Show Me the Way

by Ashley Farley

  “Cornell?” Presley says. “Smart girl.”

  Emma hooks her arm around her sister’s neck. “Abigail’s the smart one. She’s going to be a doctor. And she’s athletic. She’s already committed to play lacrosse at UVA.”

  This surprises Presley. Not the UVA part. At the hockey game, she heard UVA was recruiting Abigail. “You’re going to play lacrosse? Not field hockey?”

  Emma cuts her eyes at Presley. “How do you know she plays field hockey?”

  Presley loves it that Emma is so protective of her family. “I’ve seen you with your hockey sticks, when I walk by in the mornings and you’re on your way to school.”

  “Oh. Right. Duh.” Emma hip-bumps her sister. “UVA wanted Abby for hockey, too. But lacrosse is her passion.”

  “Congratulations. D1 Lacrosse is a huge deal.” Presley smiles at Abigail who looks uncomfortable being the center of attention.

  When Emma announces dinner is ready, they fill their plates with lasagna, salad, and crusty bread. At the table, the three Reed women take their places—Rita at the head with Emma on her right and Abigail on her left—and Presley sits down in the vacant chair beside Emma. After Rita offers a simple blessing, they commence eating.

  “So, Presley,” Emma says, forking off a chunk of lasagna. “When did you decide to become an event planner?”

  “When I was about six,” Presley says with a little laugh. “My mom was always throwing parties to entertain her clients. I learned a lot from hanging out with the florists and caterers.”

  “What does your mother do?” Rita asks.

  “She was a producer for a major country music record label.”

  Emma drops her fork. “Shut up! That’s badass. Does she represent any big names?”

  Presley lists the names of some of Renee’s top stars.

  Emma says, “Cool! I wanna meet her. Is she coming to see you soon?”

  “Unfortunately, my mom died a few months ago.”

  Emma gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  Rita dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “That must have been difficult for you.”

  Presley presses her lips into a thin smile. “It’s been a tough year.”

  Jabbing a forkful of lettuce, Emma says, “So, tell me about your career, Presley.”

  Presley pinches off a bite of crusty bread. “Well, let’s see. After graduating from Alabama, I worked for a few years at a country club in Nashville before accepting a job with a firm in New York that plans elaborate affairs for movie stars and politicians. I was getting ready to move to New York when my mom became ill. Her disease was debilitating but not crippling. With my help, she was able to work until a month before she died. I pretty much ran her life.”

  “That’s what I wanna do! Plan parties for the rich and famous.”

  They talk for a while about the pros and cons of a career in event planning. Abigail is noticeably quiet, and Presley attempts to draw her in, to no avail.

  When they finish eating, Emma says, “Thank you for sharing your experience, Presley. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to study. I’m trying to keep my grades up.”

  “I totally understand. And thank you for having me.” Presley wipes her mouth and sets her linen napkin on the table. “You have the right personality for event planning, Emma. You’re creative and resourceful and outgoing. You will do great.”

  Emma’s face lights up. “Do you think so, really?”

  “I do,” Presley says. “Would you be interested in working with me over the holidays? I’d have to clear it with Stella first, but I could use your help. As an intern. I’m not sure we’d be able to pay you.”

  Emma’s blue eyes are enormous. “Are you kidding? I’ll pay you for an opportunity like that.” She whips out her phone. “What’s your number?”

  Presley recites her cell number and seconds later her phone pings with the text from Emma. “I’ll call you as soon as I confirm it with Stella.”

  “That will look so great on my résumé.” Emma shoots out of her chair and gathers all their dinner plates.

  “Leave those in the sink, honey,” Rita says. “I’ll get them later.”

  Abigail stands to leave. “It was nice to see you again, Presley.”

  “And you as well, Abigail.”

  Rita waits until they’re gone. “Would you like a cup of tea? I took some of Emma’s specialty, lemon blueberry cheesecake bars, out of the freezer.”

