“People change,” Rhetta told her gently. “They grow. One day something happens, and all of a sudden everything’s different.”

Christy-Lynn shook her head, unable to bear the naked plea in Rhetta’s eyes.

“That girl needs a mama, Christy-Lynn. And you need something to do with that great big heart of yours. You need each other. And that stuff about not being mother material—that’s nonsense.”

Christy-Lynn turned finally, arms crossed as if to ward off this terrible thing she was being asked to do. But then it had always been inevitable, hadn’t it? That Rhetta would at least make the suggestion? Because she didn’t know—couldn’t know—that handing her great-granddaughter over to Christy-Lynn would essentially be trading one disaster for another. And the last thing Iris needed was one more disaster in her life.

“I know you’re desperate, Rhetta. And I’ll help in any way I can, but I can’t do what you’re asking.” Her voice began to fracture as tears threatened. “I’m so sorry.”

The door opened. Wade stepped out onto the porch. “She’s asleep,” he said softly, before noticing Christy-Lynn’s stricken face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Christy-Lynn swiped at her tears before they could fall. “I just . . . I need to go. Can you bring me my purse from inside?” She was already making her way down the steps, moving blindly toward the Rover. “I’m sorry, Rhetta. I’ll call you. I just . . . I have to go.”

Wade said nothing as he held out his hand for the car keys. He had no idea what just happened, but one look at Christy-Lynn’s face was enough to tell him she had no business behind the wheel.

Her eyes were blank as she climbed up into the passenger seat, her movements heavy and deliberate, like someone trying very hard not to fall apart. She said nothing as they pulled away from the house, nothing as they headed back through Riddlesville’s dismal downtown, nothing as they merged back onto the highway. Finally, he had to ask.

“Can you tell me what happened back there?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned away then, angling her body toward the window and effectively ending the discussion.

Wade fought the urge to press for an answer. There was still so much about her he didn’t understand, but he had learned that pushing would get him nowhere.

She slept for a time. At least he thought she was sleeping. It wasn’t until they had crossed over into Virginia that he realized she was awake—and quietly crying. He took the ramp for the next rest stop, pulled into a space near the picnic area, and cut the engine.

Christy-Lynn sat up abruptly, wiping both eyes with her fists. “What are we doing?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to splash some water on your face. I’ll get you a drink from the machine.”

“Thanks,” she said thickly. “But I’m good.”

For the second time since climbing back into the Rover, Wade found himself swallowing his first reaction, which was to point out that she wasn’t anything close to good. Instead, he reached for her hand. “What can I do?”

She looked away. “Nothing. You can’t do anything.”

“I’d like to help.”

For a moment, the tension in her body seemed to ebb, and her hand relaxed in his. And then, before he realized what she was up to, she had unfastened her seat belt and was bolting from the car. He scurried out after her but tangled briefly in his own seat belt, giving her a head start. She ran like a wild thing, panicked and stumbling as she scrambled down the overgrown trail and disappeared into the trees.

He didn’t bother calling out; she wouldn’t have stopped anyway. Instead, he focused on closing the distance between them, pounding down the path until he was close enough to grab her arm and jerk her to a halt.

“Where are you going?”

She rounded on him, face splotched and tear-streaked. “Leave me alone!”

“I can’t do that. You’re upset, and you have no idea where you’re going.” He stepped back, giving her some space, but remained alert, in case he needed to sprint after her again. “Talk to me, please. Let me help.”

He was expecting another sharp retort, but suddenly all the fight seemed to go out of her. Like a balloon with a slow leak, she went limp, sagging against him with a choking sob. He led her back down the trail toward the parking lot, steering her toward one of the concrete benches, and for a few moments, they sat in silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said after several minutes. She had stopped weeping, but her voice was thick and congested. She dragged a sleeve across her face, mopping her eyes. “I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what happened.”

She looked down at the ground, hacking at the dirt with the heel of one boot. “Rhetta asked me to take Iris—permanently.”

Wade’s eyes shot wide. “You mean adopt her?”

“Yes.”

It was little more than a whisper, barely audible, and as he studied her face, he was reminded of the disaster victims he had interviewed over the years—stunned into silence, as if she had survived some terrible calamity and was only now coming to terms with the devastation.

He fought to keep his face neutral. “That’s a pretty presumptuous thing to ask someone you hardly know.”