Rhetta’s eyes were moist now, her face full of misery. “He told me I had better take care of myself because there was no way he was having Honey’s brat in his house. As if it was Iris’s fault her parents weren’t married.”

Christy-Lynn was stunned. “What about Christian charity? About suffer the little children? Isn’t that what he’s supposed to believe?”

Rhetta shook her grizzled head, as if bewildered. “I gave up trying to figure out what that boy believes a long time ago. But you can ask him yourself if you want. That’s him coming up the road, and it looks like he’s brought the whole brood. I forgot they were coming by to pick up some muffins I made for the church bake sale.”

Christy-Lynn looked up in time to see a faded maroon van coming down the road in a cloud of dun-colored dust. “I’ll go,” she said, instantly on her feet. She didn’t want Rhetta to have to explain her presence. “Oh, my purse and keys are inside on the kitchen table.”

Rhetta pushed to her feet with startling swiftness. “I’ll bring them out.”

To her dismay, Christy-Lynn found herself alone on the porch, watching as the van pulled up and the doors swung open. The children tumbled out first, rawboned and pale, whooping like wild things as they scrambled in all directions. Ray appeared next, coming around to open the passenger side door for his wife. She was matchstick-thin but for her swollen middle, carrying a foil-covered casserole dish as she waddled toward the house a few paces behind her husband.

Christy-Lynn averted her gaze, wishing Rhetta would reappear so she could leave before things got any more awkward than they already were. In light of Rhetta’s revelations, she didn’t trust herself to hold her tongue.

Iris had been playing with her shovel in the dirt. She looked up, shrinking visibly as her uncle moved past without so much as a glance in her direction. The cousins came next, swarming across the yard. Iris ducked as the oldest, a boy with stained jeans and greasy blond hair, stepped over her as if she were a puppy.

Ray stared up at Christy-Lynn from the bottom step of the porch, a slight man with sharp shoulders and long, stringy limbs. Beside him, Ellen Rawlings ran her gaze over Christy-Lynn in one long, dismissive pass.

“Afternoon,” Ray said coolly. “You here to see Rhetta?”

Before Christy-Lynn could respond, Rhetta reappeared, her purse in one hand and a plate of cling-film-covered muffins in the other. She handed the purse over, her eyes full of apology.

“This is Mrs. Ludlow, Ray. We’ve just been chatting about your sister—and your niece.”

Ray snorted, a blend of disgust and dismissal. He closed one eye, as if drawing a bead on Christy-Lynn. “That so? You come all the way from Maine to talk about my sister?”

“I live in Virginia now, and I’m here—”

“I know why you’re here,” he shot back. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police when they came sniffing around. I see my family’s name in the papers, I’ll sue everyone from here to kingdom come. We’re good, decent people, Mrs. Ludlow, just trying to raise our kids and live our lives. Your beef was with my sister, and since she’s dead, I’d say you’re all done here.”

Christy-Lynn lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. She would probably have disliked Ray Rawlings on sight, but knowing he was capable of turning his back on a child cemented her revulsion. “You mentioned raising your kids. Does that include Iris?”

“She’s not my kid.”

“She’s your flesh and blood, a part of your family.”

“She’s an abomination is what she is. Born in sin, and no part of my family.”

Christy-Lynn stared back at him, dumbfounded. “So that’s it? You’d let your own niece end up in foster care because of something her parents did?” She knew she was overstepping her bounds but couldn’t seem to help herself. It was impossible to look at Iris and not see herself. She might have been sixteen when she entered the foster care system instead of three, but that was just math.

“The wages of sin, Mrs. Ludlow. Right there in the good book. The Lord shall visit the inequities of the father on the children.”

“Praise His name,” Ellen murmured coldly as she pushed past Christy-Lynn and disappeared inside the house with her casserole dish.

Rhetta glared at her grandson. “For God’s sake, Ray, the child’s right there. And Mrs. Ludlow is company.”

Ray shrugged. “Not my company.”

As if sensing she’d become the topic of conversation, Iris dropped her shovel and raised her eyes to Christy-Lynn. Christy-Lynn looked away quickly, tormented by the silent plea in the child’s violet gaze.

“I need to get back,” she told Rhetta. “Thank you for the coffee and . . . everything. I came for answers, and now I have them—or as close as I’ll ever get. That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Rhetta nodded, her eyes suddenly awash with tears. “It’s only what you deserved, though I’m not sure I’ve done you any favors with the truth.”

Christy-Lynn wasn’t sure either but reached for Rhetta’s hand just the same, giving it a squeeze before she turned to descend the steps. Ray made no move to get out of her way, forcing her to sidle past. She was heading for the driveway when she heard footsteps behind her. Before she knew what was happening, Iris had launched herself full force, arms locked tight around her knees, clinging like a limpet.