Rhetta let out another sigh. “I thought she’d stop seeing him when she realized he didn’t actually have much say about who got to be in the movies, but she didn’t. Maybe it was the money. He bought her nice things, took her nice places. It turned her head. I guess it would any girl’s. At least any girl from Riddlesville. She got all that with Stephen, along with a nice car and a fancy apartment somewhere. Pretty soon, she didn’t even look like Honey—with those store-bought boobs and all the designer clothes. She’d disappear for a while then come back just long enough to rub her new life in everyone’s face. Especially the old crowd down at the IGA where she used to cashier. She’d spend a little time with Iris, but mostly it was about showing off. And then off she’d go again.”

Christy-Lynn was still digesting the fact that Stephen had set his mistress up in an apartment when she remembered the autodrafts she had discovered on his bank statements. Star Properties LTD. Not a publicity firm then; a property management company. And what about the $4,000 transfers each month?

“Was my husband paying child support?”

She had put the question a bit bluntly, and for a moment, Rhetta seemed genuinely surprised. “I don’t know if you’d call it that. At least I never did. It was more like an allowance. He would put money in Honey’s account every month. Quite a lot of money. It made me ashamed that she took it—there are names for women who take money from men—but then Iris came along, and I couldn’t afford to be all high-and-mighty. Children need things. Lots of things. And a government check only goes so far.”

Christy-Lynn felt a sharp stab of remorse. She’d never stopped to consider that Stephen’s death might spell disaster for Iris and her great-grandmother. “Is she . . . are you all right? Money wise, I mean?”

Rhetta stepped away, sliding the pot back onto the burner. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly. “We’ll have to.”

“You mentioned a grandson.”

“Ray,” she said, suddenly looking very tired. “He never thought much of Honey. Very pious, my Ray. Reverend of the Living Water Tabernacle. His wife, Ellen, plays the organ on Sundays. And oh, wasn’t she green with envy when Honey started popping up in church with all her fancy clothes. And Honey loved every minute. I know that sounds petty. And it is. I’m not making excuses for the girl. What she did was wrong, but I’m guessing you have no idea what it’s like to grow up in a town like this, to see how the rest of the world lives and know there’s no chance you’ll ever have that kind of life—or much of any life, really, unless you count raising a passel of kids in a double-wide. But Honey knew it. So did her mother. Which is why I suppose they both got out the first chance they got.”

For one terrible instant, Christy-Lynn flashed back to the night she had been ushered into a hospital room to find her mother lying there with her face sewn up, promising that when she got out of jail things would go back to the way they were. In her whole life, she’d never been more afraid than the night her mother made that promise. Yes, she did have an idea what it was like. Much more than an idea. In that, at least, she and Honey had had something in common.

Rhetta was back in her chair now, stirring sugar into her freshened mug, her eyes clouded and far away. Christy-Lynn watched her for what felt like a long time, trying to figure out the best way to frame her next question.

“Did they ever talk about getting married?” she said finally, because there was no best way.

“You mean was Stephen planning to ask you for a divorce?”

Christy-Lynn looked down at her hands, wrapped a little too tightly around her mug. “Yes.”

“Not that I ever heard. And I’m not sure Honey really cared about a ring. I think she liked having all the benefits of being married to a rich man without any of the responsibility. That’s why Iris coming along knocked her for such a loop.”

Christy-Lynn gnawed at her lip, weighing another awkward question. “You don’t think she got pregnant so Stephen would marry her?”

Rhetta’s eyes widened. “You mean to trap him? Good grief, no. It was Honey who ended up getting trapped with that baby. Stupid girl. She talked about, you know . . . not having it. It was Stephen who talked her out of that.”

Christy-Lynn let the words sink in. The question reared its head again. Was it possible Stephen hadn’t been as okay with her choice to remain childless as he had pretended? It was a haunting question, one she’d never have an answer to.

“How often did he see Iris?”

“Not very often near the end. But you know what his schedule was like. Always jetting off somewhere. And he was living two lives, wasn’t he? It couldn’t have been easy, keeping it a secret from the whole world—and you.” Rhetta set down her mug and looked Christy-Lynn in the eye. “You never suspected even a little?”

“Not even a little,” she answered flatly, pretending the old woman’s gaze didn’t unsettle her. “Did he seem . . . fond of Iris?”

Rhetta lifted her shoulders then dropped them with a sigh. “It’s hard to say. He treated her more like a doll than a daughter, something pretty he could pet and hold on his lap. He used to call her his best girl. I don’t think Honey liked that too well. She didn’t like sharing him, even with Iris. It’s terrible to say, but I think she would have eventually stopped coming to see Iris altogether. And in time things would have gone south with Stephen. Honey always did have a short attention span.”