And that, like so many other outcomes currently unveiling themselves, had once seemed an impossibility.

NINETEEN

As Lane came up to Miss Aurora’s ICU room, there was a crowd of people milling around outside in the hall, and he approached two of Miss Aurora’s nephews as he waved to everyone else. The men were in their twenties, and one was a wide receiver for the Indiana Colts with the other a center for the Miami Heat. Both of their faces were showing all kinds of heartbreak.

“D’Shawne.” Lane clapped hands with one and then the other. “Qwentin. How y’all doing?”

“Thanks for calling us, man.” D’Shawne glanced at his brother. “We don’t know how to handle this.”

“Have you been in to see her?”

“Yessir,” Qwentin replied. “Just been. Our sisters are coming at the end of the day.”

“Mom said we need to be talking about the funeral?” D’Shawne ran his hand down his face. “I mean . . . is it really time?”

“Yes, I think so.” Lane glanced at the closed door with its privacy drapery. “I’ve spoken with Reverend Nyce. He said the church is ours and he’ll get the word out to the congregation.”

“She’s on the prayer list already.” Qwentin shook his head. “I can’t believe this. She was just calling me last weekend. Telling me what I needed to work on over the off-season.”

Lane clapped a hand on the man’s neck. “She was always so proud of you. Both of you. She used to brag on you so hard. And she always said you were her favorites.”

Next thing Lane knew, he was locked in one bear hug and then another. And then the two men walked off.

“Are you telling everyone that they’re her favorite?”

At the sound of Lizzie’s voice, he turned around and smiled. “When did you get here?”

As he held out his arms, Lizzie came forward and embraced him. “Just now. I didn’t want to interrupt. How was the board meeting?”

“Good enough.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m glad to see you, and yes, I’m telling everybody they’re her favorites.”

“How is she? Have you been inside yet?”

“No, not yet.” Lane checked his watch. “Let’s see if we can head in—”

A nurse came rushing out and searched through the crowd. “Mr. Baldwine! She’s coming around—she’s asking for someone? I think it’s you!”

Lane could only blink. “I’m sorry, what—”

“Miss Toms is coming around! I’m calling for the attending right now.”

Lane glanced at Lizzie as people started talking loudly, and then after a quick conversation with the family, it was decided he should go in because he was both the healthcare proxy and the executor of Miss Aurora’s estate.

And he couldn’t handle it without Lizzie so he took her in through the glass door with him.

Over at the side of the bed, Lane skidded to a halt.

“Miss Aurora?” He took the still, cool hand. “Miss Aurora?”

For a moment, he thought it was a cruel joke. But then he saw her mouth move. Leaning down, her mumbling was low but insistent, a stream of words coming out of his momma’s lips.

Lane tried to interpret the syllables. “What are you saying? What do you need?” He glanced up at Lizzie. “Can you hear this?”

Lizzie came around to the other side. “Miss Aurora?”

More with the mumbling, and Lane couldn’t decide whether he wanted the medical staff to arrive—or give him a little more time. If this was the last thing his momma ever said, he didn’t want an interruption before he could figure out what it was.

Suddenly, Lizzie straightened. “Edward? You want to know where Edward is?”

At that moment, Miss Aurora’s eyes popped open. “Where is Edward. I need Edward. . . .”

She didn’t appear to be focused on anything, her pupils dilated and unfixed.

“Edward! I need Edward!”

The onset of the agitation was like a train gathering speed, her arms starting to move and then her legs, some inner engine of panic animating her body.

“Edward!”

As the attending came in with other staff members, Lane backed up so that the white coats and nurses could gather around the bed.

He didn’t want to admit it, but it killed him that, of all the people his momma wanted to see . . . it was his older brother, not him. And how petty was that.

The important thing was that she was conscious.

“What’s going on?” he demanded of the staff as Lizzie came over next to him. “Is she . . . going to be okay?”

Come on, though. Did he think she’d just slept off the damn cancer?

The same nurse who had rung the bell came over. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out. I’m so sorry, but we need space to work.”

“What’s going on? I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

“It’s probably the morphine. At these levels, it can cause hallucinations. One of the attendings will give you an update in a little bit, okay?”

“Come on,” Lizzie said. “We’ll just stay right outside.”

Lane allowed himself to be drawn back out into the corridor. And then he started pacing up and back, up and back. As time passed, and the family dispersed into chairs in the hall, he kept his head down and his eyes on the linoleum. He didn’t trust himself to meet even Lizzie’s kind and worried stare.

Why the hell did she want to talk to Edward?

“Lane.”

“Hm?” He stopped in front of Lizzie and shook himself. “I’m sorry, what?”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Lizzie whispered as she stared at the glass door.

She spoke fast, but very quietly, and when she was done, all he could do was stare at her.

Then, with a shaking hand, Lane took out his cell phone and made a call that was, as far as he could tell, his only option.

The timing for meals in jail was based on a shift rotation of preparers and servers, and one of the things Edward had had to get used to was having breakfast at six a.m., lunch at eleven, and dinner at four in the afternoon.

So when his cell door released at what certainly seemed like late afternoon, he hauled himself up from his bunk in preparation for his shuffle down to the cafeteria with the others. But it was not mealtime, as it turned out.

The guard who opened things up was the same one who had come just before lunch to tell him that his brother wanted to see him.

“You got another visitor.”

“I told you, if it’s Lane Baldwine, I am going to regretfully decline.”

“It’s not him.”

Edward waited for the name. “And it is . . . ?”

“It’s a woman.”

“Okay, that’s a no, too.” He sat back down on his bunk. “I don’t want to see Shelby Landis, either.”

“Well, here’s the thing. I got a call from my supervisor? And he says I have to bring you down. Or I’m going to have to explain to him how I messed this up. And if I mess this up, my supervisor is going to give me bad shifts for the rest of this month—”

“That’s not legal, you know. A hostile working environment is not just about harassment—”

“—and I got a new girl, and I need my weekends. So I’m sorry, you’re going to have to come with me.”

“Who is your supervisor?” Even though Edward knew.

“Deputy Ramsey.”

“Of course.” Edward closed his eyes. “Look, this is really unnecessary—”

“Come on, I have to have you out of here and into the meeting room in five minutes. He’s calling to make sure you get down there.”

“And let me guess, you’re prepared to throw me over your shoulder and carry me out of here if you have to.”

“Yup.” At least the guy had the grace to seem honestly chagrined. “I’m sorry, but I gotta do what my supervisor tells me to.”

As Edward stood back up, he was thinking about two things: one, that whole line parents gave their kids, the old “If so and so told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?”; and two, that he might owe Deputy Ramsey his life, but even that debt was getting stretched thin with all this visiting bullshit.