“Fine. Just outside on the porch with Iris. Is something wrong?”
It was the same question she always asked, as if she was always expecting trouble. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just calling to tell you my attorney sent out your copies of the trust paperwork, and they should arrive in a day or two. I asked him to send them so you’d have time to look everything over ahead of time.”
“That wasn’t necessary. And I’m not likely to understand a word of it.”
“You could have Ray look at it. Or if you’d like, I can have my lawyer call you and go over them. I want to make sure you understand how the trust is funded and exactly how those funds will be released to you.”
“No. Not Ray,” she answered abruptly. “And I’ve got no reason to check up on you. Any woman who’d do what you’re doing for Iris doesn’t need to be questioned. Besides, you already explained it all. I won’t have to come to Virginia to do the signing, will I? I don’t see how I could manage that.”
“No. I’ll come to you. I explained your situation to my attorney. All we have to do is make an appointment with a notary, sign the papers, and then mail them back. Once he’s looked them over, he’ll send us each a finalized copy. Would Saturday be okay, or would you like a little more time? I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“I don’t feel pressured, and time is something I’m running a little short on these days. Saturday will be fine.”
Christy-Lynn drained her coffee mug and zipped her overnight bag closed. Tolstoy looked on with an air of disapproval. He had already attempted to stow away three times and was clearly put out at being denied another opportunity. She’d be glad when things with the trust were finalized, and she could handle things from a safe distance. It wasn’t so much the trip she minded, but the emotional hangover that tended to linger afterward, sometimes for days.
She was about to drag the overnight bag up onto her shoulder when she heard what sounded like a car pulling into the drive. Frowning, she peered through the curtains, surprised to see Wade climbing out of his Jeep, a red to-go mug in his hand.
“Morning,” he said brightly when she pulled back the door.
“What are you doing here? It’s seven—” She broke off when she spotted a dark-green satchel sitting in the drive. “Is that a suitcase?”
“It’s a duffel, actually. You said last week that you were leaving this morning, and I’ve decided to be your wingman.”
“You just invited yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He tipped back the to-go mug and took a quick swallow. “Think of me as your bodyguard.”
Christy-Lynn cocked an eye at him. “You think I need a bodyguard to meet with an eighty-year-old woman?”
“Okay then, I’m your chaperone. Your entourage. Your posse.”
“Except none of those things are necessary.”
“I don’t like the idea of you driving all that way on your own.”
“I’ve done it three times now.”
“And each time you’ve come back looking like a zombie. This way I can do some of the driving and you can sleep. Or read the rest of my manuscript if you’re so inclined.”
Christy-Lynn opened her mouth to protest, but Wade was one step ahead of her. “I promise you’ll be perfectly safe. Separate rooms. Separate checks. Separate everything.”
She eyed him warily but felt a little ashamed too that he’d been able to read her thoughts so easily. “It isn’t that. Really. It simply isn’t necessary. It’s just some paperwork, a couple of signatures. As soon as I’m done, I’ll check into the Days Inn, then drive back on Sunday. I don’t need a . . . wingman.”
“I know this is going to come as a nasty shock, Christy-Lynn, but you’re not Wonder Woman. You may not see the toll this has taken on you, but I do. You’re exhausted and distracted, which isn’t a good combo when you’re about to get on the road. I’d like to help, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ve got this. Really I do.”
“Is it because you don’t trust me?”
Christy-Lynn felt herself flush when she thought of their strained parting after dinner the other night. She had acted like a flustered schoolgirl. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I trust you.”
“Then say yes. It’ll be like Thelma and Louise—but without the cliff thing.”
Christy-Lynn couldn’t help laughing. She had to admit, having company on the long ride to Riddlesville wasn’t a wholly unwelcome idea. “All right. But I pick the music, and you don’t get to complain.”
It was nearly two o’clock when they finally pulled into Riddlesville. Wade said nothing as Christy-Lynn drove through the center of town, his expression grim as he took in the empty storefronts and boarded windows. The view didn’t improve much as they headed west toward the outskirts of town, the pocked streets lined with listing houses and weed-choked yards. It wasn’t until she slowed to make the turn into Rhetta’s drive that he finally spoke.
