by Laura Payeur
Macey's heart pounded.
The door on the opposite side of the car opened. A man, a bit shy of six feet tall with a strong build, dark, curly hair and cold gray eyes, slid in beside her. He smiled. His teeth were perfect and white.
"You're not an easy girl to catch up to." Remi Morgan reached out to take the bag from her hands. "Don't suppose you've got my money in here."
"I don't..." She swallowed hard. "I don't have any money. A few dollars. That's it."
"Mmm." His smile never faded. "Well, we're going to have to figure out how you're going to repay me then. Aren't we?"
We're screwed now. As if she were more than one person. Queasiness came before her world went gray.
Eleven
"Ms. Larue?" The bank manager, Rachel, checked the information on the safety deposit box. She was a pleasant woman in her early forties. Short and round with a hint of silver in her dark hair.
"Mrs. Baxter," Carly corrected. "I should be on there."
"Yes, ma'am." Rachel smiled. "I'll just need to see some I.D."
"Of course."
After thoroughly checking her identification, Rachel led her to the back room where the small bank kept their safety deposit boxes. Together they opened the secured door to the box before Rachel left her alone. Nothing jingled this time. For a steel box, it was fairly light. Carly wondered if there was anything in it at all. Cautiously she lifted the cover. She found nothing except a creme colored, business sized envelope with her name scrawled on the front. Stuffing the envelope in her bag, she closed the lid and placed it back in the wall.
"I'm done," she told Rachel. "I don't think we'll be needing it any longer."
"If you're sure." Rachel's brow furrowed. No one liked to lose business. This woman wasn't any different.
"I'm sure."
Outside in her car, Carly brought out the envelope. It was thick, but it wasn't drugs. She slowly broke the seal. A lump caught in her throat. Official adoption papers for T.J. and a letter.
Dear Carly,
I hope you know none of this is your fault. You've been a wonderful big sister. And I
know you'll be an even better Mom to T.J. Travis would be pleased. Of course if he
was still around, I guess I wouldn't be in this mess I'm in. Take care of my boy. I'll
understand if you never want to tell him the truth, but maybe you could find a way to
let him know he had an amazing Dad. I wish I could explain all of this, but I don't want
to make you responsible in anyway. Even after the fact. I love you.
Your Sister, Macey M. Larue