  “She bakes, too?” Presley says, shaking her head in amazement. “What doesn’t that kid do?”

  “Emma’s pretty remarkable. Both my girls are special in different ways. You would think Abigail would have self-confidence issues from having an overbearing sister like Emma, but she’s sure of herself. She’s just quiet by nature.” Rita snickers. “I’d be willing to bet she was working calculus problems in her head during dinner.” She pushes back from the table. “How about that dessert?”

  “I’d love some, as long as you let me help you clean up first.”

  “If you insist,” Rita says. “I’ll get an apron for you.”

  While the tea brews, they clear the table and load dishes in the dishwasher. Rita tells Presley about her job at the high school. “Before my divorce, I was a stay-at-home mom. When I moved back to town from Charlotte, I had to find a job to help pay the bills. Russell Freeman, the high school’s principal, is an old childhood friend. He offered me an administrative job in his office. It’s fine for now. I like being around the kids. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

  Presley laughs. “I’m sure you will in time.”

  Working side-by-side with Rita feels natural to Presley, like they’ve known each other longer than a few days. Rita is her aunt, and Abigail and Emma are her cousins. Will they accept her into their family when she tells them Lucy is her birth mother? Is this even what she wants? She answers her own question with no hesitation. She’s never wanted anything more in her life.

  “Let’s go to the living room. It’s my favorite room, but we hardly ever spend any time in there.” Rita places the teacups and dessert plates on a small acrylic tray and leads Presley down the hall to the living room.

  Presley pauses in the doorway to admire the room, which is decorated in shades of gray on the walls and upholstery with accent colors in pinks and yellows. “I see why you like this room. It’s so feminine and happy.” She scrutinizes the family photographs in silver frames that clutter the baby grand piano. Emma and Abigail are pictured at various ages. There are several of Rita and Lucy from childhood with a third girl who must be their sister, Anna. She leans over to look at an image of a handsome young couple, not much older than Presley, in formal evening attire. The man is dashing, a James Dean lookalike. There’s something vaguely familiar about his wife, a beautiful redhead with pale gray eyes. Studying the photograph closer is like looking in a sepia-toned mirror. The woman can only be her grandmother.

  “Are these your parents?” Presley asks.

  Peering over her shoulder, Rita says, “Yes, Sam and Carolyn Townsend in their much-younger days. I would kill for my mother’s hair. Out of all her offspring, children and grandchildren, only Lucy’s son, Chris, got her auburn hair. Seems like such a waste on a man, but he carries it well. Did you meet Chris at the party?”

  “No, I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’ve heard a lot about him from Lucy.”

  “He was only there briefly with his father. He’s a good boy. And his father is a good man. I was sorry when he and Lucy ended their marriage.” Rita takes the photograph from Presley. “You look enough like my mother to be her twin. Presley, are you . . .? You are, aren’t you? You’re the child Lucy put up for adoption.”

  Presley’s shoulders cave. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s a good chance I might be.”

  Rita returns the photograph to the piano. “How did you find us? On 23andMe?”

  “After my mom died, when I was going through her desk, I fou
nd your address on a torn envelope in my adoption file.” Suddenly light-headed, Presley says, “Can we sit down?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Seated side-by-side on the sofa, Presley tells Rita about finding the envelope and making the split-second decision to come to Hope Springs. “I thought you were my birth mother at first. Lucy told me what happened to her in college and about giving her baby up for adoption. When I found out at the party that you and Lucy are sisters, I put two and two together and realized Lucy must be my birth mother.”

  “What a small world,” Rita says, but she doesn’t seem all that surprised by the coincidence.

  Another piece suddenly falls into place for Presley. “Or is it, Rita? You mentioned 23andMe. Lucy claims she never searched any ancestry websites. Is someone in your family on 23andMe?” Presley turns to Rita. “Are you on 23andMe?”

