Show Me the Way

by Ashley Farley

  She responds right away. Meet me at my apartment in thirty minutes.

  He gives her text a thumbs-up. In rush-hour traffic, he has just enough time to get there.

  When he emerges from his room, he hears his mom’s sewing machine, but he doesn’t tell her he’s leaving or where he’s going.

  When he arrives, Carla, still dressed in blue scrubs from work, is leaning against the hood of her Subaru Outback. She earns good money working in the neonatal intensive care unit at Emory Hospital. She’ll be able to offer the baby a modest living, even without his support. When she sees him, she lowers her head and stares at the ground.

  He parks in the space beside her and turns off the engine. He allows his gaze to linger over her swollen belly. His baby is growing in there. His son or daughter. Will he have a passion for music like Everett? Will she have her mother’s brains and independent determination? Will he love his mother as much as Everett loves his?

  Getting out from behind the wheel, he goes around to the passenger side and stands in front of Carla. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, she holds up a finger to silence him.

  “Me first. I owe you an apology, Rhett. What I did was wrong on so many levels. I let my desperation to have a baby cloud my judgment. You don’t owe me or the baby anything.”

  “And I’m sorry for going MIA. You took me by surprise. And I needed some time to think. But, regardless of how it came about, that’s my kid in there.” He dips his head at her baby bump. “I don’t know what the future holds for me. I may have a successful music career, or I may fall on my face. Financially, I’ll do what I can. But I want to be a part of his or her life. You and I were friends long before we started sleeping together. Based on that friendship, we can offer our child a stable life.”

  “Seriously? Do you mean it?” Tears spill over her lids and slide down her cheeks.

  “Yes, I mean it. I’m sorry it took me so long. I had some growing up to do.” When he pulls her in for a hug, she breaks down in sobs.

  “Shush!” he says into her hair. “Everything’s gonna work out.”

  “I’ve been so scared. I don’t regret getting pregnant. I’m thrilled about the baby. But I feel so alone.”

  “You’re not alone anymore.”

  When she finally stops crying, she invites him inside for a cup of tea. They talk about the amazing care she’s getting at Emory, her due date of March twenty-seven, and her recent ultrasound, which revealed a healthy fetus.

  Carla blushes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I decided not to find out the sex.”

  “Good! I prefer to be surprised.” When she cocks an eyebrow at him, he adds, “I’ll do everything in my power to be here for the birth.”

  They talk for another hour, and when he leaves her apartment, even though he’s scared out of his mind that he’ll let his kid down, he’s comforted in knowing he’s doing the honorable thing. At home, he finds his mom standing in the middle of the kitchen staring into an open cupboard.

  “What’re you doing?” he asks, leaning over a pot on the stove to sample her marinara sauce.

  “Trying to decide what to take with me to Nashville,” she says with mischief in her smile.

  He places the lid back on the pot. “Does that mean . . .”

  “Yes! I’m moving to Tennessee with you! If you’ll still have me.”

  “You bet I’ll still have you.” He wraps his arms around her in a hug. When he squeezes too tight, she grimaces, but she doesn’t complain.

  “I have one condition,” Mary says when he sets her loose. “I insist on making a detour through Hope Springs. I won’t be able to sleep until you’ve cleared your name.”

  He was planning to call Stella in the morning but speaking to her face-to-face is even better. And he needs to see Presley. He’s not yet ready to give up on their relationship.

  “Fine by me.” Everett turns his attention to the collection of chipped and broken dishes in the cupboard. “Why would you take any of this junk?”

  She slams the cabinet doors. “What about these?” she asks, opening the cupboard beside it that houses her cookware.

  “Jeez, Mom. Those pots were cheap when you got them as a wedding gift. I’d be embarrassed to give them to Goodwill.”

  “But what will we cook with when we get to Nashville?”

  “It’ll cost less to buy new stuff than to pay for a truck to move all this.” He gestures at the pots and pans. “Besides, part of the adventure is starting anew, with no baggage from our past.”

  This from the man who just committed to a lifetime of supporting a child he never planned on having.

  Mary closes the cupboard doors. “In that case, I’ll take my Keurig, my sewing machine, and my wardrobe. When are we leaving?”

  Everett’s been ready to leave Atlanta since he got here ten days ago. “I see no reason to hang around. My old high school buddy, Marty, does odd jobs for a living. I can pay him to haul everything off, either to Goodwill or to the dump. We can box everything up tomorrow and leave first thing on Friday morning. We’ll spend the weekend in Hope Springs. I’ll book a room for you at the inn.”

  “That’ll cost a fortune,” Mary says. “Can’t I stay with you at your apartment?”

  Everett laughs. “Not unless you want to share my air mattress with me. We can afford to live a little, Mom.”

  “As long as you promise not to go overboard.” Her hands on his shoulders, she walks him over to the table. “Now, sit down and I’ll get our dinner.”

  They make plans while they eat. Everett hasn’t seen his mom this excited and animated since . . . since never. While she’s doing the dishes, he accesses the inn’s website on his phone and reserves one of the smaller, less expensive rooms. For a woman who’s never stayed at a luxury resort, she’ll feel like a queen in a royal palace.