“Jesus.” It was barely a whisper, the natural reaction to finally seeing what she’d been talking about all these weeks.
“I know,” she said softly.
“It looks like ground zero.”
Now do you see? she wanted to say but didn’t. In fact, there wasn’t time to say anything. Rhetta suddenly popped up out of one of the chairs on the front porch, a half-smoked cigarette caught between her fingers. Christy-Lynn waved as she stepped down out of the Rover.
“Hey, Rhetta.”
“I thought I heard a car coming up the road. I wasn’t sure what time to expect you, so I thought I’d sit out awhile.” It wasn’t until Wade threw open the passenger side door that Rhetta seemed to realize Christy-Lynn wasn’t alone. “Who are you?”
“This is Wade Pierce, Rhetta. He came to help with the driving. He was a friend of Stephen’s.”
Rhetta looked him up and down, her cloudy eyes suddenly sharp. When she finished her inspection, she ground out her cigarette in the plastic ashtray on the railing and looked hard at Christy-Lynn. “You’re not sick, are you? You look a bit wrung out.”
Christy-Lynn felt rather than saw the pointed glance Wade threw in her direction. She chose to ignore it. “I’m fine, Rhetta. Just a little tired.”
“Well, come on in. I’ve got a fresh pitcher of tea in the fridge. Are you hungry? I could fix you something.”
“No, thank you. We stopped for lunch. But some tea would be wonderful.”
They followed her up onto the porch and then into the house. The air was hot and close and still smelled of this morning’s breakfast. The TV was on—an old rerun of Gilligan’s Island with the sound turned way down. Rhetta clicked it off.
“I’ve just put Iris down for a nap.” She was tidying as she moved about the living room, gathering socks, barrettes, scrunchies, and stuffing them into the pockets of her yellow gingham housedress. “Poor thing had another bad night. Oh, be careful there,” she warned Wade, pointing to the floor littered with crayons. “You’ll break your neck if you step wrong. I’m afraid I learned that one the hard way.”
Rhetta ran an eye around the room while Wade navigated the minefield of crayons. She hadn’t been counting on him, and Christy-Lynn could see that she was wary. “I’m not sure how long she’ll be down, but she sleeps so poorly these days I don’t expect it’ll be long. We can head over to the notary with the papers as soon as she’s up. In the meantime, I’ll pour the tea.”
Christy-Lynn picked up a well-thumbed copy of Reader’s Digest from the couch and set it on the end table before taking a seat. Wade dropped down beside her, his knees nearly up to his chin as he sank into the rump-sprung cushions. His eyes met Christy-Lynn’s as Rhetta shuffled out of earshot, but he said nothing.
A few minutes later, Rhetta reappeared with a pair of glasses and handed one to Christy-Lynn. “I hope you like it good and sweet. Only way I know to make it. And I’m sorry—” She paused as she handed Wade the second glass. “I’ve already forgotten your name.”
&
nbsp; “It’s Wade, and I was weaned on sweet tea. Thank you.”
“Wade,” she repeated, as if trying to commit it to memory. “You were Stephen’s friend?”
“A long time ago. We were roommates in college, but we, uh . . . lost touch.”
Rhetta nodded vaguely, as if it had nothing to do with her, then disappeared into the kitchen again. She returned moments later with her own glass and took a seat in the worn green recliner beside the couch. She looked vaguely distracted, bone-thin fingers clutching her tea glass, eyes darting furtively in Wade’s direction.
When the silence began to grow awkward, Christy-Lynn reached for the FedEx envelope but didn’t immediately remove its contents. “Did you have a chance to look at the paperwork my attorney sent?”
Rhetta nodded. “More or less. The money will go into an account every month for Iris. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“And for you, Rhetta. Remember, we talked about getting you some help and finding you a better place to live, somewhere close to your doctor and good schools. And I’m going to help you with all of that when it’s time. You’ll receive a check each month to use for whatever you and Iris need—like an allowance. And that’s it really.”
