know?” Martha asked, her tone sly and taunting. “Do they?”
People believed she had no family, that her parents were dead and all that was left were distant cousins. They thought she’d been raised in Charleston, where she had, in fact, done a fair amount of growing up, that she’d lived a normal, if somewhat family-deficient, life.
Ironically, Anamaria, whom she’d known the shortest time, had guessed there was more to Ellie than the story she told. But that was none of Martha’s business. Nothing about Ellie was her business.
“How did you find me?”
Martha grinned and lifted one bony shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve got my sources.”
“What do you want?”
Martha felt in her pockets, coming up with a pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. Ellie let her shake one out and slide it between her lips, then said, “Don’t smoke here.”
Martha hesitated, hands cupped to protect the lighter’s flame, then slowly lowered it. She left the cigarette in her mouth, though. For forty years she’d talked around one. Lit or unlit didn’t matter. “Your father died four months ago.”
No surprise. No disappointment. No regret. The news meant nothing to Ellie, and that was a sad thing.
“Nothing to keep me in Atlanta anymore.”
Oliver Dempsey may not have amounted to anything as a father, but he’d brought home a steady paycheck, enough to cover the basics: housing, transportation, food, booze, tobacco. He’d resented spending any of that paycheck on a teenage daughter whom he considered pretty much worthless, but he’d taken good care of himself and Martha.
And now she wanted someone else to take care of her.
Ellie wanted to laugh, but was afraid what kind of sound would squeeze through the tightness in her throat. “You want money. From me. Is that it?”
Martha stiffened defensively. “I am your mother.”
“Like hell you are. You gave birth to me, you changed a few diapers and you fed me until I was old enough to feed myself. That doesn’t make you my mother.”
“Don’t you get smart with me—”
“Remember the last time I saw you?” Ellie interrupted. “When I pleaded with you to let me come home? When I was hungry and sleeping in abandoned buildings and I begged you to help me?”
Martha’s expression was contempt tinged with regret. Not because she regretted throwing her teenage daughter out of the house, not because she’d never loved or protected Ellie the way a mother was supposed to, but because her past actions were going to interfere with getting what she wanted now. She was about to be held accountable, and Martha had always hated being accountable.
“You had to learn a lesson,” she said sourly.
“What lesson? That I couldn’t count on my parents? I already knew that. That the next carton of cigarettes and the next case of beer were more important to you than me? I knew that, too. Just what the hell lesson was I supposed to be learning out there?”
“Don’t you cuss at me. I didn’t tolerate it back then, and I won’t now. You won’t disrespect me.”
The urge to laugh bubbled inside Ellie. The idea that she felt anything remotely resembling respect for this woman was ludicrous. If Martha dropped dead in front of her right that moment, she would feel nothing more than relief that such an ugly part of her life had ended.
“You want money,” Ellie said again, her voice flat. “How much?”
Martha smiled, showing teeth in need of care and greed that made her eyes damn near sparkle. “Well, now, it’s hard to say. Like I said, your daddy’s dead. There’s no reason for me to stay in Atlanta, and truth is, it’s a little late in life for me to be starting a new career. I kind of like the idea of retiring, resettling to be close to my girl and the grandbabies she’s sure to give me someday. I looked around that pretty little house of yours, and that back bedroom would suit me fine. I could even help out down here sometimes, you know, welcome customers to our restaurant and chat with them about this and that.”
Ellie’s spine was stiff enough to hurt. There was no way she would ever let Martha move into her house or help out at her restaurant. She’d burn both places down before letting Martha taint them. Drawing on the cold deep inside her, she said, “So you get a better life than you’ve ever known. And what do I get in return?”
Martha’s vicious smile reappeared. “Your fancy friends don’t find out about this.” From under the trench coat, she produced a manila envelope. “Here. You can keep it. It’s just copies.”
When Ellie made no move to touch it, Martha tossed the envelope on the seat of the rocker next to her, then tugged her coat tighter. “I don’t expect you to say yes right now. Take a walk down Memory Lane. Think about what you stand to lose. I’ll be in touch with you in a day or two.”
Ellie numbly watched her pull the hood over her limp hair, then clump past and down the steps into the rain. She didn’t look to see which way Martha went. The only place Ellie wanted her to go was away, and that wasn’t going to happen until she had what she wanted.
When everything was still, Ellie picked up the envelope with unwilling fingers and hid it inside her own coat. She would take that stroll down Memory Lane—more like Nightmare Street—later. First, she had a restaurant to close for the night.
The clock in the hall chimed eleven times, rousing Tommy from the edges of sleep. The television was still on, framed between his booted feet propped on the coffee table, and Sophy was snuggled beside him, her sweater rustling against his shirt as she shifted. Damn, he must have fallen asleep not long after they’d settled on the couch.
“I should go home.”
“Or you could spend the night.”
He could. It wasn’t as if he had someone to go home to. And he’d slept over before—not a lot but enough to be comfortable with the idea. But having dinner at Ellie’s Deli had guaranteed that his mind would be on someone else—looking for glimpses of her, waiting for her to come to the table to greet them like the old friends they were, wondering how he’d been lucky enough to go there on a day when she wore his favorite outfit: white blouse with a deep V and black skirt that clung to her hips so snugly that it needed a slit so she could walk. Conservative clothes that concealed a tiny lace bra and matching thong, all set off by those incredible black heels. Just the sight of them…
His body twitched, and he silently cursed, hoping Sophy hadn’t noticed. He wouldn’t insult her by pretending he wanted her when Ellie was all over his mind. Her sleek blond hair. Her amazing legs. The confident way she moved. Her smiles, ranging from polite to intimate to wicked.
Oh, yeah, and the drop-dead cold shoulder she gave him these days.
“When it takes you that long to come up with an answer, it’s pretty clear.” Sophy sat up, lowering her feet to the floor.
An answer to…? Then he remembered: staying the night. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just…I’ve got to work tomorrow, and it’s been a long day—”
“And
