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"Me and Gabe like each other lots, so we don't have to go to Flor'da now."
One of the mothers came into the parking lot and glanced in Rachel's direction. She fumbled with the key in the ignition. One more week…
Oh, Gabe… Why can't you love my child for who he is? And why can't you come to peace with Cherry's ghost so you can love me, too?
She wanted to prop her head against the steering wheel and cry until she had no tears left, but if she gave in, she'd crumble into so many pieces she'd never be able to put herself back together again. And self-pity wouldn't change the facts. Her son wasn't going to grow up with a man who couldn't tolerate him. And she wouldn't live the rest of her life in another woman's shadow. Before she left, however, there was something she had to do.
The Escort shuddered as she pulled from the parking lot. She took a deep breath and set off down Wynn Road toward the small web of streets that made up the poorest part of Salvation. She turned onto Orchard, a narr
ow, potholed lane that curved sharply up the side of a hill. Tiny one-story homes with crumbling front steps perched on barren, untended yards. An old Chevy sat on blocks at the side of one house, a rusted boat trailer near another.
The small, mint-green house at the end of Orchard was tidier than most of the others. The porch was swept and the yard neat. A basket of ivy geraniums hung from a hook near the front door.
Rachel parked on the street and climbed the uneven front walk. As she stepped onto the porch, she heard the sound of a game show coming from the television inside. The cracked door buzzer didn't look operable, so she knocked instead.
A faded, but pretty, young woman appeared. Her short blond hair had a slightly brassy home-done look. She was small and thin, dressed in a cropped white sleeveless top and worn denim shorts that rode low on her narrow hips and showed her navel. She looked to be in her early thirties, but Rachel suspected she was younger. Something tired and wary in her expression made Rachel recognize a fellow traveler on life's bumpier highway. "Are you Emily's mother?"
When the woman nodded, Rachel introduced herself. "I'm Rachel Stone."
"Oh." She looked surprised. "My mother said you might stop by sometime, but I didn't believe her."
Rachel had dreaded this part of it. "It's not about that. Your mother… She's a lovely person, but…"
The woman smiled. "It's all right. She has a lot more faith in miracles than I do. I'm sorry if she's been bothering you, but her intentions are good."
"I know they are. I wish I could help that way, but I'm afraid I can't."
"Come in anyway. I could use some company." She pushed open the screen. "I'm Lisa."
"It's nice to meet you." Rachel stepped into a small living room overcrowded with a nubby beige sectional sofa, an old recliner, some end tables, and a television. The furniture was of good quality, but mismatched and worn in a way that made Rachel suspect the pieces came from Lisa's mother.
On the left, a section of counter separated the kitchen from the living area, with the pair of wooden shutters designed to divide off the space folded accordion-style against the wall. The beige Formica counter held the familiar clutter of canisters, toaster, a wicker basket spilling over with paperwork, two ripe bananas, and a lidless Russell Stover candy box filled with broken crayons. As Rachel gazed around at the plain, homey surroundings, she wondered when she'd be able to afford even this much. .
Lisa turned off the television and gestured toward the recliner. "Would you like a Coke? Or maybe coffee? Mom brought over some of her poppy-seed muffins yesterday."
"No, thanks."
Rachel settled in the recliner, and there was an awkward pause that neither of them quite knew how to bridge.
Lisa swept up a copy of Redbook from the sofa and took a seat.
"How is your daughter?"
Lisa shrugged. "She's sleeping now. We thought her leukemia was in remission, but then she had a relapse. The doctors have done everything they can, so I brought her home."
Her eyes looked haunted, and Rachel understood what she wouldn't say. That she'd brought her daughter home to die.
Rachel bit her bottom lip and reached for her purse. From the very moment it had happened, she'd known what she had to do, and now the time had come. "I've brought something."
Rachel pulled out the check for twenty-five thousand dollars that Cal Bonner had given her and handed it over. "This is for you."
She watched the play of emotions ranging from confusion to disbelief cross Lisa's face.
Lisa's hand trembled. She blinked her eyes, as if she were having trouble focusing. "It's—it's made out to you. What is this?"
"I've endorsed it over to Emily's Fund. It's postdated a week from tomorrow, so you'll have to wait to deposit it."
Lisa studied the signature on the back, then gaped at Rachel. "But this is so much money. And I don't even know you. Why are you doing this?"
