Of course it was.
Christy-Lynn nodded. “I just wanted it to be something else.”
“The memories are uncomfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think it’s a good place to start. Your higher self is telling you it’s time.”
Christy-Lynn felt her shoulders tense. “Time for what?”
“To let the memories catch up with you. You’re never going to outswim them. Why not drift a little and see what comes up? You might even try a little meditation before bed. Ask the dreams to come. Ask them what they’re trying to show you. Remember, they’re just memories. They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”
The jangle of bells alerted Christy-Lynn that a customer had entered the shop. Relieved, she shot to her feet, happy to end what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable conversation.
On the way to the front, Dar pressed a packet of tea into her hands. “Try the valerian root anyway. It might help.”
“Thank you. For the tea and for your time. What do I owe you?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s a gift between friends. And I hope our talk helps. Just remember, I’m no expert. Everything I said could be total crap.”
Dar’s advice played over in Christy-Lynn’s head as she walked back to the Crooked Spine. Stop swimming and let the memories catch up . . . They can’t hurt you unless you let them. It was a fine sentiment, wise and well meant. She just wasn’t sure she could do what Dar was asking. In her experience, memories could hurt very much.
THIRTY-THREE
Sweetwater Creek
June 29, 2017
Christy-Lynn stared at the page of the bullet-pointed notes she had scrawled during her call with Peter Hagan. Inter-vivos trusts, custodians, successor trustees, scheduled disbursements. Her head was still spinning with all the legalese, but at least she had some idea what the process would entail.
Peter was still hedging on the idea, sticking to his earlier recommendation that they quietly petition for a paternity test, even hinting at one point that she hire an investigator to check out these people before making what may turn out to be a costly mistake. He’d hate to see her take such an imprudent step only to have regrets later. There might well come a time when she needed the money herself. She had nearly laughed at that. No one needed the kind of money they were talking about.
He had also expressed concern that as a woman her judgment might be clouded since there was a child involved. She had assured him, coolly and firmly, that there was nothing wrong with her judgment, and that since Stephen hadn’t bothered to provide for his daughter, she intended to do it, and he could help her or not. He had ended the call with a promise to get started on preparing the paperwork and to be in touch in a few days.
It all sounded fairly straightforward. Once the paperwork was completed and the signatures affixed, everything was pretty automatic. There was only one problem, and it went back to what would happen when Rhetta passed away. Who would direct the disbursements and oversee the spending then? Was she willing to take on that role, to tether herself to Stephen and Honey’s daughter for the next fifteen years? She honestly didn’t know. What she did know was that there was a little girl living in a shack in Riddlesville, West Virginia, whose life was teetering on the brink of disaster. Someone somewhere had to step up and do the right thing.
She was spared a flash-forward to what might lay ahead for Iris when Aileen poked her head in the door. “Customer asking for you, boss.”
Christy-Lynn found Wade standing in the café, laptop case slung over one shoulder. He looked more tan than he had the last time she saw him, and he was clean-shaven. His hair had that just-cut look.
He broke into a smile as she approached. “Hey, stranger. Long time, no see.”
“It’s not like I’m hard to find. I practically live here. You’re the one who’s been scarce.”
“I’ve been keeping my head down, working on the novel. I’m determined not to let it break me.”
“Butt in chair, as I tell my writers. So what’s up?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“On me?”
“You were upset the last time we talked. I wanted to know how you were with . . . things.”
“Ah, that. Well . . .” Christy-Lynn shifted her gaze, feigning interest in whatever Tamara was doing behind the counter. She wasn’t sure why she was hemming and hawing all of a sudden. It wasn’t like she’d withheld much when it came to Honey and Stephen. In fact, she was surprised at how much she’d been willing to tell him. So why was she reluctant to share this new idea? Unless it was because she was afraid of what he might say. “I’ve, uh . . . I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“About?”
“Do you have plans for dinner?”
The invitation clearly caught Wade off guard, though not necessarily in an unpleasant way. He grinned, a wickedly effective blend of boy and rogue. “What did you have in mind?”
“I was hoping I could bounce something off you. I need some advice.”
“You want advice from me?”
“I do.”
Wade scratched his head then glanced at his watch. “Sure. Okay. You want to meet somewhere after work?”
“Can we do it at my place? We can do Lotus again, or I’ll cook. I owe you a meal. In fact, I think I owe you several.”