Christy-Lynn turned the freshly delivered FedEx envelope over in her hands. Peter had called yesterday to let her know he was finally overnighting the trust papers, asking her again if she was sure she wanted to proceed. Nothing was final until the papers were signed. But after weeks of weighing the pros and cons, she saw no reason to change her mind.
It wasn’t like there’d be a lot of personal contact. Peter had strongly urged her to name him as point person, expressing concerns that in the event of an “irregularity” she might prove less than objective. She agreed, not because she didn’t trust her objectivity, but because keeping a little distance might be a good thing. Once she’d helped Rhetta settle the housing and school questions, her duties would amount to little more than reviewing the monthly statements. But her conscience would be clear.
She slid the pages free, staring at the words on the top sheet: Revocable Living Trust. She leafed through the rest, noting the tiny green and yellow flags strategically placed near the lines to be signed by each party, then realized she’d better call Rhetta and let her know her copies would be arriving in the next day or so.
It took three rings before Rhetta finally picked up. As usual, she sounded breathless and worn to the nub. “It’s Christy-Lynn, Rhetta. How are you?”
“Fine. Just outside on the porch with Iris. Is something wrong?”
It was the same question she always asked, as if she was always expecting trouble. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just calling to tell you my attorney sent out your copies of the trust paperwork, and they should arrive in a day or two. I asked him to send them so you’d have time to look everything over ahead of time.”
“That wasn’t necessary. And I’m not likely to understand a word of it.”
“You could have Ray look at it. Or if you’d like, I can have my lawyer call you and go over them. I want to make sure you understand how the trust is funded and exactly how those funds will be released to you.”
“No. Not Ray,” she answered abruptly. “And I’ve got no reason to check up on you. Any woman who’d do what you’re doing for Iris doesn’t need to be questioned. Besides, you already explained it all. I won’t have to come to Virginia to do the signing, will I? I don’t see how I could manage that.”
“No. I’ll come to you. I explained your situation to my attorney. All we have to do is make an appointment with a notary, sign the papers, and then mail them back. Once he’s looked them over, he’ll send us each a finalized copy. Would Saturday be okay, or would you like a little more time? I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“I don’t feel pressured, and time is something I’m running a little short on these days. Saturday will be fine.”
Christy-Lynn drained her coffee mug and zipped her overnight bag closed. Tolstoy looked on with an air of disapproval. He had already attempted to stow away three times and was clearly put out at being denied another opportunity. She’d be glad when things with the trust were finalized, and she could handle things from a safe distance. It wasn’t so much the trip she minded, but the emotional hangover that tended to linger afterward, sometimes for days.
She was about to drag the overnight bag up onto her shoulder when she heard what sounded like a car pulling into the drive. Frowning, she peered through the curtains, surprised to see Wade climbing out of his Jeep, a red to-go mug in his hand.
“Morning,” he said brightly when she pulled back the door.
“What are you doing here? It’s seven—” She broke off when she spotted a dark-green satchel sitting in the drive. “Is that a suitcase?”
“It’s a duffel, actually. You said last week that you were leaving this morning, and I’ve decided to be your wingman.”
“You just invited yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He tipped back the to-go mug and took a quick swallow. “Think of me as your bodyguard.”
Christy-Lynn cocked an eye at him. “You think I need a bodyguard to meet with an eighty-year-old woman?”
“Okay then, I’m your chaperone. Your entourage. Your posse.”
“Except none of those things are necessary.”
“I don’t like the idea of you driving all that way on your own.”
“I’ve done it three times now.”
“And each time you’ve come back looking like a zombie. This way I can do some of the driving and you can sleep. Or read the rest of my manuscript if you’re so inclined.”
Christy-Lynn opened her mouth to protest, but Wade was one step ahead of her. “I promise you’ll be perfectly safe. Separate rooms. Separate checks. Separate everything.”
She eyed him warily but felt a little ashamed too that he’d been able to read her thoughts so easily. “It isn’t that. Really. It simply isn’t necessary. It’s just some paperwork, a couple of signatures. As soon as I’m done, I’ll check into the Days Inn, then drive back on Sunday. I don’t need a . . . wingman.”
“I know this is going to come as a nasty shock, Christy-Lynn, but you’re not Wonder Woman. You may not see the toll this has taken on you, but I do. You’re exhausted and distracted, which isn’t a good combo when you’re about to get on the road. I’d like to help, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ve got this. Really I do.”
“Is it because you don’t trust me?”
Christy-Lynn felt herself flush when she thought of their strained parting after dinner the other night. She had acted like a flustered schoolgirl. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I trust you.”
“Then say yes. It’ll be like Thelma and Louise—but without the cliff thing.”
Christy-Lynn couldn’t help laughing. She had to admit, having company on the long ride to Riddlesville wasn’t a wholly unwelcome idea. “All right. But I pick the music, and you don’t get to complain.”
It was nearly two o’clock when they finally pulled into Riddlesville. Wade said nothing as Christy-Lynn drove through the center of town, his expression grim as he took in the empty storefronts and boarded windows. The view didn’t improve much as they headed west toward the outskirts of town, the pocked streets lined with listing houses and weed-choked yards. It wasn’t until she slowed to make the turn into Rhetta’s drive that he finally spoke.
“Jesus.” It was barely a whisper, the natural reaction to finally seeing what she’d been talking about all these weeks.
“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.