“Sheriff?” Gladys Williams peered up at Lee Gaines through her bejeweled spectacles. She was dressed in a bright purple suit, accented with gold piping. Her hands were poised over the keyboard, a phone tucked between her chin and shoulder.
The space was small, poorly lit, and smelled like French vanilla coffee creamer, the kind June had liked so much. Thick files covered Gladys’s desk next to an ancient PC. The far wall was covered with photographs, family pictures, and pinned with sayings like “God is Good” and “Trust in Him.”
“Come on in,” Gladys said. She replaced the phone on the receiver, swiveled in her chair, and motioned for him to sit.
Leading Chief by his leash, Gaines moved forward and removed his hat. “Thank you.” The sheriff perched awkwardly on the edge of the fabric-covered seat. Chief took his place next to his shined boots, long tongue lolling.
Gaines didn’t pay unexpected visits to parole officers. He didn’t like stirring up trouble, creating problems where there were none. But Allie Marshall, if curiosity got the best of her, could cause all sorts of problems. Problems that needed to stay buried.
“I take it this isn’t a social call? Something going on that I might want to know about?” Gladys adjusted her glasses and reached for a pen and pad of paper. Her lips, painted in a shade of fire-engine red, pursed tightly.
“Perhaps,” Gaines replied acidly. Chief’s ears perked.
“All right,” Gladys answered, keeping her tone light, but her body remained on alert. She’d been in the business for twenty years; she had heard and seen it all.
“Has the Marshall girl been in?”
Gladys met Gaines’s gaze. “Right on time. Her parents found her a place in town. She’s looking for a job.”
A flicker of a frown crossed the sheriff’s face. “How’d she seem?”
Gladys pushed back in her chair and crossed her long legs. “How they all seem. Shell-shocked, on edge, trying their best to appear normal when they’re dropped back into the real world with a ‘felon’ label pasted on them the size of Atlanta.”
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Gaines brushed off her prickly answer. “Hazard of the occupation.”
“She did her time,” Gladys answered evenly. “The state decided to release her early. She’s free to live her life.”
“Free with some stipulations of parole.”
Gladys didn’t flinch. She held his gaze, unblinking. “Of course,” Gladys answered, her voice matter-of-fact. “That’s where I come in.” Her voice took on a bit of an edge. “And, again, so far Marshall’s been fine. No red flags. No attitude. She’s smarter than most, you know.”
“Not smart enough to avoid getting caught,” Gaines jabbed back. His arms tensed and his neck prickled. He was getting personal, letting Allie Marshall’s release worry him. Not a thing had happened. Yet.
“Look.” Gladys took off her glasses, folded them, and placed them to the side of her keyboard. “I know you and Coach Thomas were friends. Tight, like brothers. A lot of people in this town mourned his passing.”
“At least one didn’t.” The words slipped out of Gaines’s mouth before he could stop them.
Gladys kept her face serene, her hands clasped in her lap. “Sheriff, I’ve seen Allie Marshall’s file. By all accounts, she verbally alleged to more than one person that Coach Thomas was abusing players. Then she wrote that editorial to the Brunswick News, and all hell broke loose.” She paused. “It’s not for me to say, but despite all of that, something about what went down doesn’t quite fit.”
Gaines stiffened. “I wouldn’t be sharing those opinions around town. You won’t be too popular.”
“I’m not in this job for the popularity,” Gladys said flatly.
Touché, Gaines thought.
“All I am saying is that launching a public campaign, like the Marshall girl did, and asking for an investigation of a football coach don’t jive with planning to kill someone in cold blood,” she added.
“When a person breaks from reality, it doesn’t matter,” Gaines shot back. “Bundy was brilliant. Kaczynski too.”
“Serial killers?” Gladys said slowly, as if it was the first time she’d ever spoken the words.
“Who’s to say—” Gaines stopped himself and began to sweat. He was taking this too far. And Gladys Williams, despite her professional demeanor, was getting suspicious.
“Well then, Sheriff, that would be for you and your men to investigate.” Gladys examined his face. “Is that what this visit is about? Has something happened?”
