Page 2 of Endless Southern Love

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, only to be polite.

Before I start to dig the next hole, my phone rings. I don’t bother to look at the caller ID. “Jenkins.”

“Is this Wade Jenkins?”

“Speaking.” I pull my phone away from my ear and look at the number. It’s unfamiliar except for the 904-area code. “Who is this?”

“Yes, hi. This is Moira Banks. I’m a nurse at Jacksonville Hospital. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Anastasia Starke. She asked me to call and let you know she’s in the hospital and she needs you to come immediately.”

“My daughter? Is she okay?”

“Yes, sir. She’s with our social worker right now.”

I look at Ms. Linda, who stands and looks at me like I need to fill her in. “Is Ana okay?”

“Sir, it’s best for us to talk when you get here.”

“I’m on my way, but it’s a four-to-five-hour drive, depending on traffic.”

“I’ll be here.” She hangs up. I stand there for a moment, with my phone held against my ear. Finally, my hand moves of its own volition.

“Uh, Ms. Linda. I need to head up to Jacksonville. Something’s going on with Goldie’s mom, and she needs me. I’ll . . .” I pause and look at the mess I’ve left in her yard. It’s very unlike me to leave a mess behind. “I’ll send my dad over, and he’ll get this cleaned up.”

“Don’t you worry, Wade. Go on. This can wait until you get back.”

I nod and force myself to react. By the handful, I grab my tools, buckets, and anything else I can scoop up. Ms. Linda helps and carries things to my truck.

“Let me make you a sandwich,” she says after she drops two firecracker shrubs next to my tire. Honestly, I would’ve left those here, but I put them into the back of my truck anyway.

“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Linda. I need to get on the road. When I stop for gas, I’ll grab something to eat.”

When she doesn’t argue with me, I know she senses how serious this—whatever it may be—is.

“I’ll get an update from your mom.”

I nod and hop into my truck and head toward the interstate. As soon as I’m out of town, I call my dad, give him the details, and ask him to check in with Linda.

“Call us as soon as you know what’s going on,” he says before we hang up.

By the time I make it to Jacksonville and the hospital, visiting hours are long over, but the woman I spoke to earlier has put my name on a list, which allows me to go in. The guard gives me directions to where I need to go, and when I reach the floor, I head directly to the nurse’s desk.

“Hi, I’m Wade Jenkins. Moira Banks called me about Anastasia Starke.”

“I’m Moira,” she says, shaking my hand. She motions for me to follow her down the hall. We come to a closed door, and she knocks softly before we head in.

Ana’s in bed, lying on her side. Next to her, a machine beeps. As I approach her bed, I see Goldie curled into her mother.

“Ana?” I say quietly. She looks at me over her shoulder, and my heart sinks. Someone has done a number on her face. Both eyes are black and blue, her nose looks broken, and she has a bandage on her cheek. As well as a cast on her arm.

“What the hell happened?” I go around to the other side of the bed and look at our daughter, who is sleeping peacefully next to her mom. She doesn’t seem to have a bump or bruise, or a single curl out of place. Then, what Moira said earlier plays back in my mind.

“Who did this to you?”

“Franco,” Ana says tearfully.

“Wh-what?” I don’t like the guy because he keeps my daughter a day’s drive from me, but I never suspected him to be violent. If I had gotten that vibe from him, I would’ve said something. “Ana, Franco did this?”

She nods as tears fall from her eyes. I reach for a tissue and dab at them. “Ana,” I say her name again, but this time my tone is full of sorrow.

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