thought reaching out to Jacob, holding on to any shred of hope that he might accept her, was a waste of time. She insisted that Riley would never allow either one of them to play a significant role in Jacob’s life and Phoenix was a fool for trying to prove she cared.
Maybe it was true.
With a shake of her head, she started back to her own trailer, which wasn’t easy with one bare foot. She had to thread her way through the refuse that had been dumped in the yard since before she was born. That meant circumventing old tires, two broken-down vehicles from when her mother did drive, a decrepit, hand-powered lawn mower, a washing machine. But it wasn’t the big stuff that worried her now that Kyle wasn’t there to see it. She was afraid she’d step on a nail or a piece of broken glass.
If she hadn’t been looking so carefully, she might’ve missed the banged-up bike peeking out from under an old mattress. Once she’d pulled it out, she saw that it had two flat tires and the frame was rusty, but...maybe she could fix it. Then she wouldn’t have to walk every time she needed to go to town.
Pushing the bike, she reached the trailer and leaned it up against the side. This was a project she’d have to tackle later.
She was just climbing the three steps to her door when her mother screeched her name.
From her new vantage point, Phoenix couldn’t see Lizzie’s steps—or Lizzie, either—but it wasn’t difficult to tell she was standing where she’d been before. She rarely came all the way outside.
“Yes?” she called back.
“My toilet’s plugged up!”
Phoenix allowed herself a grimace but was careful to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Did you try to plunge it?”
“You know I can’t bend over like that!”
So who’d played the role of plumber before Phoenix got home? The guy who’d delivered the groceries? Or did Lizzie call—and somehow pay—for a professional? Maybe she got a cut rate, like at the vet’s...
Phoenix didn’t bother asking. She went back and unclogged the toilet. Then she washed the blood off her feet and found some Band-Aids to protect her blisters.
“I’m hungry,” her mother announced as soon as she was done, so she warmed up some soup, hoping her mother would eat a healthy meal instead of the cheap pizza, soda, chips, cookies and candy she normally consumed. Only when Phoenix had finished cleaning out a small section of her mother’s kitchen—the one part not buried beneath all the things her mother hoarded—did she feel free to return to her own place, and by then it was after two in the afternoon.
The day was getting away from her, and she still had several bracelet orders to fill. She also planned to make some progress on the overhaul of her trailer. She’d been living out of the kitchen, bathroom and one bedroom—all she’d managed to put right so far. That alone was a major improvement over what she’d known in prison, but she was determined to turn her humble abode into a home she could be proud of, for its cleanliness if nothing else. People in Whiskey Creek might not believe that she was innocent of Lori Mansfield’s murder, but at least she’d show them she wasn’t willing to live in filth, like her mother.
She’d eventually have to clean the yard, too, if Lizzie would let her. It hadn’t been easy to talk her mother into allowing her to move the junk from the trailer into an old shed. Lizzie was terrified some of it would be thrown away, since the shed was full, too. And that was exactly what Phoenix had done. There wasn’t room for all the newspapers, plastic bags, paper sacks, balls of aluminum foil, empty soda bottles and other garbage her mother had collected. So when Lizzie wasn’t looking, Phoenix had made piles behind her trailer. Then she’d gone out early yesterday morning, on trash day, and dumped everything in the county’s container.
Phoenix was still frightened her mother would find out. Lizzie couldn’t bear to part with a single scrap of anything for fear she’d need it later. But she wasn’t as mobile as she used to be. Phoenix hoped that would save her from discovery. She had enough battles to fight at the moment. She didn’t need a big argument with her mother.
Once Phoenix removed her brown linen shorts and crisp blue cotton blouse—more damp than crisp after her walk home—she pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of old jeans she’d cut into shorts and belted because they were too big for her. The clothes had belonged to one of her brothers. She wasn’t sure which. She hadn’t seen Kip or Cary since she was ten. They’d both left town as soon as they could and never looked back. Kip hadn’t even been eighteen.
Phoenix had thought they might return one day, for her sake, and maybe they would have, if she hadn’t gone to prison. Her mother had spoken to them during her trial and asked them to send money for her defense. They’d helped a little, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to do any good, and they’d only written her a couple of times since. She guessed they considered her a lost cause, like their mother.
Finally beginning to relax after her anxious morning, she started the bracelets that had to be shipped on Monday. She planned to paint afterward. Although the gallon she’d discovered in the old shed at the back of the property wouldn’t go very far, there were another couple of gallons out there, and she found rehabbing the trailer to be a soothing exercise. She loved seeing the place transformed, figured she might as well do what she could with the paint while her mother had her favorite shows to entertain her and was less likely to need anything.
But she couldn’t work as fast as usual. She was too absorbed in thinking about her son, kept stopping to look at the picture of him with braces. She was just planning how she’d decorate his room, which was something she enjoyed imagining, when she put her head down on her wobbly excuse for a desk. She was only going to rest for a few minutes...
* * *
“What do you mean you gave Phoenix a ride?” Although Jacob had helped Riley do the prep work for the shower they were putting in the Victorian that was their current project, Riley had dropped him off at the high school so he could do some weight training with the rest of the baseball team. He’d purposely waited until he was alone to follow up on the text he’d received from Kyle at noon.
“She was walking along the side of the road when I was heading out to see Callie, who has some interesting news to share, by the way.”
Riley opened his mouth to ask for more information about Phoenix but was distracted by the mention of Callie.
“What kind of news?”
“I want to tell you, but...on second thought, I’d better wait and let her.”
“Is something wrong? She’s okay, isn’t she? I mean...nothing’s wrong with the transplant?”
Due to nonalcoholic fatty liver disease, their good friend had a liver transplant a couple of years ago, just before she married her husband, Levi. She seemed to be doing well since, but she had to take immunosuppressant drugs every day, and they had some unfavorable side effects. Riley had always been a little uneasy about her, terrified that there might be a problem with her new liver. If the transplant hadn’t become available when it did, they would’ve lost her.
“She’s fine. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
So what, then? Riley reflected on what they’d been talking about yesterday, when the entire group met at Black Gold Coffee, like they did every Friday. “She’s been planning to expand her photography studio. Is that what’s going on? Did she find the