Rhetta nodded, fishing around in the pocket of her dress for a tissue. She blotted her eyes then blew her nose. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a foolish old woman.”
It suddenly struck Christy-Lynn just how daunting all this must seem to a woman who had probably never signed a legal document in her life. “I know this is a lot to digest. Are you sure you don’t have any questions?”
“Will I Need to save receipts or anything?”
“No. You won’t need to account for how you spend the money. But in case something does come up, something out of the ordinary, I’m going to leave you my attorney’s card. His name is Peter Hagan. That’s who you’ll call.”
Rhetta put down her glass very slowly. “Not you?”
Christy-Lynn exchanged a quick look with Wade. They had discussed this particular stipulation while on the road. Wade approved of the idea, glad she’d be able to maintain some distance, but she was already having second thoughts. Peter Hagan might be a highly skilled attorney, but he lacked anything like the legal equivalent of a bedside manner. He could be gruff and intimidating, and though he’d never come right out and said so, he had formed his own opinion of the Rawlings family.
“Of course I’ll always be here to help you, Rhetta, but Mr. Hagan is better equipped to handle the legal stuff. You’ll have—”
Christy-Lynn broke off abruptly, the hair on her arms prickling to attention as an earsplitting wail suddenly careened down the hall. She knew the sound only too well, the blind panic of a child caught between sleep and waking. Rhetta was on her feet in an instant, scurrying as fast as her legs could carry her. It was a relief when she closed the bedroom door behind her, muffling the terrified shrieks.
Wade was clearly spooked, perched on the edge of the couch, ready to spring into action should it be required. “What’s happening? Should we be doing something?”
“Night terrors,” Christy-Lynn told him grimly. “And there’s nothing to do, except wait until she comes out of it. Rhetta says she has them pretty often. The good news is that at her age she probably doesn’t remember.”
“You sound like an expert.”
“I had them until I was seventeen.”
Wade’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “But not anymore?”
“No. Not anymore.” It wasn’t a lie. The dreams she’d been having since Stephen’s death had nothing to do with night terrors, which tended to diminish with the onset of adolescence. “I was an unusual case. Most kids grow out of them around seven or eight.” She paused, cocking her head. “Listen—it sounds like she’s starting to come out of it.”
A short time later, the bedroom door opened, and Rhetta appeared with a dazed Iris in tow. “It was a short one, thank the Lord.” She sagged into her chair and pulled Iris onto her lap. “Sometimes they go on for half an hour. This one wasn’t so bad. Can you say hello to Miss Christy-Lynn, Iris?”
Iris seemed not to hear. She was sticky with sweat or tears or both, her face mottled with angry red splotches. But it was her eyes, glassy and vacant, that held Christy-Lynn’s attention, too reminiscent of her mother’s that night at the morgue.
“It takes her a while to come all the way out,” Rhetta said, patting Iris’s back in a steady, comforting rhythm. “And then sometimes she doesn’t come out at all. She just drops back to sleep like nothing happened. I never know which it will be.”
Wade seemed unable to take his eyes off Iris. “How often does she have them?”
“Sometimes it’s every night. Sometimes she goes weeks and nothing.”
“Has she been to a doctor? Maybe there’s something they can do.”
Rhetta shook her head. “I took her when they first started. They printed some pages off the computer and told me to read them. It basically said there was nothing they could do, and that she’d eventually grow out of it.”
Christy-Lynn wondered if Rhetta had any idea just how long that might take but decided to let the subject drop. “Look, we don’t have to go to the notary today. We can come back tomorrow when Iris is feeling better. We’re staying over anyway.”
Rhetta was about to respond when the heavy thump of feet sounded on the front porch. There was no knock, no greeting of any kind as Ray Rawlings came through the door. Rhetta’s arms tightened almost imperceptibly around Iris, her face suddenly chalk white. “What are you doing here, Ray? I have company.”
