Page 122 of Panty Dropper

“What is it?” she asked as emotion began filling her bottom lids.

“Yellow,” I answered.

Her lips pursed. “Do you know what she is most scared of?”

“Snakes.”

“Do you know what time she wakes up every morning?”

“Is she okay? What is this about—” I started to stand.

“She’s fine.” She lifted her hand and repeated. “Do you know what time she wakes up in the morning?”

“Yes.” I slowly lowered back down. “Five twelve.”

Her lower lip trembled as she took in a shaky breath. “Do you know what the worst day of her life was?”

“Yes.”

“Was it the day that Hal died?”

I thought about lying to her and saying yes, but for some reason I didn’t. “No. That was the second worst.”

She gripped the edges of the chair as if bracing herself for what she was going to hear next. “What was the worst day?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.” It was one thing to tell Reagan’s mom her favorite color, or what she was scared of. It was totally different to reveal something so personal, especially since it involved the person I was telling.

Two crocodile sized tears fell down Tina’s face, she wiped them with the back of her hand. “Please, Billy. I know you don’t know me from a can of paint, but I’m asking, no begging, you to tell me. I haven’t been a good mama to Fancy. If anything, she’s the one to always look after me. And it is killing me that I don’t know my own baby. I don’t have any idea what the worst day of her life was.” Her shoulders shook as she cried silently.

Years behind the bar had made me a pretty good judge of whether people were putting on a show or if they were for real. Tina might not’ve been a good mom, but she was being sincere now. Maybe it was because I lost my mama that seeing one in this much pain killed me, or maybe I was just a sucker. I would beg Reagan to forgive me later, but I had to tell this broken woman what she was asking.

I handed her a handkerchief I kept in my back pocket.

“Thank you.” She sniffed and wiped her face.

“It was when she was six years old. She woke up and you were unconscious on the couch. She found a bottle of pills beside you and called the ambulance. She thought you were dead.”

“Oh my God.” Tina gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

“It gets worse.” I warned her. “Do you want me to continue?”

She nodded.

“She called 911 and when the ambulance showed up, they were trying to resuscitate you. She got scared and decided to run to her babysitter’s.”

“Miss Darla,” Tina breathed.

“I think so, yeah. On her way she saw her father. He was putting signs up for an open house. She confronted him and he rejected her. She thought you were gone and her father didn’t want her. That was the worst day of her life.”

Instead of breaking down completely, like I’d expected her to do, she took a deep breath and sat up taller. “Thank you for telling me. I just have one more question.”

“What’s that?” My stomach turned at what she might want me to reveal next.

“Do you love my daughter?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. That was the easiest question she could’ve asked. “I love your daughter.”

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