Fruit of the Poisoned Tree

Paul ate the rest of the donuts and threw away the empty bag. “I think maybe Mai was married before or at least had a serious relationship that went bad. She seems a little raw about the whole idea. But this house will take care of all that. She’ll see I’m okay.”

“I’m sure she will . . . if she’s ready.” Peggy smiled at her handsome son. She hoped he wasn’t being overconfident. It sounded like he was moving too fast for Mai. If she wasn’t ready to commit to the relationship becoming more serious, Paul would have to wait.

Maybe she’d see if Mai could meet her for lunch, and they could talk. She knew the girl didn’t have a close relationship with her family. Maybe she needed a sounding board. Peggy believed her relationship with her was strong enough to overlook the fact that she was Paul’s mother. She liked her whether she decided to be with Paul or not. She hoped Mai felt the same.

“I guess I’m willing to take that chance.” Paul kissed the top of her head. “I have to get going. It’s good to have you back, Mom. Charlotte and I missed you.”

The warm fuzzy that gave her lasted Peggy all the way through the crowded city streets as Sam eluded icy patches on the road.

Shakespeare was distracted by every child or bird he saw along the way. She held him back from jumping at the window of the truck with an iron grip and the gruff voice she’d used with Paul when he got in trouble as a child.

Interstate 77 was crowded as always. A large part of the road was down to one lane as they came out of the metro area. There were orange barrels and flashing signs everywhere while traffic backed up. The sun was warm, melting away the small amount of ice that had accumulated during the night. It still gleamed in the bright light on the overpasses and railings, but county trucks had spread plenty of slag on the road. No accidents were causing this holdup.

“Weren’t there any dog trainers closer than Ballantyne?” Sam asked as they waited in traffic.

“I’m sure there are.” Peggy glanced at him. “But Rue is Steve’s friend. I thought I’d give her a try. What’s wrong with you this morning anyway? You’re like a possum with a sore tail.”

He sighed, his heavily muscled chest sagging. “I’m not sure how that possum part relates to my problem. But you’re getting to be as bad as my mother. Unless it’s me, and I just can’t hide anything anymore.”

“You’re not a difficult person to understand, sweetie. Go ahead. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m failing chemistry, and my dad is on my case. He says he’s not paying a fortune for me to go to school if I bring home bad grades. Hunter never failed anything. Hunter always does the right thing.”

Peggy didn’t miss the mild rivalry he shared with his sister wrapped up in Sam’s words. Hunter and Sam were both overachievers, spurred on by their father. She’d met him once. He was one of those people who believed competition was good for children. “You aren’t Hunter. But I think chemistry is an important part of premed. I’m sure he’s just concerned about you. Why are you failing? You’re brilliant! You certainly shouldn’t be having problems this early in school anyway.”

“I’m not anywhere near premed yet, Peggy,” Sam declared with a rebellious snarl. “I might change my mind about being a doctor at all.”

As if a messenger from heaven came down to deny Sam’s words, a shaft of sunlight glinted off of a shiny chrome bumper on a burgundy Lincoln going up on the Interstate 485 ramp. It caught Peggy’s eye, like a shooting star set against the clear blue sky.

The car should’ve slowed down on the sharp turn. It should’ve curved past the concrete rail. It didn’t. She grasped Sam’s arm as they watched the car careen off the hundred-foot-high overpass. “Oh my God!”

3

Flowering Dogwood

Botanical: Cornus florida

Family: Cornaceae

Common name: Virginia dogwood

The dogwood is a small tree native to the eastern United States. The root and bark were used by Native Americans to treat fever before quinine was available. The tree is steeped in Christian folklore about its use as the wood that made Jesus’s cross. The sap is said to have magical properties that bring good luck.

SAM AND PEGGY WATCHED the car as it seemed to hover in the air for a moment, suspended by the forward thrust of the speed it was traveling. It happened so quickly, yet time seemed to slow down around it. Too quickly, the spell was broken. Like something from a nightmare, the car sailed down from the sky, hit the pavement, and rolled across the highway.

When they realized what happened, drivers jammed on their brakes to avoid the accident scene. Car horns sounded as several vehicles slammed into the cars in front of them. Angry drivers yelled and cursed from open windows. Nothing moved on the left side of the road going toward Charlotte, but traffic flowed freely in the right lanes going out of town.

“Pull over!” Peggy was already opening her door. Shakespeare started barking as Sam pulled off on the brown, grassy shoulder. She jumped out of the truck, pushing the Great Dane back as he tried to go with her. “Stay, Shakespeare!”

“Wait, Peggy! Where are you going?” Sam tried to call her back. “You’re going to get killed out there.” He tried to follow her, but cars whizzed by, honking their horns when they saw his door open. He watched her run through traffic, zigzagging to the tune of angry curses and blasting car horns. The first clear instant, he jumped out to follow her.

Once they saw the wreck, drivers in the three right lanes slowed down or stopped to point and gasp, bringing traffic to a crawl on that side as well. It made it easier for Peggy to cross the road. If traffic had been flowing as it usually did at seventy miles an hour or better, she might be injured or dead.

Not stopping to consider the matter, Peggy got to the left side of the mud and dodged the cars that were erratically trying to move around the steaming wreck before the police got there and shut everything down. Only a few close drivers actually saw the car come down from the ramp. Most were still trying to figure out what stopped their commute.

“Call 911,” a man called out from one of the cars she passed. The back end of his car was smashed from the violent stop he made behind the car that fell from the ramp. There was a nasty red gash on his forehead.

“I will,” she yelled back without stopping. “Stay where you are. Help will be here soon!” She pushed 911 on her cell phone and yelled at the dispatcher when she answered.

Peggy reached the wreck, heart pounding, breath frosting in the cold air. She couldn’t see the car clearly on the overpass before it went down. It was just a blur of color and form. But something told her it wasn’t a stranger who went over the ramp in front of her.

Intuition swamped her emotions. She knew someone she cared about was involved. There was no scientific proof to back her theory; until she looked at the new burgundy-colored Lincoln.

Even then her mind denied it, tried to negotiate with the truth. There have to be hundreds of burgundy Lincolns in Charlotte. What are the chances this could happen? Yet even as she clawed at the knowledge, she knew the truth: It was Park Lamonte’s car.

Hundreds of pictures of her college friend flew through her mind like squalls passing over the ocean. He was funny. Sarcastic. Playing pranks like Sam. How many times had she told John back in those days she would’ve married Park if she hadn’t met him first?

Then they graduated, and he went on to law school in Chapel Hill. They were still close for a time, arguing about right and wrong late into the night. Even later, their friendship endured. He was there when they came to tell her about John’s death. He was there when they buried him.