Rhetta was nodding gravely, her weathered face full of sympathy. “She’s a good girl, poor thing, but she’s having a hard time. We both are. There are some things you just can’t prepare yourself for. But then, I suppose you know about that.”

Christy-Lynn was barely listening, her attention fixed on the flesh and blood proof of her husband’s infidelity. It was jarring to see the features of both Honey and Stephen mingled in one tiny little face, perhaps because after a few minutes, it became impossible to say which features were her mother’s and which were her father’s. Finally, she managed to drag her eyes away. The sooner she had her answers, the sooner she could leave.

“Stephen and Honey . . . do you know how they met?”

Rhetta groaned, as if the memory was painful. “A book signing over in Wheeler. She saw in the paper that your husband was going to be there, and that was that. Shameful, that girl. I think she thought he’d give her the part right there on the spot. He didn’t of course—that’s not how it works—but something must have happened. Next thing I know she was flying with him to California to meet some director or other. She ended up as an extra, I think they call it. No lines, but she was convinced that sooner or later she was going to be a big star. Maybe that’s what he told her, or maybe it’s just what she wanted to believe.”

Christy-Lynn closed her eyes, trying to dispel the images suddenly filling her head. She knew Stephen had fans. He had a ridiculous following on social media, and his signing events were usually standing-room only. She just never thought of those people as potential threats—and certainly not threats to her marriage. Though now that she did think of it, it wasn’t that surprising. When it came to turning on the charm, no one was better than Stephen.

“Was your granddaughter in love with my husband?”

Rhetta looked mildly startled. “She was twenty-five years old. What on earth did she know about love?” She sighed, closing her eyes again briefly. “Though I suppose she thought she was. She certainly wouldn’t listen to anything I tried to tell her. I warned her what would come of messing with a married man, talked till I was blue in the face. And then one day she came home and said she was pregnant. There wasn’t much sense talking after that. The damage was done.”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Christy-Lynn said, wishing she’d never asked. But she had asked, and now there was nothing to do but sit stonily as Rhetta unraveled the time line of Honey and Stephen’s affair.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love that little girl to pieces, but I’m a bit long in the tooth to be raising a child. I’ve already raised three, God help me, and only one of them mine. Theresa—that was Honey’s mama—got herself pregnant by the first boy who offered her a ride in his truck, then ran off and left me to raise her daughter. Only saw her twice after that—the first time she’d gotten herself in a mess and needed money. The last time was to leave me with Ray—Honey’s brother. And now there’s Iris.”

“How old is she?”

“Three in March—the seventeenth.”

Christy-Lynn worked out the math as her eyes slid to the little girl in front of the TV. She had been conceived in July. Of course. Stephen had been in LA that summer, consulting on the screenplay for An Uncommon Assassin and rubbing elbows with director Aaron Rothman. And Honey apparently.

“Are you all right?” Rhetta asked. “You look a bit rattled, not that I blame you. This must all come as a terrible shock, as if you haven’t had enough of those already. Can I get you something stronger than lemonade? Made right over the county line. My son would throw seven fits if he knew I kept a jar in the house, but every once in a while, you need a little kick to set you right. I’d be happy to pour you a drop.”

Christy-Lynn shook her head. It would take more than a drop of West Virginia moonshine to set her right. “No,” she managed finally. “No, thank you. I don’t . . . I’m sorry. I have to go.” And just like that, she was off the couch and moving toward the door, suddenly desperate to put as many miles as possible between herself and Riddlesville.

Rhetta got to her feet with a bit of effort. “I’m so sorry about all of this. You seem like a nice woman, certainly not one who deserved to learn what you did today. I know it’s too late, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry Honey caused so much pain. She wasn’t a bad girl, just . . . selfish.”

Christy-Lynn fumbled for a response but could find none. With a curt nod, she stepped out onto the porch, nearly tripping over the geranium pots as she scrambled down the steps and back to the Rover.

She started the engine and managed to make it all the way back to the main road before slamming the car into park and slumping over the wheel. She had come for the truth, and now she had it. Four years. They’d been together four years. And there was a child. The reality was simply too much to grasp.

The shaking hit her all at once, confusion mixed with disbelief coursing through her like poison. Stephen—a father. It was inconceivable, the idea utterly foreign to her concept of the man she had married, the one who hadn’t batted an eye when she said she didn’t want children. But there was no denying it. One look at Iris with her dimpled chin and violet eyes was all the proof she needed.

Had it—had she—been planned? Or was the pregnancy an accident, the by-product of one careless night when passion had eclipsed reason and caution had been thrown to the wind? The thought made her stomach knot, but it was better than revisiting the possibility, as inexcusable as it might be, that the thing that had ultimately driven Stephen into the arms of another woman was the one thing—the only thing—she had ever denied him.