Page 101 of Fortune's Control
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
*****
Calling my mother shouldn’t feel like prepping for a marathon. I stared at the living room’s tongue and groove ceiling and willed my heart to slow.
She probably sent Sandy Cooper’s killer to Fortune’s Creek without my consent. I admitted she didn’t know that part, but a simmering anger still lingered in me, one that would eventually die out if I managed not to feed it.
My stomach hurt. “Mom? How are you?”
“Delilah, it’s been a while.”
“Two weeks.” She knew my number and could call or text me as well. “I have a request. It won’t require any effort on your part.” I hoped the last comment prevented any protests. This call’s goal didn’t require me to rehash every childhood frustration, or at least not the first part of it. The rest was up to her.
“Well, honey, what do you want?”
I didn’t miss her sudden pep or the use of honey. My grandmother used the same term of endearment. Is that where it came from?
“Did a police officer come by?”
“He did. A very polite gentleman, too. He spoke with the cutest Southern drawl and even flirted a little.”
That sounded like Detective Davis, minus the flirting part. It appeared even a professional like him fell under my mother’s spell. “Do you remember his name?”
“I remember what he looked like. Younger than one expects,but maybe that’s me.”
“Did he ask where I was?”
Her tone sharpened. “Well, of course he did. He was concerned, so I told him you were safe on vacation. He promised to look after you and assured me they had put that criminal away. This was weeks ago. Did I forget to tell you?”
“It’s not that. Shane and I planned a brief trip, so we won’t be in town for a few days. I wanted to let the detectives know.” For a complete lie on short notice, it was a decent one.
“Oh, how lovely. Why don’t you come back to Atlanta so I can meet this Shane? Is he really your husband, Delilah? It’s enough to get yourself involved in a murder.” She lowered her voice, hissing that last word. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why you didn’t want him to meet your mother first.”
Shane set a cup of tea on a nearby table and squeezed my shoulder in support. I made an attacking motion with my hands, which earned me a pat on the knee, so I settled against him and kept going.
“He’s a busy man, but I’ll speak to him about it. We will soon.” I shook my head to let him know we would not be. “One more thing before we go. I know you lived in Fortune’s Creek several years ago.”
“What did you do?”
I wasn’t in the mood to appease her or play nice, not now. Maybe never again. “I met her. Evelyn Carter. We invited her to dinner twice, and she told me about your childhood. She showed me pictures of my grandfather, Fred Carter. She also told me about Hank Mayberry. Evelyn looked for you several times over the years. It would be healthy for us if you spoke to her.”
My stomach pain faded as the words stopped, and we waited for her answer.
None came.
“Mom?”
“I asked you not to do that, and you couldn’t do this onelittle favor?”
“I had a right to know.”
“Well, then, congratulations,” she said.
The call ended.
“She hung up on me.” I lifted my hand. “Not a surprise.”
Calm settled over me. Her ending the call signaled a finality to our past, and a chance to start over, whatever form that took, and on whatever timeline I chose.