“Not yet.” Gaines stood quickly and slid the hat back on his head. Chief bounded to his feet. “Just keep a close eye,” he added gruffly.
Gladys nodded. “It’s what I do.”
THIRTEEN
EMMA
2016
In a bizarre way, to Emma, dinner out with Allie felt more like an awkward first date. A little weird. And very public.
They’d driven to a small restaurant with a view of the long wooden pier that stretched from the shore of St. Simons into the ocean. It was a perfect night for dining on the restaurant’s porch, sipping sweet tea, and watching the fireflies dance across the grass.
As the hostess led them to their table, Emma kept her eyes forward as much as possible, hoping they’d make it through relatively unscathed. At first, there were a few unkind stares, some murmured comments and startled glances. Then a group of chattering, well-dressed, older women fell silent. Emma moved quickly, motioning for Allie to follow.
As Emma eased past the large gathering, she felt a nudge on the crook of her elbow. Out of habit, she turned her head.
Morgan Hicks’s mother stood up, hands on her hips, a morose look of displeasure on her face. She’d aged twenty years or more in the last decade, with deep smoker’s lines etched around her downturned lips. Her throat jiggled with loose skin when she started to speak.
“Allie Marshall, you have no right to be here,” Morgan’s mother began. The women’s group watched with rapt attention. At nearby tables, other patrons shifted uncomfortably.
“Mrs. Hicks,” Allie replied quietly. “I’m sorry you feel that way—”
“After what you did to that poor man,” she scolded, raising her voice. “You dare to come back here?”
The dining area fell silent.
Allie opened her mouth to retort when Emma stalked back, grabbed Allie’s arm, and half dragged her over to their table. “Are you crazy?” Emma breathed, pulling out her own seat and collapsing with a glare at her sister.
Allie sat down, red-faced. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Not talk. Try to ignore them.” Emma snatched the linen napkin from the table and shook it out. A server took their order, poured water, and disappeared. Emma glanced over Allie’s shoulder at the table of women. “They’re leaving anyway. Thank goodness.” She opened her menu and scanned the entrées. “I can’t stand that woman. Or her daughter.”
“Morgan.” Allie stirred her ice water with a straw and then poked at the lemon slice.
“Yeah, that friendship didn’t work out so well for you,” answered Emma with an arch of her brow.
Allie gazed at the horizon as the sky turned brilliant shades of magenta and crimson. “She did cut and run pretty fast.”
“Listen,” Emma said, waving over the server. “Forget Morgan. Let’s try to enjoy dinner. Want to order?” She glanced at the menu and selected the first entrée she laid eyes on, shrimp fajitas with mango-lime slaw. Allie chose the pan-seared scallops with bacon, edamame, and grits.
“That sounds amazing.” Emma smiled at the server as she handed over her menu. After he disappeared into the kitchen, she shifted the conversation back to Allie. “So, should I ask how the job search is going?”
Allie shrugged and smiled. “Slow.”
“Any calls at all?”
“Nope. I tried at the flower shop, a bakery. Applied for every housekeeping, server, and restaurant job I could find in Brunswick,” she replied
with a wry smile. “There was one position at a wedding dress shop, but I didn’t even bother there.”
Emma wrinkled her nose.
“I always expected you’d get married.” Allie gave her sister a lopsided grin. “I’d hoped that one of us would.”
Emma shrugged. “It still could happen . . .”
“Come on,” Allie said. “That summer before I was supposed to leave for school? There was someone you really liked. You snuck out all of the time. I remember.” She gave Emma a knowing look.
“Oh, that?” Emma smiled. “It was nothing. Puppy love.” She offered a forced laugh.
“What about that former fiancé of yours?”
Emma glanced away and then back at her sister, who was watching her every move. “Former. Key word. After I broke it off, Mom was so freaked out, so disappointed, that she’d practically run away if I brought it up.”
Allie tucked her legs under her chair and leaned in. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was five years ago.” Emma wrinkled her nose and swirled the liquid inside her glass, creating a tornado of sweet tea and ice.
