She leaned back and crossed her arms.
I inhaled a breath of courage. “I still struggle with feeling worthy of love. When my mom died, my grandmother took out her anger on me and my grandfather. He was lucky. He drank himself to death. But I lived to deal with all Gram’s bottled-up grief. I finally dumped my own anger onto her when she was dying. I paid a big price, but because of it, I discovered God’s love. I realized He never forgets about me even when I forget about Him.” I gazed into her eyes with all my strength, hoping my message might make it through the wall she’d erected. “He loves you too, Candice. I know He does.”
She took a rasping breath. “God and I don’t have much in common anymore.”
“You’re wrong.” I gripped her wrist. “You walked away, not Him. He’s still got big plans for you. Good plans. Maybe plans with my grandfather, if you let it happen.”
She pushed my hand away. She lined up the spout of the teapot with the honey decanter. She moved a doily to the corner of the tray and set her cup on it, laying her spoon neatly on the saucer. “That’s a nice sentiment, Tish,” she said. “But there are things you don’t know that make what you’re suggesting impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible with God.” I showcased my limited knowledge of Scripture.
She glared at me. “Some things are.”
Our eyes linked in a stare down. I broke contact first.
“Hey, did I mention I have a friend staying with me now?” I asked. A change of subject seemed the wisest course.
Her eyebrows arched. “A friend? And who might that be?”
“Sam Walters. From back in Rawlings.”
“You never told me about Sam.” Her voice had a singsong quality to it, like she was ready to break into a round of “Tish and Sam, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g . . .”
I laughed. “Sam as in Samantha. She’s the sister of Brad Walters. A friend of mine.”
“You never told me about Brad,” she said in the same silly voice.
“Oh, he’s just a friend.”
“Just a friend, huh?”
I swallowed the lump that clogged my throat every time I said his name. “Yeah.”
Candice became serious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She looked up at the ceiling, then back at me. “Boy, don’t we make a pair.”
I nodded, fighting back the tears.
“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” Candice stood, loaded the tea supplies on the tray, and delivered it to the kitchen. We grabbed a few finger sandwiches and walked out the back door.
The scent of fresh grass, hot from the sun, greeted us. Winged insects hummed in the breeze as they picked their way from dandelion to dandelion across the green field. We started off down a two-track that cut next to an old barbed-wire fence.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I remarked as I munched.
Candice took in the view. “You should have seen it back in the good old days. We had horses and cattle and chickens.”
I pictured the field bustling with livestock. “You must have loved it.”
“I still love it. Maybe more now that I can get up when the whim hits instead of when the cock crows.” Candice shook her head, staring at the ground in front of her as we walked. “The animals are what got me through. I could handle anything as long as my horses came running when they saw me.”
“How many did you have?”
“It varied year to year. But the standbys were Brigitte—she was my favorite for saddling up—and Clint. He was a big, clumsy gelding, but gentle as anything.”
“I’ve always wanted to ride a horse.”
“You sat on them plenty when you were little.”
“I barely remember.”
“Your grandfather kept horses too,” she said. “He still does.”
We turned a corner at the end of the field and followed the trail into the woods. The sunlight dimmed beneath the infant leaves. I slapped at a mosquito buzzing in my ear.
“In fact, your mother was quite the horsewoman,” Candice said.
I looked at her, thrilled. “Really? Did you ride together?”
“Now and then. Mostly I stayed behind and played with you while Bernard and Beth went riding. I couldn’t bear gallivanting around with those two. My stomach couldn’t take it.”
I smiled. “No wonder I loved you so much, Jellybean.”
She laughed with me. “We made great companions, we two.” She swatted at a mosquito near her cheek.
“We still do.” I smacked a bug on my arm.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting eaten alive. Let’s get out of these woods.” Candice itched at a welt on her hand.
“Me first!” I whirled and ran, leaving Candice and the mosquitoes behind.
“Not so fast, young lady.” Candice’s voice came from only a few steps back.
I broke into the field, back in bite-free sunshine and warmth.
Candice stopped next to me seconds later. She leaned hands on knees, recovering her breath. “Not bad for an old gal, huh?” she said.
“Either you’re in great shape, or I’m in lousy shape.” I laughed.
“You’re in lousy shape.”
As we walked back to the farmhouse, I gave her the rundown on Sam.
“So the ex-husband is back on the loose.” Candice shook her head.
“Brad seems pretty upset about it. But what are the chances of this guy really doing anything?”
She stopped and looked at me, her expression dead serious. “Count yourself blessed, Tish, that you’ve never been abused at the hands of someone you love. There’s nothing harder than opening your eyes when you want only to keep them closed. There’s nothing like finally admitting to yourself that you’re ‘one of those women’—the kind of woman you always despised for having no backbone, for not having the good sense to leave a situation that’s killing you.”
“I’m sorry, Candice, I didn’t mean to—”
She rolled over my words as if I’d never spoken. “If Sam’s ex is anything like mine was, he’s going to come after her. It’s as if he can’t help himself. He’s going to make her pay for putting him in prison, because, naturally, all his problems are her fault. And if she doesn’t grovel just right and beg his forgiveness, then he’s going to hurt her. He’d rather see her dead than free.”
I stared in speechless horror. “Is that what happened to you?”
She nodded. “Thank God Paul died in that fire before he could hurt me one last time.”
I swallowed. “Then maybe my grandfather did you a big favor and you should thank him too.”
She turned and walked ahead. “Let it lie, Tish. It’s a place you don’t want to go.”
I reached for her arm and yanked her to a halt. “I’m sick of people telling me that. I’m sick of everyone trying to protect me from the past. I just want the truth. I want to know what really happened to my mother. How can a woman who was fearless on horseback just give up on life? And I want the truth about my grandfather. Did he have anything to do with my mother’s death and your fire or didn’t he?” My teeth ground together in exasperation. I jabbed a finger toward her. “I know you’re the one who wrote ‘Don’t ask why’ on my mother’s picture and left it ripped in half on my pillow. I don’t care what you say. I’m going to ask and ask and ask until I get my answers.”
Her eyes were giant circles as she listened to me rant.
She pawed at me as if pleading for me to stop. “Tish, I didn’t rip your mother’s picture. I would never do that.” She looked away. “I did write on her photo. But it was in grease pencil, easily wiped off. I wanted to warn you not to be so curious. So you wouldn’t get hurt like she did.”
“What do you mean, get hurt like she did? My mom killed herself.”
Candice shook her head. “Perhaps. But I suspect someone helped her into that quarry.”
My knees felt weak. I tried to breathe. “Why do you say that? What makes you think so?”