  Rita looks away while she sips her tea. “My sister was in such a dark place. I would have done anything to help her find the child she put up for adoption.” She gets up and walks aimlessly around the room, fluffing pillows and straightening lampshades. “When my online search proved futile, I begged our parents to tell me everything they knew about the adoption. Back then, Lucy wanted nothing to do with the baby. She thought the less she knew, the easier it would be for her to forget about it. Fortunately, my parents were wise enough to realize Lucy would one day need to know more.

  “They helped choose the adoptive parents. After much harassment, they gave me your parents’ names. I researched your parents, and when I learned your father had passed away, I sent a letter to your mother.” Rita returns to the sofa. “That’s my handwriting on the envelope you found in your mother’s file.”

  Presley takes a minute for this information to sink in. “So, you knew who I was when we met at the party and I told you my name?”

  Rita gives a solemn nod. “I figured it best to let the situation play itself out. Emma, with her bubbly personality, was instrumental in making that happen.”

  Presley feels both betrayed and manipulated. “So, you wrote to my . . . to Renee? What did you say?”

  “I explained about my sister’s depression and asked her to please call me to discuss your adoption. I never heard from her. Honestly, I didn’t really expect to.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I hoped that one day you would find your way back to us. And you have.”

  A moment of awkward silence passes between them. “So, you’re okay with me being here?” Presley asks.

  “I’m thrilled with you being here, honey. You’re my niece, my sister’s child.” Rita fingers a lock of Presley’s hair. “And Lucy will be overjoyed. When are you planning to tell her?”

  “I have no clue. I wanted to get to know you better first. I figure I’ll know when the time is right.”

  “I’ll support you in any way,” Rita says. “If you’d like, you and I can tell Lucy together.”

  Presley ponders this idea. “Maybe. Let’s wait a few days to see if an opportunity presents itself first.”

  27

  Everett

  After being released from the hospital, aside from visits to the toilet, Everett’s mom sleeps for thirty-one hours straight. When he wakes her to take her meds, she gulps them down with water and falls right back asleep. The meals he brings to her room on trays go untouched. This is about more than Mary needing rest. She’s slipping into depression. Finally, on Thursday evening, he makes her get out of bed for dinner.

  “Rise and shine.” Bursting into her room, he turns on the overhead light and bedside table lamp. “You’ve slept long enough. I made your favorite teriyaki chicken for dinner.” When he jerks back the covers, he gets a whiff of her sour smelling body.

  “Go away, Everett.” She pulls the blanket back over her.

  “Sorry. No can do. You can’t hide out in your bed forever. Time to face the rest of your life. And I will help you, just like you helped me when I was at my lowest. We’ll take it one day at a time. First off, you need to shower. You stink to high heaven.”

  She cries out when he eases her into a sitting position, but he doesn’t let that deter him. “You’re stiff from lying in this bed. You’ll feel better once you get up and move around. Besides, I have some exciting news I want to share with you over dinner.”

  He wraps her cast in a plastic bag, securing it with duct tape, and turns on the water in the shower. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He steps out of the bathroom and waits beside the door, listening in case she calls out for him.

  She emerges twenty minutes later wearing a clean nightgown and bathrobe that smells like scented drier sheets. Her curly blonde hair is combed straight and hangs like wet noodles to her shoulders. Her face appears slightly less swollen and the bruises are transitioning from inky purple to green.

  Everett settles her on the sofa before going to the kitchen to prepare their plates. When he returns to the living room with their trays, Mary is staring at the urn on the mantel. She doesn’t ask where it came from or what it is.

  After bowing their heads and reciting the simple “God Is Great” blessing, Everett devours his teriyaki chicken, while his mom merely picks at hers. “You need to eat, Mom, to get your strength back.”

  “These meds make me feel so yucky.” She sets down her fork, abandoning her dinner. “You mentioned you have news. I hope it’s good news.”

