“Of course I’ll always be here to help you, Rhetta, but Mr. Hagan is better equipped to handle the legal stuff. You’ll have—”

Christy-Lynn broke off abruptly, the hair on her arms prickling to attention as an earsplitting wail suddenly careened down the hall. She knew the sound only too well, the blind panic of a child caught between sleep and waking. Rhetta was on her feet in an instant, scurrying as fast as her legs could carry her. It was a relief when she closed the bedroom door behind her, muffling the terrified shrieks.

Wade was clearly spooked, perched on the edge of the couch, ready to spring into action should it be required. “What’s happening? Should we be doing something?”

“Night terrors,” Christy-Lynn told him grimly. “And there’s nothing to do, except wait until she comes out of it. Rhetta says she has them pretty often. The good news is that at her age she probably doesn’t remember.”

“You sound like an expert.”

“I had them until I was seventeen.”

Wade’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “But not anymore?”

“No. Not anymore.” It wasn’t a lie. The dreams she’d been having since Stephen’s death had nothing to do with night terrors, which tended to diminish with the onset of adolescence. “I was an unusual case. Most kids grow out of them around seven or eight.” She paused, cocking her head. “Listen—it sounds like she’s starting to come out of it.”

A short time later, the bedroom door opened, and Rhetta appeared with a dazed Iris in tow. “It was a short one, thank the Lord.” She sagged into her chair and pulled Iris onto her lap. “Sometimes they go on for half an hour. This one wasn’t so bad. Can you say hello to Miss Christy-Lynn, Iris?”

Iris seemed not to hear. She was sticky with sweat or tears or both, her face mottled with angry red splotches. But it was her eyes, glassy and vacant, that held Christy-Lynn’s attention, too reminiscent of her mother’s that night at the morgue.

“It takes her a while to come all the way out,” Rhetta said, patting Iris’s back in a steady, comforting rhythm. “And then sometimes she doesn’t come out at all. She just drops back to sleep like nothing happened. I never know which it will be.”

Wade seemed unable to take his eyes off Iris. “How often does she have them?”

“Sometimes it’s every night. Sometimes she goes weeks and nothing.”

“Has she been to a doctor? Maybe there’s something they can do.”

Rhetta shook her head. “I took her when they first started. They printed some pages off the computer and told me to read them. It basically said there was nothing they could do, and that she’d eventually grow out of it.”

Christy-Lynn wondered if Rhetta had any idea just how long that might take but decided to let the subject drop. “Look, we don’t have to go to the notary today. We can come back tomorrow when Iris is feeling better. We’re staying over anyway.”

Rhetta was about to respond when the heavy thump of feet sounded on the front porch. There was no knock, no greeting of any kind as Ray Rawlings came through the door. Rhetta’s arms tightened almost imperceptibly around Iris, her face suddenly chalk white. “What are you doing here, Ray? I have company.”

Ray barely glanced in his grandmother’s direction, locking eyes with Christy-Lynn instead. He wore a shiny gray suit that fit too snugly at the waist and a red tie that had seen better days. “Mrs. Ludlow, nice to see you again.”

Christy-Lynn fought down a shudder. His smile reminded her of a small rodent, hungry and sharp-faced. “Reverend.”

“Rhetta mentioned you’d be by. Nice of you to come all this way for our Iris.”

Christy-Lynn stared at him. Our Iris?

Wade was suddenly on his feet, shoulders squared and clearly bristling. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Reverend.”

Ray studied Wade but made no move to extend a hand. “I’m Iris’s uncle. And you are?”

“A friend of Ms. Parker’s.”

Christy-Lynn shot Wade a sidelong glance. His fists were knotted tightly at his sides, the telltale muscle at his temple ticking ominously. Clearly, his gut reaction to the honorable Reverend Rawlings aligned perfectly with her own.

Ray was either oblivious or unimpressed, dismissing Wade with an icy glare before turning his attention to Iris. Crouching down on one knee, he held out his arms with a greasy smile. “Come to Uncle Ray.”

Iris was having none of it. She drew back against Rhetta, her chin tucked into her chest like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell. He tried again. This time she turned her head, burying it in the crook of her great-grandmother’s shoulder.

Rhetta flashed her grandson an imploring look. “She’s just had one of her nightmares, Ray. You know how she is after. She doesn’t—”

Ray silenced her with a look, clearly bent on having his way. “Iris,” he barked again. “I’m talking to you.”

It was Christy-Lynn’s turn to bolt to her feet. Ray Rawlings might be Iris’s uncle, but she wasn’t about to sit there and let him browbeat a little girl. Before she could open her mouth, Iris had scrambled off Rhetta’s lap and ducked behind her legs.

Ray feigned amusement, but his patience was clearly wearing thin. He cleared his throat, his cajoling smile beginning to fray. “Now, sweetheart, there’s no need to be shy. Don’t you want to see your uncle Ray?”