Hannah had arranged for a beauty team to visit Mamaw earlier that morning to set her hair and do her makeup and dress her specifically for the event. Writing brought a vivacity back to her grandmother that seemed to jump-start her recovery. She’d adapted to her new way of life well, making friends easily in her new home, and with Mr. Davenport, her ever-doting beau, never too far away. He’d moved into the assisted-living wing of the facility, and they were engaged and planning a holiday wedding. Hannah still attempted to apologize for her part in her grandmother’s injuries, but Mamaw still responded, “Oh, hush.” Seeing her vibrant grandmother in a wheelchair made Hannah think of how Evelyn had come to be in the same situation at the age of fourteen.
The bullet that Evelyn had sent through her right breast and into her spine did end up killing her, in a way. The last document that Guy had texted Hannah on the day all the puzzle pieces finally fell together was Evelyn’s death certificate. It had been tucked in the back of the envelope of records she’d given him and Rosie. Upon closer inspection Hannah discovered the reason the Tate County Record had never received Evelyn’s last letter was because she had passed away before she could send it. She was only twenty years old. The cause of death listed on the medical report was an intestinal blockage, which turned out was a common cause of death for people with paraplegia in the first half of the twentieth century. Hannah often played a game with herself, listing the ways things might have been different if Evelyn had been born fifty or even eighty years later, and then listing the ways her situation would’ve been the same. Just another reason she started her podcast.
Hannah was beeped into the rear entrance of the nursing home as she showed the security guard her ID. Security was tight because of the senator’s visit, but on most visits Hannah came and went freely, familiar with the staff and many of the residents there. Nancy, Mamaw’s former day nurse, greeted Hannah at the front desk. She was a newly hired supervisor at the facility, and her personality fit perfectly in this place.
“Hey, Hannah, good to see you,” she greeted Hannah, as cheerful as ever, hair in the helmet shape she’d perfected, and her pink scrubs stretched across her swollen belly, six months pregnant.
“Look at you!” Hannah declared as she approached, amazed at how much she’d grown, only barely hearing the good news before she’d left in July. Her engagement ring now had a matching band with it, and the sight of the sparkles and baby bump didn’t make Hannah cringe and look for the closest Wi-Fi connection so she could stalk Alex. Instead, she just felt happy. “Boy or girl? Or do you not know yet?”
“It’s a little girl,” she said, hand resting on her stomach affectionately. “I love your podcast, by the way,” Nancy said, handing Hannah her pass.
“Oh, you’ve been listening?” Hannah was always surprised when she found out that people listened to what she had to say. It made sense, logically, that she must have an audience of listeners and readers, because numbers and reports on her computer said it was so. But whenever she had the chance to see them face-to-face, it made the world feel like a more connected place than Hannah had let herself imagine.
“Yeah, I . . .” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Hannah. “Something like what happened to your great-grandma happened to me when I was in school. No one wanted to talk about it. I . . .” She paused.
Hannah waited patiently for Nancy to find her words. This phenomenon was the most surprising result of Hannah’s success—it happened on airplanes, in elevators, and once even in a public bathroom, a grand outpouring of trust and this borderline desperate need to share their experiences. All they wanted was for someone to listen—listen and believe.
“I understand why she did it, you know,” Nancy said when she found her voice again. Then she mouthed the words “Why she shot herself.” She continued, whispering still. “God forgive me, but I considered it for a minute or two—you know, when things were really bad. I thought for sure nobody would ever want me after . . . after that.”
Hannah blinked back unexpected tears. Usually, she was better at holding in her emotions in these moments, not wanting to make someone else’s trauma about her. But Hannah envied Nancy when she moved here a year ago, loathed her ’cause she looked happy and pretty and perfect. But even Nancy had a story like Evelyn’s.
“Oh my, I’m sorry. Don’t ruin your makeup. You have to look pretty,” Nancy said, grabbing a handful of tissues.
