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We linger a bit longer, my fingers longing to touch his. Our eyes hold, and words hang unspoken in the air between us. My grandmother calls, and with a little sigh, I turn away.
Gran is sitting behind her desk when I enter. A black binder is open in front of her, and she’s holding a pen, sliding it down the list.
“I know it’s your first time working here, and you’re only with us on a contract basis…” My throat tightens, and I’m pretty sure she’s about to bring down the hammer on Aiden and me. “But I think it would be nice if you’d take one or two of these honorary positions, since Aiden, Doug, and I can’t possibly cover them all.”
Relief whooshes through my lungs, and I step closer. “I’m glad to help. What do you need?”
“The different groups always ask for one of us to serve as a judge or to present the ribbon for the best cow or pig or whatnot.” She turns the binder so I can see the requests. “I’m serving as a judge in the pageant, not that I expect you’d want to do that.”
“I didn’t mean to dump on the pageant. I just—”
“I know what you meant, dear. Take a look and see if any of these interest you.” She points with her pen to a few in the middle. “These are the afternoon events. Presenting the livestock awards only takes about twenty minutes. Starting the fun run is simply blowing an air horn.”
“What’s this Doggy Dash?” I glance up at her. “That’s new.”
“Have you met Harold Waters?” I shake my head no, and she sits back in her chair. “Harold moved here from Chicago a few years back and opened the Popcorn Palace on Beach Road towards Hilton Head. He wants to try this 40-yard dash for dogs, benefitting the kennel club.”
“He expects dogs to run in a straight line for forty yards?”
“I think it calls for teams. One person holds the dog, and the other has some lure to draw it to the finish line at the end of the track.” She shrugs. “He thinks it’ll be funny. I think it’ll be utter chaos, which will also be funny. It’s a fundraiser, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“I see Mom has her tarot reading tent.” My lips twist into a frown, and the secret she lured me into keeping for her burns in my chest.
The only good part about Aiden being so busy this week is I haven’t had to face him knowing I have this potential bit of evidence, and I’m sitting on it.
For my mom.
“She’s always a huge money maker, and it all goes to the women’s shelter in Charleston.” Gran studies my face, misinterpreting my displeasure. “Your mother helps a lot of people with those readings. You helped a lot of people when you worked with her.”
“I only did it because I wanted to be close to her.” Taking the pen, I quickly put my name beside the livestock awards and the fun run kickoff. “I wanted her to let me in, which I now know she’ll never do.”
I’ve always been a distraction in my mother’s ongoing obsession with finding my dad’s killer, a theory with no evidence or merit.
Andrew Stone, Aiden’s dad, was sheriff at the time, and he did a complete investigation at the scene. He ruled it a fault in Dad’s equipment, which my mother never accepted.
Aiden’s dad then called in a detective from Charleston to try and convince her, but nothing was ever good enough. Dad was murdered, and it was up to her to expose who did it.
I was only ten, and I believed every word she said. I learned to read cards, thinking I could be her helper in finding the man who killed my dad. I dreamed I would find him, and she would be so proud of me, she’d hug me and smile. The deep lines of sorrow and obsession would relax around her eyes, between her brows. Then I got older, and I realized she was running from a truth she couldn’t face. Then my nightmares started.
“Don’t be too hard on your mother. Perhaps you’ve never experienced the kind of love she had for your father.” Gran’s muscadine eyes fix on me. “Or perhaps you’re getting close to it. Either way, until you have it, you can’t possibly understand losing it. Lars was everything to her.”
“But after all this time…” I don’t finish my sentence.
I was about to say after all this time, she needs to put my father’s death behind her, accept the truth, and move on with her life. But neither my grandmother nor I will ever say those words to her.
Even after I broke ties and swore I wouldn’t get sucked into it again, here I am, enabling her. Clearly, I’ll give her whatever she asks to pursue her obsession.
“I need to take Edward for a walk.” I put my grandmother’s pen on the desk, frustration burning in my stomach. “I think I’ll walk over and check on her while I’m at it.”
“It’s so good to have you home.” She stands, rounding the desk and pulling me into a hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too, Gran.” I hug her before leaving.
Edward is waiting at the door when I enter my small apartment. I don’t waste time, grabbing his leash and slipping tennis shoes on my feet. I’m frustrated and adrenalized, and I can’t believe I came back after all this time and fell right into the same old pattern with my mother. I even stood by and watched while she did a reading—and I believed it.
“Ugh!” I growl, following behind my dog, whose nose is to the ground the whole way. “I actually believed it!”
Walking has a double benefit. I can burn off my irritation and get a little exercise at the same time. It takes about ten minutes to walk from town to the old neighborhood, to the house where I grew up.
