“Four years isn’t that short,” Christy-Lynn pointed out drily.

“I suspect Iris was the reason for that. Your husband could have lived without Honey. And she could have lived without him. But children have a way of changing things. They turn your life inside out—your heart too. Honey was just too young and selfish to know it. My fault I guess, since I brought her up.”

Christy-Lynn considered Rhetta’s words as she pushed away her mug. She’d been nothing but forthcoming, neither defensive nor secretive, though not quite apologetic either.

“You’re very blunt about all this.”

Rhetta seemed surprised by the observation. “What else can I be? This was only ever going to end badly, but when you’ve been around as long as I have, you realize people have to make their own mistakes—sometimes big ones—before they figure out they’re getting it wrong. Trouble is, they usually figure it out too late, and someone else is left holding the bag. All Honey cared about was having fun. She knew I’d take care of Iris—and I will for as long as I can.”

On cue, Iris toddled into the kitchen clutching her teddy bear. “Juice.”

“All right. I’ll get you some juice.”

Rhetta clutched the edge of the table as she shoved herself out of her chair, her slippers scuffing the worn vinyl as she went to the refrigerator. Her hand trembled as she filled a plastic sippy cup, then snapped on the lid. “There you go, sweetie.”

But Iris had lost interest in juice. She was too busy staring at the stranger in her kitchen, her wide violet eyes full of questions.

Rhetta took the forgotten sippy cup from Iris’s hand and set it on the table, then took hold of her shoulders. “This is Christy-Lynn, honey. She’s a friend . . . was a friend . . . of your daddy’s.”

Iris cocked her head to one side, a tiny V of confusion forming between her pale brows. Rhetta caught Christy-Lynn’s eye as she grabbed a rumpled pack of cigarettes from the counter. “Come on then,” she said, taking Iris by the hand and nodding toward the door. “Let’s get you outside in the sunshine for a bit.”

Christy-Lynn recognized Rhetta’s words for what they were, code for Nonny needs a cigarette. She followed reluctantly as Rhetta herded the child onto the porch and then down the front steps, unearthing a plastic bucket and shovel from somewhere and putting them in Iris’s hands.

“We’ll be right up here,” she promised, lumbering back up the porch steps. “Right here where you can see us.”

“Is Mama coming?”

Rhetta pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes closing briefly. “No, baby. Mama isn’t coming. She had to go away, remember?”

Iris’s chin began to quiver, her little face threatening to crumple. “Want Mama.”

“I know you do, little one. So do I. But she’s watching us.” Rhetta squinted up at the sky, pointing to a tuft of white cloud. “From up in heaven, remember? And she loves to watch you play. Can you do that for Mama? Can you play?”

Iris nodded, but her face was a dejected blank as she turned away with her plastic shovel. Rhetta reached into her housecoat pocket, cellophane crinkling as she fished out her cigarettes. She fumbled one out of the pack then eased into the chair beside Christy-Lynn’s. “It’s hard looking at her, isn’t it?” she asked when she’d lit her cigarette and taken the first pull.

“Very.”

“It’s hard for me too.” Her voice crackled. She took another long drag, blowing out the smoke on a long sigh. “She barely talks anymore. Just a word here and there when she wants something. Poor thing. She’s so confused. She’s started having nightmares since Honey . . . since the accident.”

Christy-Lynn nodded but said nothing.

“I’m tired, Mrs. Ludlow. And I’m not . . . equipped. I didn’t expect to be raising another child at my age, and my doctors aren’t exactly full of good news these days. I don’t know how much longer . . .”

Christy-Lynn cut her off before she could finish. “Surely Ray and his wife—”

“They’ve already said no. And I suppose I can’t blame them. They can barely keep body and soul together as it is, and there’s another mouth coming in the fall. I don’t know how Ellen will manage. She can’t keep up with the four she has, let alone five. There just isn’t room for Iris.”

“What will happen if . . . ?”

“When,” Rhetta corrected, squinting at Christy-Lynn through a freshly exhaled haze of smoke. “There’s no if. Only when.”

“And Iris . . . ?”

“Social services, I suppose, unless Ray backs down. And I don’t see that happening.”

Christy-Lynn felt her chest squeeze, as if her rib cage was suddenly filled with stones. “You mean foster care?”

Rhetta’s breath shuddered as she looked away. “I know it’s a hard thing, but there’s nothing else . . . no other way.”

Christy-Lynn remained quiet, partly because she didn’t trust her own voice. She was sixteen when she entered the foster care system. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a child Iris’s age, especially when that child was already showing signs of coping issues.

“You can’t mean Ray would actually let his own niece go to foster care. If it comes down to it, if something happens, they’d take her, wouldn’t they, rather than let her end up with strangers?”