Her sister toyed with her napkin and settled it into her lap. “So, do you ever hear from him? Your ex?” She played with her salad, rolling the tomato slices over, piercing Bibb lettuce and strands of unwieldy arugula with her fork.
“No. It was a pretty tough breakup.” Emma sighed.
“You grew apart? Or was it about something else?”
“He wanted kids.” Emma shrugged. “I didn’t.”
Allie’s forehead creased. “You know? I don’t get it. You’re so good with . . . Caroline.” Her voice faltered.
Emma hemmed, examining her salad plate. “I didn’t feel like I could handle a baby. Caroline was at such a tender age.” She looked up at her sister pointedly. “We were all so worried about her. Dividing my attention wouldn’t have been fair.”
Allie’s face lost color.
“And . . .” Emma said the next words softly and carefully, knowing they’d cut deep and fast. “And you were . . . gone. For so long from Caroline. From all of us.”
Allie inhaled sharply and winced. “I know.” She hesitated. “I’m so grateful she had you. I-I never meant for her to be a burden.”
“Never,” Emma said as something fierce and raw tugged at her heart. “I love her. I always will. She’s blood. There’s nothing that will come between that.”
“Of course,” Allie murmured, her words barely audible.
Emma took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts. Nothing would come between her and Caroline. Ever. But Allie, Allie had let her down. The tie was broken; the blood was tainted.
“Anyway, it just didn’t work out,” Emma added. “I’d rushed into it, thrown myself into the wedding planning. Mom was reviewing catering menus like her life depended on it.” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “I think I loved the idea of being married. But then it seemed like we were being Barbie and Ken in one of those pink plastic playhouses.”
The truth was that none of it—and no guy, no matter how perfect and kind—would ever compare to the only man she had ever truly loved.
April 2006
The headline stirred the already-hungry Brunswick fans into a feeding frenzy. Star Coach Lands in Wolverine Country. A small crowd had already gathered for the first day of spring training, everyone eager to catch a glimpse of the new hire.
Allie’s dog, Molly, stopped in her tracks, sniffing the air. “Come on, girl,” Emma urged, shivering as Allie guided her puppy back toward the football stadium.
Rain drizzled as gray clouds hung low over the playing field, scraped raw in places, more clay than grass. Every cleat was caked in red brown; spatters of dirt patterned every shin. Between plays, the ball was wiped clean and handed back.
While Allie made the social rounds, Emma surveyed the crowd. Most notably, Sheriff Lee Gaines stood on the edge of the field. He’d been a school booster since the beginning of time, with a passion for the game said to rival the University of Alabama’s Bear Bryant.
The whistle blew again; players gulped water from plastic cups. Two hulking linebackers took turns drinking from a Gatorade jug, swapping trash talk between mouthfuls.
The new coach, Boyd Thomas, stalked to the end zone. His staff, in matching windbreakers, parted as if a jetliner had taxied onto the field. The coach stopped and spoke to the quarterback, emphasizing the conversation with crisp gestures. He grabbed at the headphones around his neck and spun a finger in the air, signaling the players to resume the drill.
He was a University of Georgia graduate, Emma had noted from the article in the newspaper. And below a long section, the story noted that Thomas had risen from a foster kid to a head coach with one of the winningest records in the state. The last paragraph mentioned his family would be taking over the pharmacy and old-fashioned soda shop downtown. The coach’s wife was a pharmacist, and the current owner was retiring and happy to leave the place in capable hands.
As Emma watched, the players huddled, clapped hard, and got into formation. The quarterback called his play, leaning in to catch the snap. Feet shuffled, bodies collided.
Coach Thomas caught the edge of his ball cap and pulled it out straight, peering toward his players. A perfect spiral landed into the arms of a waiting wide receiver.
After several more plays, another whistle blew. Practice was over, and Emma felt a tug on her arm. Her sister was ready to leave. She ignored Allie and stared, lips parted, as the new coach ambled over and shook hands with Sheriff Gaines and the athletic director.