  They stay up late, making plans for the future, and first thing on Thursday morning, he goes to a nearby grocery store to collect empty boxes. They work tirelessly throughout the day, and by dinnertime, their meager belongings are packed into boxes. The few they’ll take with them are stacked by the front door. The rest are neatly organized in the living room for Marty to distribute to the dump and Goodwill next week.

  On their last night in the only house Everett has ever thought of as home, they order pizza and eat on trays in the living room. Mary has been quiet most of the day, and he senses she’s reminiscing about the past.

  “What’re we gonna do about that?” she asks, her eyes on her husband’s urn.

  “Let Marty take it to the dump?” Everett suggests, only half joking.

  “You don’t mean that, Rhett.” Based on her serious tone, his mother will not be satisfied until they properly dispose of his dad’s ashes.

  “Did you have something in mind to do with his remains?” he asks, peeling a pepperoni off his slice of pizza and popping it in his mouth.

  She shakes her head. “Not really. He didn’t really have a special place.”

  Everett can think of one—the Hotlanta Lounge, a seedy neighborhood bar where his dad hung out before his health failed. “Why don’t we take the urn with us? There are many beautiful spots in the mountains.”

  “That would be perfect,” she says without hesitation.

  “That’s what you had in mind all along, isn’t it? Your real reason for wanting to detour through Hope Springs.”

  His mom gets up and takes her plate to the kitchen. When she returns, she says, “Is it so wrong of me to want to give my husband of thirty-four years a proper burial?”

  “Not at all, Mom.” Everett knows his mom hasn’t loved his father in years. The good Christian woman in her wants to make certain his dad’s spirit is free from the alcoholic life that imprisoned him on Earth.

  Mary, who hasn’t been outside the city limits of Atlanta in years, insists they make multiple detours and pit stops on their way to Hope Springs. In addition to numerous stops at quaint-looking gift shops, they have lunch at the Bil
tmore in Asheville and play the slot machines in the casino at the Greenbrier in West Virginia.

  His mom grows quiet after leaving the Greenbrier, and they’re almost at Hope Springs when she speaks again. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my family since I came out of the coma. I follow my brothers on social media, and I know my parents are still alive. After I start back to work and save enough money, I’m thinking of making a trip to Texas to see them. Would you be willing to go with me?”

  Everett hesitates before answering. “As much as I want to meet your family, I think you should go alone this first time.”

  She sighs. “You’re probably right. We have a lot to talk about that doesn’t concern you. Maybe I’ll test the waters with my brothers, to see if my parents would be receptive to a reunion.”

  “That’s a good idea. But do it now, before you start back to work. I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”

  Mary shakes her head. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much for me.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m telling you, I’m buying you a plane ticket.”

  She covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide and shining. “I love you, son.”

  “And I love you, Mom.”

  Even though they left Atlanta early this morning, they don’t arrive in Hope Springs until dinnertime. They stop at Town Tavern for dinner before going to the inn. The place is hopping with the usual Friday night crowd. Girls stare at Everett as he and Mary make their way through the crowd waiting for tables on the sidewalk. Is it possible they recognize him from the balcony? He smiles to himself. Is this what his future as a country music star holds?

  Bar seating is first come, first served, and two stools open up as they enter the restaurant. Everett introduce his mom to Pete, and they order hamburgers without looking at the menu. They’re both exhausted, and even though she doesn’t admit it, he can tell Mary is overwhelmed by the noisy tavern.

  As they’re leaving the restaurant, he pauses to look up at Presley’s darkened apartment. Is she working a party at the inn? Or is she out on a date with a new guy?

  At the inn, Everett doesn’t recognize the guest services agent who checks them in, and he’s grateful not to run into any of the staff on the way up to his Mom’s second-floor room.

  Mary gasps at the decor. “This is so pretty, honey. Are you sure we can afford this?”

  He smiles at her. “Yes, Mom. We can afford it. Are you sure you’ll be okay here alone? I can have them bring up a rollaway.”

  She eyes the fluffy bed longingly, and Everett knows she’s looking forward to spending the night here alone. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

  “Okay then,” he says, kissing her goodbye. He has his own agenda and sleep is not part of it. But his heart sinks at the sight of Presley’s still-darkened windows when he approaches his apartment building. Just as well. He should rest up before talking to her.

  At nine the next morning, he joins his mom on the veranda for breakfast. Their mission for the day is to find a final resting place for his dad. But first, he needs to speak with Stella. And he’s glad to run into her as they’re leaving Jameson’s after breakfast.

  “Everett, this is a surprise. I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  “Just passing through, actually.” Stella gives him a quizzical look that he ignores. “Stella, this is my mom, Mary Baldwin.”

  Stella extends her hand and smiles softly at Mary. “Very nice to meet you.”

  “Do you have a few minutes?” he asks Stella. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “Of course. I’m heading to my office now.”

  “Let me get Mom settled in the lounge, and I’ll be there in a second.”

  “Take your time,” Stella says to him, and to Mary, “I hope I see you again during your stay.”

  Everett leads his mom to an empty chair by the window. “Are you sure you don’t mind waiting here for me?”

