and by the time Tanyalee finished, Fern had eaten her triple dip with sprinkles and had a real bad headache.
“You were married to Cheri’s husband?”
She nodded slowly. “Many years ago.”
Fern squinted into the sunset. “Ain’t that confusing for your family?”
Tanyalee laughed but shook her head. “Everybody knows J.J. and Cheri were always meant to be together, so nobody gets confused.”
“Huh.” Fern pushed off from the dirt and began to swing a little higher. She liked how the back-and-forth of the swing made a clicking and squeaking sound, almost like Three-Gee when she snored. She liked the feel of the wind in her hair.
Fern didn’t know why, exactly, but she started talking to Tanyalee about stuff, too, and it was stuff she’d never told nobody—not the CPS workers, or her teachers, or even Three-Gee. She told Tanyalee about how her mama ran off when she was a baby and nobody ever saw her again.
“I ain’t even got a picture of her. All I’ve got is the bunny she gave me when I was real tiny.”
Click. Creeeeak.
“Your mama must have been very beautiful if you look anything like her.”
“That’s what Gladys says.”
Click. Creeeeak.
Fern told Tanyalee about how her daddy walked around like he was lost all the time, like he couldn’t figure how to do the stuff most people seemed to do just fine—like paying bills and buying food and working at a job. He did read to her sometimes, and liked to play Monopoly and checkers with her, Fern told Tanyalee. But she also talked about the meth and the Spiveys and the tree house. She told Tanyalee all about how Dante was there, how he hardly said a word but kept an eye out for her, and how he saved her bunny the day he took her away from that awful place.
Tanyalee stared at her, looking like she was about to cry.
Click. Creeeeak.
And right out of the blue, Tanyalee said, “I know how lonely it feels to lose your parents. Mine were killed when I was five, and I went to live with Aunt Viv, who’s really my great-aunt.”
Fern’s eyeballs nearly popped out. Tanyalee was an orphan, just like Fern? It was almost too strange to believe! “I live with my great-grandmother!”
“I know.” Tanyalee smiled.
By that time, Tanyalee was swinging along with Fern, and they were kicking up into the air, getting higher and higher. Fern started giggling and couldn’t seem to stop.
Click, click. Creeeak, creeeak.
On the way back to Tanyalee’s car, Fern told her one last thing. “It’s always been on me. I ain’t never been able to rely on nobody until Three-Gee and you and all your friends and family and stuff. The people in Bigler have been better to me than anyone ever has in all my life.”
Tanyalee smiled down at her and put an arm around her shoulder. Fern hardly felt twitchy at all. “I’m glad you don’t mind hanging out with us, because I’ve got some news for you, Fern Bisbee.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re stuck with us—the whole lot. But you’re stuck with me most of all, because as long as you want me around, I’ll be there. I’ll be your friend when you’re Gladys’s age, if you want.”
Fern looked up at her, worried. “Will I end up wearing spandex when I’m Gladys’s age?”
Tanyalee tipped her head back and laughed. “Not if I can help it, you won’t.”
On the car ride back to Three-Gee’s, Tanyalee got a little mushy. “You’re a very strong young woman, Fern. You’ve been through an awful lot, but I look at you and I see this brilliant and brave person. You can do anything you want with your life.”
Fern gave it some thought. “You know, what I want most is to be happy and be around the people I love who love me back.”
Tanyalee gasped and reached across the front seat for Fern’s hand. “See what I mean? You’re a genius, Miss Bisbee.”
Chapter 20
Wainright Miller emptied the safe and shoved his automatic pistol into his waistband. He grabbed his travel documents, keys, and laptop. Hell no, this wasn’t how he had planned it—but this was how it was.
If he were going to survive, he’d have to adapt.
Minutes ago, he’d learned that Spivey’s last two meth bozos had been murdered inside the walls of the Gaston County Jail. Cops had moved them there as a precautionary measure after that idiot meth cook got himself dead in the local lockup before his fingerprint ink was dry.
Miller could do the math. He was now the