As a sudden breeze cut across the field, Molly began to bounce and tugged at her leash. At a sharp yelp, Allie shushed her pet, causing Emma to glance up, expecting annoyed glances at the commotion.
But Coach Boyd Thomas was walking straight toward her, a brilliant smile on his face, causing Emma to go weak all over. He was rugged and handsome, broad-shouldered and strong. His eyes, though, dealt the final blow. Dark. Passionate. More than a little dangerous.
Emma didn’t believe in love at first sight. Sure, she’d kissed her share of guys; she’d had brief crushes. But the spark never tripped like this, fireworks didn’t explode, the earth and trees never melted away.
Now it was all happening at once.
“Wolverine fan already, eh?” he said, walking over and bending to scratch the puppy’s head behind her ears. His college ring—gold signet—glinted against the dark parts of Molly’s thick coat. “We’re looking for a mascot.” He grinned. “I think she’d be perfect.”
It was the start and end of everything.
2016
“I know you aren’t telling me the whole story.” Allie frowned.
Emma waved a hand, glad the restaurant’s noise and clatter drowned out her sister’s words to anyone farther than one foot from their table. She heaved a sigh. The reaction was typical Allie, always the bleeding heart. Her sister still wanted to save the world, even when she couldn’t save herself.
“Don’t shut me out.” Allie leaned in, bending her head to get Emma’s attention. “What happened?”
Frowning, Emma looked away, pretending to study the dozens of lights strung along the pier. Allie’s persistence, all of this concerned questioning, was grating on her nerves.
Emma’s breath caught. She realized what was happening. Why Allie agreed so quickly to come to dinner. Her sister was trying to soften her up, get Emma to drop her guard. And at just the right moment, Allie would try to steal her daughter away.
Emma tightened her fists under the table. She took a deep breath. Emma would give Allie a taste of how hard she would fight to keep Caroline.
“That night . . . the night I went into the hospital.” Emma lowered her chin and made herself sniff. “Th-they had to do surgery.”
“Surgery?” Allie echoed.
Emma plucked the napkin from her lap and wiped at her eyes. “I should have told you. I just couldn’t . . . before. But I-I can’t have children. Not my ow
n.”
An incredulous look washed over Allie’s face. “What? Oh, Emma . . .”
A sudden breeze ruffled the palm trees nearby, and the waves crashed harder in the distance. The sun had all but disappeared, causing the horizon to darken to a midnight blue.
The sky had been that exact shade the evening Emma tearfully told the police about a drifter passing through town, a grungy man in a Rolling Stones T-shirt who’d jumped in her car at the corner of Parkwood and Kemble. She said the man had pressed what she thought was a gun to her head, dragged her to Goodyear Park, and tried to rape her across from the Lutheran church. She’d fought him off until someone had driven by, scared him, and the man had taken off into the sparse woods.
The police officers nodded grimly as Emma told them she was barely able to get herself to the ER, only a block away. A day later, she sat with a sketch artist and reimagined the drifter’s face. The police had searched Brunswick and St. Simons Island, coming up empty.
Allie shivered and broke the silence. “Emma . . . I-I don’t know what to say. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been—” Emma brushed away an imaginary tear and sniffed, reaching for her napkin. “Difficult, to say the least.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Allie said. “You’ve always been better than I am at keeping secrets.”
“I made Mom and Dad promise. It would have only made you worry.” Emma lowered her voice until it was barely audible, thinking quickly to make up a story that would play on Allie’s sympathy. “They found a mass in my uterus and did a hysterectomy before I could blink.” Emma sipped her water, straightened, and cleared her throat. “It’s all messed up down there. And I wanted my own baby, not someone else’s.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Of course,” Emma replied in a soft voice and rubbed her temples. “And he suggested adopting. He brought me brochures he’d collected, showed me websites.”
“And?” Allie raised a brow.
“I knew it wouldn’t make me happy.” Emma drew in a deep breath.
Allie seemed to absorb this. “At least you had a choice. And you didn’t jump in and get stuck in a bad situation for years and years.”
Sister Dear Page 8
