Chapter Twenty
Ermine is behind the register at Taylor’s Marketplace when I walk in the next morning.
She takes one look at me and escorts me to a table away from the others, snapping her fingers at the waitress to pour me some coffee.
The coffee is strong and hot and helps my hands stay steady.
Ermine slides into the chair next to me.
She doesn’t speak. She only pats my hand.
My eyes are dry and salty from all the tears, and my chest feels like it’s full of sand. I bite my lower lip to keep the tears from coming back.
“Do you want to talk about whatever this is?” She scans my face, my knotted hair, the dirty clothes I’m wearing.
I shrug.
“Honey, what happened?”
“Mabry.” Her name is thick on my tongue.
“Oh, sugar. We were all just heartbroken when we heard of her passing. It’s tragic. When your mama called your great-aunts and told them, they were beside themselves with grief.”
“Mama called them?”
“She did. But it was a good bit after. There’d already been a memorial. I wanted to say something to you when I first saw you the other morning, but you looked so good, and you seemed fine, so I thought I should leave well enough alone.”
I meet her gaze. The tears fall. “I’m not fine.”
A few locals sit at the back counter, eating their breakfast, a heavy silence hanging in the air along with the smell of frying bacon.
Ermine squints back at the counter, then to me. “My place is upstairs.” She points to the ceiling. “Why don’t you go on up, and I’ll bring up some breakfast to you.”
The back staircase is steep with uneven boards, and I wonder how Ermine can manage these every day. At the top is a small landing and a door. The door is unlocked.
A small living room greets me. Light pours in through the large window on the far wall.
A small sofa faces the window, which has two recliners in front of it.
And each recliner has a cat curled into it, asleep in the patches of sun falling on them.
One lifts its gray head, looks at me, lays it back down.
An open kitchen sits on the right, with a counter separating it from the living room.
Pictures cover every inch of it. Pictures of her with what looks like a team of grandchildren.
Not a posed moment among them. In these shots, Ermine and the kids are in different stages of laughing, on a beach, in this living room, at Taylor’s counter.
There’s a photo of her and Mr. Taylor behind the cash register downstairs.
I saw their love firsthand, the looks they gave each other.
Even Mabry captured it. I shut my eyes. Swallow. Open them.
I choose one of the barstools at the counter. The space is quiet and warm. No televisions. Only the sounds of the birds outside.
Ermine opens the door and enters, holding a tray. She sets it on the counter in front of me.
“Eat,” she says. “No withering away on my watch.”
A plate of fluffy biscuits and gravy and two pieces of crispy bacon await. My stomach growls. Ermine grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water, sets it in front of me as well.
The first bite of food lodges in my throat, and I think I won’t be able to oblige Ermine. But once that bite is down, the flavors spark my appetite even more than the smell. It tastes like a hug. Comfort food.
I take several more bites, and Ermine says, “There you go.”
She speaks to me like a child, and in a way, I feel like one. Completely unequipped to handle my emotions. Of all the things I’m equipped to do, that one should be my specialty. I set down my fork, and my chin drops to my chest.
Ermine walks around the counter and touches my shoulder. I collapse into sobs. She wraps her frail, thin arms around me and squeezes me tight. “Let it out,” she says. “Let it all out.”
And I do. I let Ermine hold me and rock me like a baby and whisper to me that it will be okay.
I release every tear, every barb I want to direct at my mother, every barb I want to direct at myself.
Then I release my secrets. I tell Ermine about Mabry’s phone, paying the bill so I could still hear my little sister’s laugh, keeping the phone itself.
Then I tell her about keeping the ashes, and when I do, Ermine’s arms lock around me even tighter.
After several minutes, I pull my head up and wipe my face. I gasp, catch my breath, exhale. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you. It’s just . . . I’ve been holding on to something I can’t hold on to anymore. Maybe saying it out loud to you is my first step.”
Ermine pats my hand and says, “Let go or be dragged, honey.”
Ermine makes two cups of tea, and I accept the mug. It smells like roses. She leads me to the small sofa. Both cats are up now and curious. They pounce off the recliners and wind themselves around Ermine’s thin ankles. She bends and scratches their ears.
“This is Frank,” she says, pointing to the black-and-white one. “And this is Beans,” she says, still scratching the gray one.
