“Not that we know of,” Evelyn replied, glancing at Sonia for confirmation.
Ray gave a defeated nod. ”I figured as much. Our mother left the estate to the two of us, but I don’t know how to get a hold of him.”
“I believe your brother kept in touch with Celia,” Evelyn said, in a mildly reproving tone. “I overheard her talking to a man on the phone one time and she said it was Tom—that he used to call her every other month or so.”
Sonia caught her eye and gave a subtle shake of her head as she carried the coffee over to the table. She hadn’t had a chance to fill her in on what Ray had shared about his abusive childhood, and why he had cut off all contact with his mother.
“You might be right,” Ray went on, “I think she was sending him money every month. I’ve been going through her bank statements, and she was transferring several thousand dollars out of it on a regular basis. I closed her account so maybe Tom will show up now that his funding’s been cut off.”
“Do you have any idea what he’s been doing all these years?” Evelyn asked.
Ray shook his head. ”No. He left home shortly after I did, didn’t tell anyone where he was going—he was only fifteen. I was planning on letting him come live with me, even though I only had a small studio apartment at the time, but I never got the chance.” He sipped his coffee and glanced around appreciatively. “Your home is beautiful. You have a great eye, Sonia.”
She smiled as she reached for her coffee. “Thank you. I love designing interiors.”
“What is it you do for work, Ray?” Evelyn asked. “I understand you work from home too.”
“I’m a freelance journalist.” He gave a sheepish grin. ”Better with the written word than making small talk.”
Evelyn arched a brow. “That must be where Henry gets it from. He’s a man of few words too.”
Ray’s expression darkened. He set his coffee cup on the side table and got to his feet. ”It’s late. I should get Henry off to bed.”
“Of course,” Sonia said. “I’ll round up the kids.”
After a few tense minutes of cajoling at the door, Henry accompanied Ray home with the promise of another play date soon. Sonia closed the door on them with a sigh of relief and retreated to the kitchen to help her mother load the dishwasher.
“I think that went well, don’t you?” Sonia ventured.
Evelyn pursed her lips. ”I still can’t forgive him for neglecting Celia all these years.”
“About that, Mom, he has his reasons, as it turns out.” Sonia leaned back, gripping the edge of the countertop. “His father was abusive to him and his brother. It must have been pretty bad because CPS was involved. He said Celia refused to leave and lied to the authorities to cover up what was happening. Ray and his brother left home before they turned eighteen. He was too traumatized to reach out to his mother again. To be fair, he does seem like the sensitive sort now that we’ve got to know him a little better.”
Evelyn eyed her skeptically, digesting the information. ”Celia never mentioned anything about abuse. She did say her husband was a drinker. He died young, early fifties I think.”
“Alcoholism and abuse often go hand-in-hand. I’m leaning toward believing Ray. He got pretty choked up when he was telling me about it,” Sonia said, reaching for a tea towel.
“Talking about abuse, did you hear him say Henry wasn’t allowed to eat much ice cream?” Evelyn tutted indignantly. “What was that all about? I don’t think the poor kid got to eat any of my French Toast muffins either. He looked at me like he didn’t know what I was talking about when I asked him if he liked them.”
“Some parents are stricter on sugar intake than others,” Sonia pointed out. “It’s hardly a crime.”
”I still think he’s a neglectful father,” Evelyn huffed. “Did you see how much food he piled on Henry’s plate? He’s clueless. Something’s not right about him.”
Suddenly aware of eyes on them, Sonia spun around to see Jessica standing in the doorway, silently observing them.
“Hey, sweetie!” she said brightly. “Did you get your room tidied up?”
Jessica gave an uncertain nod. ”What’s not right about Ray, Grandma?”
“Nothing at all,” Sonia cut in. “Grandma and I were just laughing about the amount of food Henry’s dad put on his plate.”
Jessica blinked solemnly at them. “He’s not Henry’s real dad.”
4
Ray sank into a rickety, spindle-back chair at the oak kitchen table and rested his head on his arms—drained after another long evening spent trying to coax Henry to go to sleep. It was the same arduous process night after night, and things weren’t improving. Exhausted from crying, the child had finally nodded off, clutching Fudge—the bear Jessica had given him. Ray had been touched by her kind gesture, despite his reluctance to accept it. He was grateful Henry had made a connection with someone, even if it was only a child. Jessica’s mother, Sonia, had been equally warm and welcoming of them, which was problematic. She and her mother asked a lot of questions. Too many questions.
At first, Ray had declined Sonia’s dinner invitation, but he’d felt obligated after she’d agreed to serve as the emergency contact for Henry’s preschool. He cracked his knuckles recalling the pinched face of Trish Miller, the principal of Small Steps, as she’d walked him through the parent orientation. Trish was a stickler for procedure, which presented another conundrum. He hadn’t figured out how he was going to pull this off, yet. But Booneville was a small town, and, hopefully, he could find a way around the regulations. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to work, he wouldn’t have bothered signing Henry up for school at all for the short time they would be in North Carolina.
His plan