  “Not at all, son. Clearing your name is the reason we came. I’ll have a good time watching the people,” she says, making herself comfortable.

  He kisses the top of her head. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  But he ends up talking to Stella for over an hour. She’s understanding about Carla, sympathetic about his family situation, and seemingly thrilled about his music career. He can tell she believes him about Louie’s money, and when he assures her he didn’t steal from the inn, she says, “I never really thought you did.”

  “I hope you nailed Naomi for the missing money.”

  Her expression darkens, as though the situation is weighing heavily on her. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.” She opens her top drawer and slides an envelope across her desk. “This is your last paycheck. I didn’t know where to send it.”

  “Thank you.” Taking the envelope, he stands to leave.

  Stella walks him to the door. “I’m hosting a Friendsgiving on Sunday night. I’d love for you and Mary to come. We can give you a proper send-off.”

  “We hadn’t planned to stay. But I’ll talk to Mom and let you know.”

  Truth be told, he wants to talk to Presley first. Whether he stays for the party or leaves for Nashville on Sunday morning as planned is up to her.

  32

  Stella

  I’d interpreted Naomi’s accusation against Everett as yet another one of her empty threats. Is it possible she stole money from the inn? Is there any money even missing? Our accounting department hasn’t notified me of any discrepancies in our accounts. Why would Naomi need to steal when my father provided for her in his will? Maybe it’s not about the money. Maybe it’s about the thrill. Maybe she’s trying to satisfy some sick and twisted deep-seated yearning. Or maybe she wants me to crash and burn so she can take over the inn.

  Lifting the phone receiver, I punch in Brian’s number. After exchanging pleasantries, I tell him why I’m calling. “I have a hunch Naomi is embezzling funds from the reservations department. But I don’t understand why she would need money when she has her salary plus whatever allowance she receives from Billy’s estate.”

  “That money is intended primarily for Jazz’s benefit,” Brian explains. “Naomi gets a modest monthly stipend, and she’s required by the terms of the trust to submit an account of her expenditures.”

  “So, if she wants to buy a designer handbag, she must use her own money?”

  “Exactly. I haven’t been shopping for women’s accessories lately, but I imagine some designer bags are costly.”

  I fall back in my chair. “In that case, she may very well be robbing the till.”

  “If your hunch proves correct, you have grounds to fire her. Then what?”

  Twirling in my chair, I look out the window across the front lawn. “Then I risk her leaving town with my baby sister. You’ve told me before that Naomi has no other family. Are you certain about that?”

  “Positive. I investigated her thoroughly. Naomi is an only child, and her parents and grandparents are all deceased.”

  “She has no one to turn to, and unless she’s been accumulating stolen cash under her mattress, she has limited funds to get far if she decides to run.”

  In a warning tone, Brian says, “Tread carefully, Stella. You never know what trick Naomi might have up her sleeve. I’m here for you if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Brian.” Feeling the onset of a headache, I massage my temples. “I hope you got the invitation for the Friendsgiving tomorrow night.”

  “I did,” he says. “And I responded to Cecily. Opal and I will both be there. We’re looking forward to it.”

  “Me too. I’ll see you then.”

  I press the button to disconnect the call, and looking up Diana’s cell number on my Rolodex, I quickly tap it out on the phone’s keypad. She answers on the first ring. “Good morning, Diana. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

  “Sure! I’m actually in my office, catching up on some work. What’s up?”

&nbs
p; I tell my accountant about my suspicions.

  “I haven’t noticed any inconsistencies in the accounts,” she says. “But I may have missed something. Can I do a little digging and get back to you?”

  “Please. Call me on my cell. I’ll be around the farm, although I might not be in my office.”

  I drop the phone in its cradle. If Diana unearths proof that Naomi’s been stealing from the inn, I will not hesitate to fire her. I’ve been working my butt off to turn this place around, and she’s been undermining me at every turn. Naomi might have something up her sleeve, but I’m fairly confident it doesn’t involve leaving Hope Springs.

  The wall’s closing in on me, I jump to my feet, and stuffing my cell phone in my back pocket, I leave my office. The lounge is crawling with people. I recognize some locals but most, I presume, are guests. There’s a long line outside Jameson’s, waiting for a table for lunch, and a crowd in Billy’s Bar watching college football.

  I take the elevator to the basement and sit in on a wine tasting Presley has organized for a group of guests. Lucy does a commendable job of explaining how to taste and what to look for in terms of flavors and aromas in the sampled wines. Do I detect tension between Lucy and Presley? They’re usually an entertaining pair for these groups. Both are uncharacteristically quiet, although I catch them sneaking glances at each other. What is up with them? I thought they were friends.

  When the tasting ends, after mingling with the guests for a minute, I leave the main building and wander down to the maintenance shed where Katherine is unloading wreaths and trees from the back of our landscape trailer.

  “I love that smell,” I say, inhaling a deep breath of Christmas. “Do you need some help?”

  Katherine hauls a large tree out of the trailer and holds it upright. She’s strong for a slight woman. “I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands.”

  We spend the next hour setting the trees in buckets of water and giving the wreaths a good soaking. When we finish, we stand back to admire the trees leaning against the building.