe straightened and cleared his throat. "Before we leave, I wish to take this opportunity, on behalf of George's family, to invite everyone back to Rock Heaven, and toast George one last time." He gave a curt nod to the stranger, then to Roxanne.

People nodded, mumbled and began to scatter. Roxanne accepted the odd condolence but from the corner of her eye she watched Philippe linger by his grandfather's coffin. It looked as if he were saying his own farewell.

He raised his head, and their eyes connected for a fleeting moment. Was it sadness she saw in their depths? Quickly, he masked his angry jade eyes with aloofness. He acknowledged her with a curt nod, turned around and left without a backward glance.

Her best friend, Vanessa, leaned towards her. "You know Roxanne, in all the years I've known George, I never heard him mention a word about a grandson. He talked about losing his son to a heart attack and his wife to breast cancer, but not a word about a grandson. It's kind of weird, don't you think?"

Against her own better judgment, Roxanne wondered as well.

The grandson had inherited George's build, from his broad shoulders and trim waist to chiseled face. The only difference was, George never made her heart flutter with a fleeting eye contact; his grandson did. She tore her gaze from Philippe's retreating back and turned her attention back to Vanessa. "He must have had his reasons."

As if reading Roxanne's mind, Vanessa acknowledged her. "He does resemble George, don't you think?"

"I bet that's the only thing he has in common with George." Roxanne couldn't help but stare at Philippe crossing between the cemetery gates. He reached a blue Toyota, unlocked the driver's door and slipped in.

A police cruiser crawled by, blocking her view of Philippe's car. The police officers openly stared at the remaining mourners.