Ray barely glanced in his grandmother’s direction, locking eyes with Christy-Lynn instead. He wore a shiny gray suit that fit too snugly at the waist and a red tie that had seen better days. “Mrs. Ludlow, nice to see you again.”
Christy-Lynn fought down a shudder. His smile reminded her of a small rodent, hungry and sharp-faced. “Reverend.”
“Rhetta mentioned you’d be by. Nice of you to come all this way for our Iris.”
Christy-Lynn stared at him. Our Iris?
Wade was suddenly on his feet, shoulders squared and clearly bristling. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Reverend.”
Ray studied Wade but made no move to extend a hand. “I’m Iris’s uncle. And you are?”
“A friend of Ms. Parker’s.”
Christy-Lynn shot Wade a sidelong glance. His fists were knotted tightly at his sides, the telltale muscle at his temple ticking ominously. Clearly, his gut reaction to the honorable Reverend Rawlings aligned perfectly with her own.
Ray was either oblivious or unimpressed, dismissing Wade with an icy glare before turning his attention to Iris. Crouching down on one knee, he held out his arms with a greasy smile. “Come to Uncle Ray.”
Iris was having none of it. She drew back against Rhetta, her chin tucked into her chest like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell. He tried again. This time she turned her head, burying it in the crook of her great-grandmother’s shoulder.
Rhetta flashed her grandson an imploring look. “She’s just had one of her nightmares, Ray. You know how she is after. She doesn’t—”
Ray silenced her with a look, clearly bent on having his way. “Iris,” he barked again. “I’m talking to you.”
It was Christy-Lynn’s turn to bolt to her feet. Ray Rawlings might be Iris’s uncle, but she wasn’t about to sit there and let him browbeat a little girl. Before she could open her mouth, Iris had scrambled off Rhetta’s lap and ducked behind her legs.
Ray feigned amusement, but his patience was clearly wearing thin. He cleared his throat, his cajoling smile beginning to fray. “Now, sweetheart, there’s no need to be shy. Don’t you want to see your uncle Ray?”
Christy-Lynn found herself gritting her teeth. Who did he think he was fooling? Certainly not Rhetta, who was sitting frozen in her chair. Or Iris, whose grip on her legs grew tighter with every word her uncle ut
tered.
Ray glared menacingly. “When someone tells you to come, young lady, you come.”
Christy-Lynn bent to scoop Iris up into her arms. It was the last straw. Apparently it was the tipping point for Wade too. He took an abrupt step forward.
“That’ll do, Reverend.”
Ray puffed out his chest, his face the color of a ripe plum. “Who the hell are you to tell me what will do in my own house?”
Wade didn’t blink. “I’m a guy who’s smart enough to know when a kid’s being bullied. And I believe this is Rhetta’s house not yours.”
Rhetta fixed her grandson with pleading eyes. “Please, Ray. You’re scaring her.”
And just like that, Ray’s bluster vanished, as if he’d suddenly remembered the part he was supposed to be playing.
“Forgive me,” he said softly, folding his hands before him. “It’s been a trying time. But I’ve come to share some news with Rhetta, and I suppose you should hear it too. After much prayer and soul searching, my wife and I feel led by the Lord to take my sister’s child into our fold, to love and raise as our own.”
Christy-Lynn wasn’t sure if she was more stunned or horrified. “You feel led . . . by the Lord?”
Ray dipped his head piously but said nothing.
Christy-Lynn laughed, a brief, sharp chuckle. “I must say I find your sudden change of heart a bit surprising, especially for a man who, two weeks ago, was throwing around words like abomination.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Mrs. Ludlow. As a man of God, I’m bound to do my Christian duty and to do it with a glad heart.”
“That glad heart wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that your niece is about to come into an inheritance, would it?”
Ray took an abrupt step forward and would have taken another had Wade not checked him. “Exactly what are you accusing me of, Mrs. Ludlow?”
“Just what you think I’m accusing you of, Reverend. I can’t help wondering if you’d still be eager to do your Christian duty if I were to change my mind and tear up the trust papers. Somehow, I don’t think so.”
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