Until, that is, we heard that word.
Nothing.
He’d left us nothing. No inheritance, no keepsakes, no money. Not even his beloved church. All of it, including the organization itself, would go to Matthew. His beloved son that he’d always believed God promised him.
Oh—no, I’m sorry, he did leave me something. Since I’d always been a faithful and loving daughter, he left me his dilapidated old house. The one that my mother died in and that neither Grace nor Hope had ever stepped foot in again after moving out. The one full of hateful lies and narcissistic manipulations. And he left me a card with a photo of us. Not all of us, mind you. Not the family. Just me and him, sitting on a chair, grinning as he braided my long wavy hair.
He’d always loved my hair. So thick and soft like spun gold. So different from my mother, who I’d recently learned he resented for not giving him the son he wanted.
Tears choked my throat now as I unconsciously pulled my ponytail over my shoulder and swallowed hard to stem the burn behind my eyes. I sucked in fast, breathing in the aroma of magnolias and mildew that defined home in Redemption, Louisiana. I refused to cry for him or for anyone, anymore.
I bent at the waist a little and rolled my hips so that the dulling throb from my almost healed knife wounds and subsequent surgery would flare a little. Maybe kick a fresh pump or two of blood to the headache I woke up with every day. A little trick I’d learned in the hospital to keep my emotions at bay. Pain was better than breaking down into an emotional heap over being attacked, with no recollection of it outside of vague flashes in my dreams. Pain was visceral and real and reminded me that I was alive. My sisters had prayed for me to live, and God granted it, so who was I to ignore it? My attackers might have knocked me silly and carved up any chance of future motherhood for a few bucks, but hey, I still had my life, right? So, blessings!
White-hot pain shot from my lower abdomen when I leaned too far, and I winced, welcoming the distraction from that thought. I hadn’t shared that last tidbit with anyone, not even my sisters. It was just... too much.
Darkness was coming on quickly now. I looked at my watch, noting the time as I pulled myself from the memory of the miserable visit with Mr. Wexley. An Uber would be arriving at my townhouse within a half hour to drive me to New Orleans. My carry-on bag was packed, and my phone was charged but turned off. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and I knew without question that it would blow up with notices soon.
I walked slowly up to the faded front porch of my childhood home where Mama used to rock me on the swing back before I knew that it was just to get me away from whatever Daddy was doing to Grace and Hope... to the steps where me and Adam used to hang out, listening to music when Daddy would go out of town. Bishops weren’t allowed at our house, but when he was gone, I’d break the rules sometimes.
I couldn’t help myself with Adam. He was my best friend, but I’d spend hours back then just wondering if he ever thought about kissing me. I could never have imagined the moment to come later, on what would be his last day of freedom, under that old metal creek bridge when he buried himself deep inside me and growled my name as I gave myself, body, heart, and soul to the man I’d secretly loved for years.
I sure as hell wished I could get those years back.
The smell of gasoline took over as I got up that last step, and that was my cue. I couldn’t afford to go down memory lane anymore. This house was meant to be alone like it had been all these years, down at the end of the street like an unloved castaway. It was tainted. It deserved to go to hell with its previous owner.
I struck the match on the box in my other hand, watched it flare, then tossed it, stepping backwards as the whoosh of flame licked across the gasoline-soaked dry-rotted boards.
With a shiver, I turned, walking away, the heat on my back dissipating as I walked the three blocks to my townhome. None of the nearby houses would even know about it till daybreak, as they were far enough away to sleep through it.
Mateo could call me. The insurance company could call me. I didn’t care. It was mine now. I didn’t want anything for it. I just wanted to go home, grab my bag, and catch my plane. I had a conversation waiting for me in North Carolina.
As I crossed Main, my gaze moved automatically to the far end, where my brother-in-law’s tattoo shop was. Where Adam was. Where I could feel the asshole sleeping in the garage apartment upstairs every night just blocks away, like a magnet pulling at me.
He’d still be working. I could stop in... try again...
“No,” I whispered, clenching my jaw. “Jesus, Faith, stop being a doormat for men who don’t fucking want you.”
My fingers drifted to my long ponytail, the ends curling softly around my fingertips as a long-ago memory drifted by unbidden.
“You’re Daddy’s pretty, golden princess, aren’t you, Faith?” He smiles as he caresses my curls. “Yes, you are, and I love you the best of all.”
My hand dropped as if the fire behind me had reached out and singed it. The familiar numbness filled my chest along with a sense of determination. I needed answers.
But first, I had something to do.