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.
“It isn’t money that girl needs,” she said, tracing a yellowed thumbnail through the sweat on her tea glass. “She needs someone who’s going to be there for her. Even when Honey was alive, she didn’t have that.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” Christy-Lynn said feebly.
Rhetta glanced up from her glass, pain etched in the lines on either side of her mouth. “But for how long?”
It was Christy-Lynn’s turn to avert her gaze. It was the elephant in the room, after all. The question about what would happen to Iris when Rhetta was no longer able to care for her.
“Been thinking about it a lot since your last visit,” Rhetta said heavily.
“And?”
“And nothing.” Her lower lip began to quiver. “She’s a handful, poor thing, between not talking and not sleeping. It’s not her fault, but when you get to be my age, it’s a lot to manage.”
Without thinking, Christy-Lynn reached for Rhetta’s hand. “That’s why you need to take the check, Rhetta. You could get some help in, maybe find a counselor to help Iris cope with everything that’s happened. Things would be easier for you both.”
“Who would I get around here?”
“Maybe there are people at the county who could help or at least suggest someone you could hire. A kind of home health aide.”
A look of horror rippled over Rhetta’s weathered countenance. “Just what I need, a bunch of government do-gooders knowing I’m too old to take care of my own. Next thing I know, they’ll be swooping in to take her. I’m not saying it won’t come to that someday. It may well. But I’ll be dead when it does, and it will be . . . out of my hands.”
Christy-Lynn fought back a shudder. She was right. Old, infirm, and living well below the poverty line, Rhetta Rawlings wouldn’t be anyone’s idea of an ideal guardian, kin or not.
“Maybe Ray could put out a few feelers at church for someone to help with meals, laundry, that kind of thing.”
Rhetta snorted. “He doesn’t even want me bringing her to church. As far as he’s concerned, Honey’s already brought enough shame to the Rawlings name—as if a Rawlings ever amounted to anything in this town.”
Christy-Lynn experienced a fresh wave of disgust for Ray Rawlings. “He doesn’t want his niece going to church?”
“Not his church, no. Says he doesn’t need me sticking Honey’s brat in everyone’s faces, reminding his congregation what she was. His own sister—” Her voice broke. She looked down at her glass.
“Rhetta, that’s terrible.”
She blinked hard as she turned to stare out the kitchen window. “I used to think he’d change his mind, that his heart would soften toward Iris in time, but it hasn’t. And it won’t. He means what he says.” She shook her head, eyes closing briefly. “So where does that leave Iris?”
“I don’t know, Rhetta. I wish I did. But at least take the check. It won’t solve everything, but it’ll help you get by until you figure things out. And before you say it, this isn’t charity. It’s hers or should have been. Plus a whole lot more. Please, say you’ll take it.”
The tears that had been trembling on Rhetta’s lower lashes finally spilled over. “Mrs. Ludlow . . .” Something like a cough escaped her as she dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know how . . . your astonishing kindness . . .”
Christy-Lynn slid a hand across the table, capturing both of Rhetta’s, her fingers gnarled and startlingly fragile. “Please don’t cry, Rhetta. We’ll find someone to help you look after Iris. I promise. And you need to call me Christy-Lynn.”
Something, some sound or bit of movement, seeped into Christy-Lynn’s awareness. She peered over her shoulder and saw Iris hovering in the doorway, eyes glued to the women holding hands across the tiny kitchen table.
Rhetta noticed her too and quickly mopped her eyes. “Iris, baby, I didn’t hear you come in. Do you need some juice?”
Iris stood there a moment with her hands behind her back, as if she were trying to puzzle something out. Finally she inched forward, hesitant but clearly determined on some course of action.