“I know,” she said softly.

“It looks like ground zero.”

Now do you see? she wanted to say but didn’t. In fact, there wasn’t time to say anything. Rhetta suddenly popped up out of one of the chairs on the front porch, a half-smoked cigarette caught between her fingers. Christy-Lynn waved as she stepped down out of the Rover.

“Hey, Rhetta.”

“I thought I heard a car coming up the road. I wasn’t sure what time to expect you, so I thought I’d sit out awhile.” It wasn’t until Wade threw open the passenger side door that Rhetta seemed to realize Christy-Lynn wasn’t alone. “Who are you?”

“This is Wade Pierce, Rhetta. He came to help with the driving. He was a friend of Stephen’s.”

Rhetta looked him up and down, her cloudy eyes suddenly sharp. When she finished her inspection, she ground out her cigarette in the plastic ashtray on the railing and looked hard at Christy-Lynn. “You’re not sick, are you? You look a bit wrung out.”

Christy-Lynn felt rather than saw the pointed glance Wade threw in her direction. She chose to ignore it. “I’m fine, Rhetta. Just a little tired.”

“Well, come on in. I’ve got a fresh pitcher of tea in the fridge. Are you hungry? I could fix you something.”

“No, thank you. We stopped for lunch. But some tea would be wonderful.”

They followed her up onto the porch and then into the house. The air was hot and close and still smelled of this morning’s breakfast. The TV was on—an old rerun of Gilligan’s Island with the sound turned way down. Rhetta clicked it off.

“I’ve just put Iris down for a nap.” She was tidying as she moved about the living room, gathering socks, barrettes, scrunchies, and stuffing them into the pockets of her yellow gingham housedress. “Poor thing had another bad night. Oh, be careful there,” she warned Wade, pointing to the floor littered with crayons. “You’ll break your neck if you step wrong. I’m afraid I learned that one the hard way.”

Rhetta ran an eye around the room while Wade navigated the minefield of crayons. She hadn’t been counting on him, and Christy-Lynn could see that she was wary. “I’m not sure how long she’ll be down, but she sleeps so poorly these days I don’t expect it’ll be long. We can head over to the notary with the papers as soon as she’s up. In the meantime, I’ll pour the tea.”

Christy-Lynn picked up a well-thumbed copy of Reader’s Digest from the couch and set it on the end table before taking a seat. Wade dropped down beside her, his knees nearly up to his chin as he sank into the rump-sprung cushions. His eyes met Christy-Lynn’s as Rhetta shuffled out of earshot, but he said nothing.

A few minutes later, Rhetta reappeared with a pair of glasses and handed one to Christy-Lynn. “I hope you like it good and sweet. Only way I know to make it. And I’m sorry—” She paused as she handed Wade the second glass. “I’ve already forgotten your name.”

“It’s Wade, and I was weaned on sweet tea. Thank you.”

“Wade,” she repeated, as if trying to commit it to memory. “You were Stephen’s friend?”

“A long time ago. We were roommates in college, but we, uh . . . lost touch.”

Rhetta nodded vaguely, as if it had nothing to do with her, then disappeared into the kitchen again. She returned moments later with her own glass and took a seat in the worn green recliner beside the couch. She looked vaguely distracted, bone-thin fingers clutching her tea glass, eyes darting furtively in Wade’s direction.

When the silence began to grow awkward, Christy-Lynn reached for the FedEx envelope but didn’t immediately remove its contents. “Did you have a chance to look at the paperwork my attorney sent?”

Rhetta nodded. “More or less. The money will go into an account every month for Iris. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“And for you, Rhetta. Remember, we talked about getting you some help and finding you a better place to live, somewhere close to your doctor and good schools. And I’m going to help you with all of that when it’s time. You’ll receive a check each month to use for whatever you and Iris need—like an allowance. And that’s it really.”

Rhetta nodded, fishing around in the pocket of her dress for a tissue. She blotted her eyes then blew her nose. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a foolish old woman.”

It suddenly struck Christy-Lynn just how daunting all this must seem to a woman who had probably never signed a legal document in her life. “I know this is a lot to digest. Are you sure you don’t have any questions?”

“Will I Need to save receipts or anything?”

“No. You won’t need to account for how you spend the money. But in case something does come up, something out of the ordinary, I’m going to leave you my attorney’s card. His name is Peter Hagan. That’s who you’ll call.”

Rhetta put down her glass very slowly. “Not you?”

Christy-Lynn exchanged a quick look with Wade. They had discussed this particular stipulation while on the road. Wade approved of the idea, glad she’d be able to maintain some distance, but she was already having second thoughts. Peter Hagan might be a highly skilled attorney, but he lacked anything like the legal equivalent of a bedside manner. He could be gruff and intimidating, and though he’d never come right out and said so, he had formed his own opinion of the Rawlings family.