hair and scratchy white whiskers was sitting on a cushioned stool, leafing through a child’s picture book.
A couple kids huddled in the corner with an older sister; a mom and toddler had claimed the sunny spot under a window. Lily quietly approached the older man, said gently, “Mr. Renbarcker?”
He immediately looked up with faded blue eyes.
“My name is Lily Campbell. I used to live here. My dad used to work at your mill.”
He brightened up as if she’d given him a present. Once he started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. He tended to fade out now and then, but the past seemed clearer to him than the present.
“Never thought I’d see any of you Campbells again. Your daddy never set that fire, honey. He loved the mill. He loved me. He’d been watching out for me from before I got sick, watched out for my wife the same way.”
It was as if the old man’s heart hurt. Words just poured out of him.
“He knew I was sick, your daddy, because he found me on the floor one day. I’d had some kind of seizure. He was just a boy then, almost fresh out of college. Had a young wife-your mama, prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, she was. I didn’t have a son. Didn’t have any children. Couldn’t. Maybe my body knew I was going to get sick, you think?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“The thing was…your daddy, he covered for me, every which way from Sunday. I made mistakes. He tried to catch them. I’d be fine one day, selling the farm the next, sending shipments to Canada instead of Louisiana, I could get that goofy. I couldn’t face it. Couldn’t believe it. Hid it from my wife as long as I could. I thought I was crazy.”
“It sounds so frightening, Mr. Renbarcker.”
“It was. It was. That was just the thing. I didn’t know it was an illness in the beginning, or for a long while. I just thought I was losing my mind. Your dad was better than a son to me. I loved him. I loved your mama, too.”
Lily felt tears well. Good tears. Loved tears.
“When it got real bad…well, I’m sure you know. I lost the mill. It had to be closed. I’d mucked up far more than your father could fix. But when they said he was despondent over losing his job-honey, it wasn’t like that at all. He knew I was sick. He knew what was coming. There was no shock to him, no sudden surprise. He knew we were going down.”
Lily suddenly couldn’t breathe. For the first time, she was talking to someone who knew her dad back then. Who was describing her dad as a good man-a hero, not a coward. A man who’d never had a “depressed” reason to set that fire-or any other fire.
“We’d talked about it many times, Lily. I urged him to quit and leave me with my own problems. He had you three girls by then-and nothing he adored more than his daughters. He had to be worried about finances, yet when I told him to leave me, find another job, he said that you girls loved mac and cheese, and none of you needed a fancy car. He’d saved. Enough to knuckle down and find himself another job when that had to be, but he was sticking by me to the end. You know what bothered me most, young lady?”
“Tell me,” Lily urged him.
But the old man suddenly leaned forward with a wheezing cough, and when he finally straightened again, there seemed a hazy fog over his eyes. “Danielle, did you make me some of your famous huckleberry pie for dinner tonight?” He winked. “You look so pretty today, my dear. I love that color of blue on you.”
“I…thank you.” She’d learned so much. She wanted to get to her cell phone, call her sisters. Wanted to figure out what all this information meant-if her dad had never set that long-ago fire, then who
And then there was Griff. She wanted to get back with him, to see what was happening to his store, to dig into whatever she could help him with. And yeah, to dig into whatever crazy place they were going personally together, too.
But she couldn’t just up and leave the older man. Mr. Renbarcker wasn’t thinking straight. She didn’t know if or when his cousin would come looking for him. The mom and her toddler had wandered off; the clutch of other kids had been picked up by their father. Another group of kids popped in. Mr. Renbarcker kept talking to “Danielle” as if Lily were the one and only love of his life.
A boisterous group of tweeners piled in the doors, girls, giggling loud enough to raise the dead, finally arousing the librarian to stand in the doorway with a frown. It was the first thing that had distracted Mr. Renbarcker, who finally looked at her and said, “I know you, don’t I?”
Putting a solution in motion seemed to take forever. The librarian, Sarah-Leigh Jenkins, was enlisted to track down Barbara Marr’s phone number, but Sarah seemed to think it was suspicious for Lily to take an interest in the old man. Lily managed to reach Barbara Marr; but really, it was easiest just to drive the older man back home, since he was willing to get in the car with her-even if the librarian was scandalized all over again. Driving him was just faster than waiting for his cousin to get there, and Lily couldn’t fathom why anyone would think anything was hokey about a young woman being kind to someone elderly.
Only, by then, outside, it was hot enough to fry bacon on the pavement. Her rental car’s air conditioner coughed and sputtered like a pneumonia case.
She got Mr. Renbarcker back to his relatives, then
But not yet. Right then, she just wanted Griff.
“Hey, Griff, I just want to…”
“Griff, what do you think of…”
“Griff, how can I…?”
Griff considered hurling out the back and beating his head on the closest rock. He’d been patient all morning, but at this point he was hot, cranky, frustrated and just plain fed up. There were too many problems-all of which needed addressing immediately. There were way too many questions with no answers, and a zillion people hovering every damn time he had a chance to dig in.
This time, when he turned around there was Mrs. Georgia Maryweather, four-foot-eleven in heels and a ribboned hat, holding a peach-pecan pie. “Griff, I felt certain you’d need a little pick-me-up, bless your heart. The mister and I, we were so sorry to hear about the fire. It sure is a mess.”
“What a kind thing to do. Thank you, Mrs. Maryweather.”
Griff gave himself credit. He didn’t blow his temper, because of course he’d never bellow at a sweet old woman. Or a crotchety old woman. Or any woman. As anyone in town knew, he didn’t have a temper. He was low- key, never moved fast, never expressed anger.
Damned if he would behave like his dad. Ever. No matter what the provocation.
Mrs. Maryweather, of course, wanted a complete, chatty version of what had happened, who did it, what the damage would cost, what she and Mr. Maryweather could do to help, when he’d have the store back in business, the problem with young people today, the terror of crime and the story of her sister’s daughter’s cousin’s break-in last year.
Griff could feel the start of a tic in his right eye. His stomach had shrunk to the size of a small, tight knot. Early-afternoon heat had come in like a prize-fighter, fast and sharp, a hot blow that could fell anybody.
“Now, Griff, sugar, you just tell me if you…”
“Griff…?”
For four hours now, he hadn’t accomplished anything substantial. Couldn’t finish a conversation. Couldn’t end a sentence. Either the cell phone was buzzing or a fresh batch of people showed up. It wasn’t as if this was the fire of the century. It was just a mess.
“Now, Mr. Maryweather and I, we’d-”
A sudden movement caught his attention-the shine of glossy brown hair braiding through the crowd. Lily. Ignoring everyone, including a few accusing stares directed her way, she seemed solely focused on him, his face, his expression. Herman Conner, who’d been unshakable all morning, hitched up his trousers and aimed to block her path.
But nothing was stopping Lily. She barged past elbows and looks and conversation, the frown on her brow