I laugh a real laugh for the first time in a long time. “Frank and Beans?”
“Now, stop,” Ermine says, giggling herself. “They’ll know you’re laughing at them.”
But Frank and Beans don’t seem to know any such thing. Frank is now in my lap, purring and making bread on my leg with his little paws, and Beans has settled next to Ermine on the couch.
“Thanks, Ermine,” I say. “For letting me come up here. For listening without judgment.”
She pats my knee. “I’m glad I could help.”
A low rumble rattles the panes in the living room window. Ermine eyes me, then leaps off the couch. Beans runs down the hall on my right. The sound comes again as Ermine makes it to the window.
“Well, forevermore.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “It’s raining.”
Thunder booms as Ermine and I scramble downstairs. We wedge our way onto the front porch of Taylor’s, past several patrons and the fry cook. Rain plinks off the roof. One lady behind me claps.
“Praise the Lord,” Ermine says.
Cell phones come out and weather apps are illuminated. The bright day turns dark, and a crack of lightning zigzags above us. Then the sky opens and unloads a torrential downpour. We all stand on the porch, watching the rain come down in sheets.
“Months without a drop,” the fry cook says. “Now, we gonna have a flood.”
Ermine grins over her shoulder at him. “I’ll take a flood.”
I tell Ermine thank you again and run into the rain to my car. Once inside, I shoot off a text and wait for the response. My phone dings almost immediately.
Let’s meet at Shadow Bluff.
It’s still raining when I open the door and invite Travis into the house, and I’m still wearing the Fort Worth Live tee.
The formal wardrobe in my bag feels like even more of a joke now.
Travis shakes the rain from his hair as he steps inside.
He’s not dressed in his usual uniform. He’s wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt and cowboy boots. His expression matches mine. Sad.
In the kitchen, I pour him a cup of coffee, and he accepts but doesn’t sit. He leans against the kitchen counter, and I stand next to him.
“I’m on administrative leave,” he says, staring into his coffee cup. “But only because Chief arranged it. Which is pointless really.” He meets my gaze. “I’m being fired, Willa. I’ve lost their trust. That’s a nail in the coffin for a cop.”
“Oh, Travis. I’m so sorry.” I had a feeling this would be the consequence, but hearing it from him is gut wrenching. “I never meant for that to happen. Please know, I would’ve kept your name out of it if I could’ve.”
“I know.”
“I feel awful.” I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.
“Chief said if I’d have come forward at the beginning of this, he might could’ve saved my job.
But I didn’t want to drag you into it.” I sigh and start to talk but he continues, “This is going to take a while for me to process. Being a cop is all I know. It’s everything to me.
And now it’s gone. One stupid thing I did eighteen years ago, and it’s all gone.
” He tries to look casual, but I see his jaw harden.
“Why the hell did you have to call me that night?”
I know what he’s doing. He’s deflecting. It’s a natural response. He could have said no when I called that night or after he realized what I was asking of him, but he didn’t.
“I wish I hadn’t called,” I say.
“There’s something else we need to talk about.” He shifts on his feet. “I heard you stopped by my mother’s house yesterday.”
Shit. I start to reply, stop, and regroup. “I did. I just wanted to visit. I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”
“Willa, didn’t I ask you to leave my brothers alone?”
I hug my arms across my chest. I’m sleep deprived and emotionally drained, and I don’t feel like a lecture. So I throw out a question to distract him. “How sure are you that Walter Delaroux is the right suspect?”
He shuts his eyes a moment. “What are you doing? Why are you harassing my family?”
“I’m not harassing anyone. I’m simply asking questions.”
“You a reporter now too?”
“I’m just looking for answers.”
“To what?”
“To whatever’s happening in this town.”
He sighs. “And you think I’m not looking for answers? To what’s happening in my town? We—” He stops, takes a breath. “They have a suspect in custody. For a reason.”
I decide to switch gears on him, to the topic that won’t leave me alone. “Tell me about Emily.”
“What?”
“Your sister. I found a sketch of her in Mabry’s old sketchbook.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“I don’t know. I’m just interested. I don’t really remember her. And you never talked about her much. How long was she ill?”
He studies his boots. “As long as I can remember.”
“Why was she ill? What did she have?”
“Willa, what are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing. Children, especially those who may need extra care, capture my attention, and I can’t let go.”