“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.
“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.”