of knot there was, thanks to Josh’s stint in the Boy Scouts.
Crouching at the top of the ladder, she slipped the noose around her neck. Her hands trembled. She had no idea how much it was going to hurt, but the pain could be no worse than what she was feeling inside.
With an angry burst of determination, Marilee stood straight up. And banged her head on the ceiling beam with such force she almost fell off the ladder. In fact, she would have, had she not grabbed the beam to steady herself. The room spun wildly beneath her and she felt her eyes cross. Her skull throbbed. Afraid she’d given herself a concussion, Marilee stood there, trying to clear her head. The floor seemed miles away. It felt as if she was standing on top of Chickpea’s water tower, where she and Grady had sneaked up the night she’d turned sixteen. They’d kissed under the stars and promised to love one another forever.
Forever. So why, at age thirty-five, was she all alone in the world?
Marilee swallowed the lump in her throat. Well, she wasn’t really alone. She had friends who loved her, people who were probably worried sick about her this very moment. And she had a son. He might not like her right now, but what if he—heaven forbid—ended up blaming himself for her suicide? Josh would have to spend his entire life living with it.
What if he was just going through a stage and didn’t really hate her? What if there was the slightest chance of reconciliation?
What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she seen enough suffering in her life to know that everybody got a dose of it now and then? Parents died, kids rebelled, husbands cheated. And here she was, standing on top of this shoddy ladder with a noose around her neck and what could possibly be a serious head injury. Not only that—her best outfit and makeup were ruined, her shoes were all wrong and she smelled like a Texaco station.
She was being weak and selfish, Marilee told herself. She needed to stop wallowing in self-pity and start working on her problems, namely getting her son out of that den of iniquity. She needed to clean up her parents’ house, find a job and show folks that she was made of tougher stuff than this! And she was tough, dang it. As a minister’s wife, she had sat with the dying, comforted the bereaved and brought smiles to nursing-home patients who felt neglected, of no use to the world and wanted to die. “The Lord has a purpose for us all,” Marilee had told them. “He will bring us home when he’s ready. Until then, we must have faith.”
She was glad those poor people couldn’t see her now, those who were old and sick and in pain. She was young and healthy and had every reason to live. It didn’t feel that way right now, but tomorrow she might see things differently.
Tomorrow. She suddenly realized she wanted to wake up to another day, no matter how bleak the future seemed at the moment.
But first she had to get down this ladder in one piece.
Her mind made up, Marilee tried to decide the best way to descend without ending up in a wheelchair and sporting a handicapped sticker on her car. Working up her last nerve, she oh so slowly knelt at the very top, trying to balance herself like a seal on a large ball. Her high heels proved a serious hindrance, and she decided she had to remove them. Somehow. Still perched precariously, Marilee tried to slip one off, but the ladder gave a shudder and veered right. Quickly she leaned in the opposite direction but overcorrected. Dang, she thought, only a split second before she lost her balance and toppled.
She had been so intent on getting down she had forgotten to take off the noose. Now it snapped tight around her neck. She was only vaguely aware of a noise overhead, and then it sounded as if the whole house was crashing down around her. Poor Josh. It was her last thought. Something hit her on the head, and then there was blackness.
SAM BREWER WAS IN A FOUL MOOD. As he grabbed a shovel from the garage and carried it to his mother’s flower bed, he could only imagine what the neighbors were saying as they peered out the windows at him. Without a doubt, Edna-Lee Bodine from across the street had her nose pressed flat against the windowpane this very moment, watching and fogging up the glass.
“There goes Sam Brewer digging in his mother’s flower bed again,” she’d tell her husband, who kept his own nose buried in a newspaper. “No telling what that old bat has gone and buried this time.” There were times Sam wished his mother would bury Mrs. Bodine in the flower bed. “And just look at him,” Edna-Lee would say. “Why, he looks like a derelict. No telling when he last shaved or combed his hair.”
Sam knew he looked like hell, but how was he supposed to groom himself when almost everything he owned was buried? His mother had set out to make a point, and she’d done just that. After all, her great-great-grandmother had buried the family silver to protect it from the Yankees during the Civil War; Nell Brewer had decided it was up to her to protect their belongings from “Nurse Ratched,” as she referred to her latest caretaker, whom she claimed was stealing. Sam had to admit the retired nurse had the personality of a troll, but his mother had managed to run off several of her “companions” over the past six months. This latest one had stormed off the minute she caught wind of the accusations against her, just as his mother knew she would.
Now he was saddled with the chore of finding someone new, despite claims from his mother that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That hadn’t been the case six months ago, when she’d insisted she was going blind and losing her mind and needed him there. He’d sold his construction company in Atlanta and moved home to Chickpea so he could personally look after her. Truth was, he’d been looking to leave the rat race behind and find a simpler life anyway. Now he was building single-family dwellings with an old high-school buddy, and Sam rather liked it that way.
Except that his mother was driving him crazy.
Why did women have to be so difficult?
That reminded him of what a royal pain in the butt his ex-wife was. It didn’t matter that they’d been divorced five years now. Shelly still called him for every little thing and was constantly borrowing money, despite the healthy alimony check he sent every month.
Seemed there was no way to win, especially where the opposite sex was involved.
With a muttered oath, Sam searched for a fresh mound of dirt that might produce his electric shaver and the iron he needed to press his shirt before he met with an architect in an hour. He drove the shovel into the soft ground and struck something solid. He pulled a plastic bag from the dirt. Ah-ha! He’d found his electric shaver, perfectly intact. At least his mother was thoughtful enough to wrap everything before sticking it into a hole in the ground. Nevertheless, it had to stop. Yesterday it had been his combs and toothbrush, which was why he looked like the world’s biggest slob.
He stabbed the dirt once more, just as a piercing scream ripped through the late-morning air, jolting his already strained nerves. Dropping the shovel, he lunged toward his house before he realized the sound had come from the Browns’ next door. He stopped, shook himself and turned in the opposite direction.
Sam jumped the hedges separating the properties and raced across the lawn like a marathon runner, skirting bushes and a large cast-iron pot that had gone to rust. He’d assumed the house was vacant. At least, he hadn’t noticed anyone coming or going. But it was of little concern to him as he took the front steps in one leap. He crossed the porch and knocked. No answer. The door was locked.
The scream still echoing in his mind, he knew he had no choice but to break down the door. He braced himself and rammed it hard. Pain ripped through his shoulder, radiated down his arm and arched across his back, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He slammed against the door once more, and the sound of splintering wood told him he’d succeeded.
Stepping