  “It’s great news.” He smiles at her over a forkful of salad. “I signed a contract yesterday with a major country music label.”

  Her mouth drops open. “You did not.”

  He nods. “Yes, I did.”

  “Oh, Rhett! That’s the most wonderful news ever. I’m so proud of you. If I weren’t so darn sore, I’d hug your neck.” She kisses the tips of her fingers and touches them to his cheek. “You’ve worked so hard. You deserve success.”

  “Success isn’t guaranteed, but Wade, my producer, seems confident I’ll do well. I’m going to Nashville, Mom.” He angles his body toward her. “We’re going to Nashville. I want you to come with me.”

  Mary’s smile fades. “You’re sweet to think of me, but I can’t leave Atlanta. My life is here.”

  “What life, Mom? Dad is gone. I’m moving away.”

  She moves her tray from her lap to the cushion beside her. “My friends are here, and my business.”

  “When’s the last time you went to lunch or out for drinks with friends.”

  “My customers are my friends,” she says, her jaw set.

  “Your customers aren’t your friends. They’re rich ladies who tell you about their fancy parties and dysfunctional families while you’re pinning up their clothes.” When her chin quivers, he experiences a stab of guilt for making her cry. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  She wipes at her eyes with her napkin. “I guess there’s some truth to that. But it took me a long time to establish my business. I can’t just start over in Nashville.”

  “Why not? If you get in with the right crowd, word will travel fast. Who says you have to continue with alterations? Maybe you should try something new. I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities in Nashville for a gifted seamstress. Maybe Carrie Underwood needs a wardrobe assistant.”

  She bites on her lower lip, as though the idea appeals to her. “I’ll think about it.”

  When Everett tells her about his deal with Wade, Mary appears more interested in the urn than what he has to say. She waits patiently for him to finish eating before excusing herself for bed.

  Mary wakes before Everett the following morning. He finds her sipping coffee at the small round table in the kitchen. “Morning,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “Feeling any better today?”

  “No. But I will soon. I’ve decided to back off on the pain pills. They’re making me depressed.” She nods at the coffee maker. “Get some coffee and sit down. I want to ask you something.”

  Everett smiles at the authoritative tone of her voice.
“Yes, ma’am.” His mom is on the mend.

  He pops a pod into the Keurig machine he gave her for her birthday in April. She loves the coffee maker as much as she loves her new sewing machine, his gift to her last Christmas. When the coffee finishes brewing, he joins her at the table. “What’s up?”

  “I want to know what happened that made you leave Atlanta in such a hurry. Are you in trouble with the law?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” Everett walks her through the events of August twenty-nine. He tells her about Wade coming to his show and Carla’s pregnancy and Louie’s money.

  Mary’s face remains expressionless, and when he finishes talking, they sit in silence for a long while. “Regardless of how Carla got pregnant, that child is your flesh and blood, Rhett. Your responsibility.”

  The disappointment in her tone deflates him. He hasn’t let her down since that morning two years ago when she discovered him on her doorstep. That was rock bottom for him. He never wants to go there again.

  “Carla tricked me, Mom. She went off the pill without telling me and used my semen to get pregnant. I feel violated.”

  “Puh-lease,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “I agree that what she did was underhanded, but Carla is a lovely girl with a genuine heart. I don’t blame her for wanting to start a family. Would marrying her be such a bad thing?”

  “I’m not marrying someone I don’t love. You, of all people, should understand that.” A vision of Presley lying beside him in bed, with her auburn hair fanned out on the pillow, enters his mind. Tears fill his eyes, blurring his vision as he stares down at the table. When he looks up again, his mom is studying him intently.

  “You’re the bravest man I know, Rhett. You’ve always been my rock. How many times did you take beatings that were meant for me? What are you so afraid of now?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything?”

  “Really? Then why did you run away like a coward?”

  Ouch. He slouches down in his chair. “Maybe I’m not ready to be a parent.”