Grave Secret Page 0,4
people don't. So, though we'd already deposited the first check from RJ Ranch, the balance was due, and a blind man could tell the whole Joyce party was dubious about what I'd accomplished. Before I could get a good start on worrying about it, Lizzie pulled a folded and creased check from her hip pocket and handed it to Tolliver, who'd gotten close enough to slide his arm around me. I was a little shaky. This hadn't been as hard as some readings, because Rich Joyce'd only had a second's surge of fear before he passed over, but direct contact with the dead is draining.
"Need candy?" he asked.
I nodded. He got a Werther's Original out of his pocket and unwrapped it. I opened my mouth and he popped it in. Golden buttery goodness.
"I thought he was your brother," Kate Joyce said, inclining her head toward Tolliver. Though I knew she had to be in her late twenties, there were more years of experience than that in the way she walked and spoke. I wondered if this was the result of being brought up rich but practical in Texas, or if life in the Joyce household had had other sources of stress.
"He is," I said.
"Looks more like your boyfriend." Drexell sniggered.
"I'm her stepbrother and her boyfriend, Drex," Tolliver said pleasantly. "We'll be on the road. Thanks for asking us to help you with your problem." He nodded at them all. He's less than six feet, but not by much, and he's thin, but he has a set of shoulders on him.
I love him more than anything.
THE sound of the shower woke me up. We see the inside of so many motel rooms that sometimes I have to spend a second or two recalling where the particular motel room is located. This was one of those mornings.
Texas. After we'd left the Joyces, we had driven most of the previous afternoon to reach this motel off the interstate in Garland, outside of Dallas. This wasn't a business trip; it was personal.
I had that consciousness when I opened my eyes, that grim awareness that I was thinking too much about the old, bad times. Whenever we visit my aunt and her husband outside of Dallas, the bad memories resurface.
It's not the fault of the state.
When I'm close to my little sisters, I start remembering the broken trailer in Texarkana, the one where Tolliver and I lived with his father, my mother, his brother, my sister, and our two mutual sibs, who were practically babies at the time that household dissolved.
The delicately balanced deception we older kids had maintained for several years had collapsed when my older sister, Cameron, vanished. Our unpleasant home life had been exposed to public view, and our little sisters had been taken away. Tolliver had gone to live with his brother, Mark, and I'd gone to a foster home.
The two little girls didn't even remember Cameron. I'd asked them the last time we saw them. The girls live with Aunt Iona and Uncle Hank, who don't like us to visit. We do, though; Mariella and Grace (called Gracie) are our sisters, and we want them to remember they have family.
I propped up on one elbow to watch Tolliver drying himself off. He'd left the bathroom door open while he showered, because otherwise the mirror became too foggy for him to use while he shaved.
We don't look unalike; we're both thin and dark haired. Our hair's even about the same length. His eyes are brown; mine are dark gray. But Tolliver's complexion is pitted and scarred from acne, because his dad didn't think of sending him to a dermatologist. His face is narrower, and he often has a mustache. He hates wearing anything besides jeans and shirts, but I like to dress up a bit more, and since I'm the "talent," it's more or less expected. Tolliver is my manager, my consultant, my main support, my companion, and for the past few weeks he's been my lover.
He turned to look at me, saw I was watching. He smiled and dropped the towel.
"Come here," I said.
He was quick to oblige.
"WANT to go for a run?" I asked in the afternoon. "You can take another shower afterward, with me. So you won't waste water."
We had our running clothes on in no time, and we took off after we'd stretched. Tolliver's faster than I am. Most often, he pulls away for the last half mile or so, and today was no exception.
We were pleased