“Gosh, no. Don’t be sorry.” Hannah blotted her eyes, careful not to wipe off too much makeup. “You’re amazing, that’s all.”
“Oh, hush. I’m no such thing.” Nancy batted at Hannah, shifting away from the serious nature of her confession. Hannah was used to this too, a minimizing of the trauma after sharing in a victim’s effort to keep themselves from being retraumatized. Nancy changed the subject. “Hey, I just saw your family get in the elevator, so you’d better get going.”
“My family?” Hannah asked, scanning the lobby. Brody and his crew had turned down the invitation to join in on the family reunion, not agreeing with all of Jack Dawson’s politics. It’d take some time for his guard to drop. Her mother thought it would be best to let Hannah and Mamaw experience the spotlight together. And Carla, who both Hannah and Mamaw considered family, was in Arkansas helping her daughter with her three kids. Mamaw had insisted that every bit of the rent on the house that wasn’t used on Sunrise should go to Carla, which made it possible for her to finally retire. Even with all the people joining her life, Mamaw missed Carla, Hannah could tell. Hannah missed her too.
As far as Hannah was concerned, that was the entirety of her family, so she didn’t know what family Nancy was talking about.
“The Dawsons. They walked by while we were talking.”
In no way did Hannah consider the Dawson clan her family. The only one who came anywhere close was Pete, and she was glad he’d be here today. They’d become close friends over time, and she knew that if she’d taken the time to look, he had probably already texted asking where she was.
“Let’s have dinner this week, okay? I’m here for a bit now,” Hannah said, heading toward the elevators.
“Sounds great! Good luck!”
Hannah pushed the button to the second floor and hoped that she was the only one who could tell how sweaty she had become. Usually she’d take the stairs to get to Mamaw’s room, but there was no way she’d encourage her body to get any warmer than it already was. When the elevator doors opened, she took two rights and a left to arrive at Mamaw’s bedroom.
Inside, half the room was dim, and the other half was bathed in lights. Introductions and photographs were already taking place on the bright side. There would be a public press conference in about an hour down in front of the nursing home, where the Dawson family would welcome Mamaw into their family officially. It had been a long journey of tests and changing opinions and articles and busy election schedules. But eventually every test had come back with the same results: Jack Dawson was Mamaw’s half brother, though he was twenty years her junior, and when they spoke or had their younger pictures placed side by side, like was happening on most news shows, it was quite obvious. That made Pete Hannah’s second cousin. She always grimaced good-humoredly at that thought after the amount of flirting that had taken place between them in the early days of their friendship. He found it hilarious.
“Hey! There you are,” Pete whispered, greeting Hannah with an extra-squishy hug. On the production side of the room were lights and cameras, as well as Jack Dawson himself, talking with his sister quietly, his wife, Pete’s mother, by his side, and Mr. Davenport, Mamaw’s new fiancé and perpetual companion, holding her hand on the other side of the bed. Out of the shot was Shelby Dawson, who watched from her wheelchair, still very much in charge of the Dawson family despite her age.
“You look amazing,” Pete said like he always did when they saw each other after it had been a while.
“Let me remind you that I’m your cousin,” Hannah said, who’d made the joke an obscen
e amount of times since the DNA results came back.
“Second cousin. Which is not illegal. You can even marry your second cousin.”
“But still gross,” Hannah said, elbowing him in the ribs lightly.
“Some people think that vegetables are gross. I like to think they’re good for you.”
“What does that have to do with anything? You are such a politician.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?” he muttered.
“Hell yeah, it is,” she whispered back.
Shelby, who likely heard their hushed banter, scanned the back of the room.
“You come from a long line of politicians, so . . . you might want to rethink your prejudice.”
“You do realize how messed up it is that you called me part of your family and talked about the legality of marrying me in the same conversation?”
He bounced his head back and forth, eyes rolled up in his head like he was thinking.
