Also by Ernest Hill
A Person of Interest
Cry Me a River
It’s All About the Moon When the Sun Ain’t Shining
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
FAMILY TIES
ERNEST HILL
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
For my three little Angels,
Priya, Jioni, and Amiya.
I am proud of the spirited girls that you are,
and I look forward to the dynamic women
that you will become.
You are my heart.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my agent, Frank Weimann, for his excellent representation; my editor, Selena James, for her insightful questions and comments; my family and friends, for their unwavering support; my readers, for their continued interest in these characters; and all the dedicated souls who make up the Kensington family.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
A Reading Group Guide
Discussion Questions
1
I stood before the window watching large torrents of rain fall from the eave of the roof. But my mind formed no lasting image of the rain; instead, the sound of the rain cast a strange spell upon me, a spell that cautioned me to fully contemplate what had just happened. And as I did, fresh tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I mourned from a place deep within my soul, and as I mourned, I felt rise in me a rage that echoed the voice that told me to leave this place and to forget these people and to begin life anew in a town where I was not known. A town hundreds of miles from Lake Providence, Louisiana.
I turned from the window and removed the tiny suitcase from the closet. I pulled open the dresser drawer, and I was about to remove my clothes when footsteps in the corridor made me turn and look. Behind me, in the shadows of the hallway, I saw the dim form of a heavyset woman. It was Mr. Henry’s sister, the one we called Miss Big Siss. She eased forward, and I could see that she was still wearing the long black dress and wide brim hat she had worn at the funeral. She made it to the doorway, then stopped. She looked at me. Our eyes met.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Her question caused me to pause. I looked at her, then sank onto the bed, fighting against raw emotions tugging at my already moist eyes. I opened my mouth to answer her, but no words came. I turned my head back toward the window again. Outside, the rain had ceased, and in its place hung a dreary, ominous-looking haze. But I was neither seeing the haze, nor the trees, nor the tiny vegetable garden nestled just beyond the hurricane fence; instead, I was seeing the undertaker as he slowly lowered the steel blue coffin into the recently excavated earth. Suddenly my emotions broke and I began to sob again.
“Hush, now,” she said. “Henry wouldn’t want that.”
I felt the bed give, and then I felt her arm about my shoulders, hugging me tight, gently rocking me from side to side.
A moment passed and then she spoke again. “Henry lived a good life,” she said, then paused. I closed my eyes. I felt my body begin to tremble. “But he had gotten old and tired, and it was just his time to go.” She paused again, waiting for me to say something, but I remained quiet. “He was proud of you,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
I didn’t answer.
“You were like a son to him.”
I still didn’t answer.
“And I thank you for what you did for him.”
Suddenly a lump filled my throat; I opened my eyes and looked at her. “I didn’t do anything,” I said.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, ma’am…I didn’t.”
“You did,” she said. “Before he closed his eyes, you allowed him to see his dream. And I thank you for that.”
I
