“I don’t need a test,” she shot back. “And no one’s asked me for a dime.”

“Christine, please. As your lawyer, I’m telling you this could get sticky.”

“It’s long past sticky, Peter, but thanks. I found out what I needed to know.”

He was still talking when she ended the call.

In the kitchen, she retrieved one of the blank note cards Carol had left in the drawer near the phone and began to write.

Rhetta,

I wanted to thank you again for your kindness the other day. I know my presence was an unwelcome reminder of your loss, and that our conversation must have been as painful for you as it was for me. Our losses are not the same, but the pain we feel is real, and I regret that our paths had to cross in such an unpleasant way. Please accept this small token of my appreciation, and my best wishes for you and Iris. It cannot make up for the loss you’ve suffered, nor is it meant to. But I do hope it will help make the care of your great-granddaughter a little easier.

Regards,

Christine Ludlow

When she finished the note, she made out a check for $10,000, then slipped it inside the note card, trying not to think about Peter Hagan’s reaction should he get wind of the gesture. Legally, Stephen’s estate didn’t owe Iris a cent. But legal obligations and moral ones were two very different things.

THIRTY

Riddlesville, West Virginia

June 17, 2017

Christy-Lynn’s stomach heaved as she passed the Riddlesville town limits sign. She was clearly out of her mind, but someone had to talk some sense into Rhetta Rawlings, and since the woman didn’t have a phone, that meant a road trip.

She’d been stunned to receive Rhetta’s note, thanking her in thin, spidery script for her kind wishes, but explaining that she couldn’t possibly accept charity from the woman her granddaughter had wronged. But how could it be charity? Iris was Stephen’s daughter, his own flesh and blood. That he hadn’t bothered to plan for her future didn’t change the fact that the check—and so much more—was absolutely Iris’s due.

She had no trouble finding Rhetta’s house this time, though she’d hoped her memory of the despair hanging over the place had been exaggerated. It hadn’t. But then, that’s why she was here—to help alleviate some of that despair.

Rhetta’s eyes shot wide as she opened the door. “What on earth?”

“You don’t have a phone,” Christy-Lynn blurted as if that explained everything. “Is this a bad time?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Bad time for what?”

“I’m here about the check. I want to explain.”

Rhetta shuffled back a few steps, an unspoken invitation for Christy-Lynn to come in. Iris was stretched out on the living room rug, head bent over a coloring book. She looked up when Christy-Lynn walked in, her pale face guarded.

“Iris, honey?” Rhetta said in her phlegmy voice. “Do you remember Christy-Lynn? She’s come back to visit Nonny.”

Iris made no reply, not so much as a blink from those wide, luminous eyes.

Christy-Lynn managed to find a smile. “Hello, Iris,” she said gently, afraid the child might bolt like a frightened deer. “That’s a lovely fish you’re coloring. Pink fish are my favorite.”

Iris glanced down at the pink crayon in her fist as if surprised to find it there.

“She’s having one of her quiet days,” Rhetta whispered apologetically. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I just finished making a pitcher of tea.”

“I promise I won’t be long,” Christy-Lynn said when she spotted a large stockpot bubbling on the stove. “I know it’s almost dinnertime.”

Rhetta’s gnarled hands shook as she wrestled with the tea pitcher, sloshing a fair amount onto the counter as she filled two glasses, then handed one to Christy-Lynn. “I have to say, I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“I didn’t expect to be here, but when I got your letter, I knew I had to come. I’m wondering why you sent back the check.”

“I told you in the letter. We can’t take your charity.”

“But it isn’t charity. It’s no different than the money Stephen used to give Honey to help with Iris.”

“It absolutely is different.” Rhetta’s chin wobbled with something like defiance, her blue eyes suddenly clear and sharp. “That was Stephen’s money, his to do with as he pleased. But he’s not here anymore, which means that money legally belongs to you. We’ve got no right to it.”

“Rhetta,” Christy-Lynn said, lowering her voice to blunt her frustration. “As I’m sure you know, my husband was a very wealthy man. It isn’t right that he never bothered to provide for his daughter. I’m trying to correct that—if you’ll let me.”

“It isn’t right.”

“It is. In fact, it’s the only thing about this whole situation that is right.” Christy-Lynn reached into her purse for the check and slid it across the vinyl tablecloth. “Please . . . take it.”

Rhetta closed her eyes, giving her grizzled head a firm shake. If possible, she looked even wearier than she had the last time, worn thin by the day-to-day trials of caring for a child with emotional problems.