“Yes, yes, I do,” he said, and they both convulsed with laughter, well above a volume that Shelby would likely find acceptable, and then hid from her glare like schoolchildren.
“Your grandmother is a delight, by the way. I wish I’d had her as my aunt growin’ up instead of Aunt Shelby. My God, that woman is mean.”
“Pete. Hush.” Hannah put a finger to her lips, serious. “She definitely has you bugged.”
“Hannah, is that you?” Mamaw called out, her voice hugging her from a distance.
“Yes! Hey! You looked busy.” Hannah stepped into the lit part of the room, where Mamaw sat propped up in bed. She hugged her and kissed her cheek ever so lightly, so she didn’t leave a mark.
“I’m never too busy for you, darlin’,” Mamaw said, grasping Hannah’s hand in hers like she was holding on for dear life. “This is my amazing granddaughter, Hannah. She’s the one who made all this happen.”
Jack Dawson, a large man with white hair and a broad smile, held out his hand. He already knew Hannah, even though they’d never met; she was sure of it. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Hannah.”
“As have I,” she said, shaking his hand.
“I would take any story you’ve heard from Peter with a grain of salt,” Aunt Shelby chimed in.
“As long as you’ll do the same for me,” Hannah bantered back, finding it interesting that she was related to these strangers.
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for finding my sister for me. It is lonely in this world without family,” he said, and she’d wondered if he’d practiced that line. She decided to play along and hope that he was at least partially sincere for Mamaw’s sake.
After a bit more small talk, Hannah checked the time. “I have to run out to an appointment. I’ll be back in an hour for the big shindig, okay?” she told her grandmother.
“Oh yes, dear, do what you need to do. I’m in good hands.”
“Yes, you are,” Jack’s wife chimed in, and Hannah was glad to see that she could talk.
She kissed her grandmother goodbye, and as Mamaw held Hannah a fraction closer than usual, she whispered, “You’ve made me so damn proud, Hannah girl. And I know your daddy would agree with me.”
“I think he’d be proud of both of us,” she said in return, knowing it would be true. Then she added, surprised and impressed, “And—you swore!”
Mamaw swatted her away playfully. “I’m not planning to make a habit of it, but I think I’ve earned the right.”
“Hell yeah, you have,” Hannah shot back, standing at full height but trying to stay discreet, not wanting to embarrass her grandmother. She hugged Mr. Davenport and made a few rounds of handshakes. Then she snuck out while Pete was distracted talking to a pretty nurse. Making it out to the street without getting stopped again, Hannah looked around for her ride.
“Hey there, beautiful, need a lift?” Guy rolled up in his silver Honda Civic, elbow hanging out the window.
“That is a super-creepy pickup line,” she said, wondering if he could tell that seeing him made fireworks go off inside her body. She tried to hold in her smile and act coy, walking around to the passenger side of the car and angling the air-conditioner vent right at her face once inside. It always felt like home with Guy. Always.
“But it got you in my car, so I think that means it worked.”
“Just drive.”
“Where are we off to?” he asked, grinning uncontrollably and taking more than one extra-long look at her fancier-than-normal outfit.
“It’s a secret.” She gave him a mischievous look. “Go straight. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
It was a quick drive, just under two miles. Hannah made sure to wait till the very last minute to tell Guy to turn every single time, which was likely dangerous but reminded her for the five hundredth time why she was about to do what she was about to do.
“Stop!” Hannah shouted, and Guy slammed on the brakes dramatically, making a skidding sound that she’d thought only existed in movies. “We’re here.”
They’d stopped in front of a dilapidated two-story Victorian-style home. The windows were boarded up, and parts of the roof looked to be missing.
“Get out,” she ordered playfully, shoving him toward the direction of his door. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
When she rounded the front of the car and climbed up onto the grassy knoll next to the road, her heels sank into the grass, and she grabbed for Guy’s arm so she didn’t fall down. He caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist. She took in a short, sharp breath and didn’t pull away, loving the way his support felt. She put her arm around his midsection as well, so they were connected.
“Do you know what this is?” Hannah asked, pointing at the barely standing structure.
“I should pretend I don’t, but I looked this up a long time ago when I was helping Mamaw with the article. This is Evelyn’s house, right?”
Reason 501, she thought, finding it beyond attractive that he’d taken the initiative to find this place.
“Yeah, it is. All right, here is a question you don’t know the answer to.” She turned away from the house and put her other arm around Guy till they were face-to-face. She’d been so cautious over the past months to not cross this line, to be friendly but not too flirty. She’d pulled away when she wanted to lean in, but if he was willing, she was ready for more. Even with the heat and the sweat, she didn’t mind the bonfire that permeated through his T-shirt and soaked into her skin.
“I’m having a hard time thinking about much of anything with you standing this close, looking this good,” he said, somehow pulling her closer when it seemed like there was no remaining space between them.
“I have to say, I find it distracting too. Oh no, I just forgot what I was going to say!” She let her arms drop and faked trying to walk away, but Guy held her against him.
“You’re not getting away that easily. I’ll try to remind you. This is Evelyn’s house. You brought me here. You are temptin’ me something fierce. Now—your turn.”
She knew he wanted to kiss her; she could read it in his eyes by now. It had been nearly a year since they had first kissed, but she thought about it every time they were together. His eager lips. His hungry grip on her hips and waist. He must have thought of it too, or he wouldn’t be looking at her like he could devour her.
“Do you know who owns this house?” she asked. This wasn’t how she’d expected things to go, but standing so close to Guy only made her more sure. She’d been alone for some time now, and it wasn’t terrible. She took care of herself and didn’t have to worry about losing everything in a breakup or a fight or a slip in her mental well-being, or even because of some indiscriminate disease. But the more she got to know Guy, the more he filled her empty spaces and she enjoyed filling his, the more she knew that being alone was only safer if you hadn’t found the right person to trust.
“Umm . . . let me see if I can remember who lived here last . . . I can call Nick down at the land office and see what I can find out.”
“Oh, okay. So, who owns it?” he asked, dutifully.
“I do.”
“What?” He stared at the house and then back at Hannah. “You know you can’t live in that house, right? It’s pretty broken.”
She smacked his bicep. “I’m not going to live there. I want to renovate it, restore it. Eventually, I’d like to turn it into a museum dedicated to women like Evelyn, like women from my podcast. And I was hoping you might want to help me.”
“Oh,” he said, his grip on her going slack, very little emotion in his response. “You want to hire me? I see. My father usually handles quotes and big jobs like this.”
“I mean, I do need a handyman.” She pulled him in again, not wanting to let go now that she had him in her reach. “But I want to do it together. Like, together together. Like—we kiss and hold hands and go on dates kind of together.”
“Did you say kiss?” His eyebrows shot up, and his hands immediately returned to her waist, where they belonged.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I like the sound of all that,” he said, dipping his head down till their lips touched. Hannah ran her hands up the back of his neck and pulled him down toward her, parting her lips slightly, inviting him to deepen the connection. Her lips moved along with his in a lovely, easy dance that felt like the first time and the millionth in the same instant.
“Does this mean you are going to stick around for a bit?” he asked when they separated momentarily.
“Yeah, I think it’s about time I gave staying a try.”
“I think you’re gonna like it.”
She looked at the crumbling house behind her and the road she’d ridden on her bicycle on her way to work every day for the months she lived with Mamaw. She almost felt closer to her father here than at Columbia College, or even in the house where he died. There was Dr. Williamson, PhD, whom Hannah mourned and missed every day. But the ongoing heritage of Patrick Williamson, outside his children, came through this town. He’d left as a teen, thinking the only way to avoid the mistakes of his ancestors was to escape. He’d run away from Senatobia to find his purpose. Hannah ran to Senatobia to find hers—which only seemed right.
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