On the third ring, he picked up. “Yeah.”
“I finished the background check on Duke Black and you won’t like what I found.”
So much for my ultimatum. Ginny scraped the supper leftovers into the bin under the kitchen sink, wishing she could expunge Rick from her thoughts as easily. She had enough crises in her life with trying to stop some crazy person from disrupting the group home’s progress. If she had to deal with Rick as well, she might be the one who needed an institution.
She’d given him two days to quit on his own. Not because she believed his woebegone story, but because the Bible says to forgive the person who sins against you. Seventy-seven times, if necessary. And the Lord knew she had plenty of experience putting that advice into practice living with an alcoholic mother.
Yet, not only hadn’t Rick cooperated, he’d dismissed the security guard she had hired to patrol the grounds and had practically throttled her after she invited the press to the construction site for a photo op. If her uncle had been in town, she would’ve outed Rick, then and there. Tonight, she would.
Ginny glanced out the window to see if she’d need an umbrella and noticed the same gray car that had crept past the house half an hour ago.
The phone rang. Lori dashed into the kitchen, sliding to a halt as Ginny grabbed the receiver. The muffled sound of Lori’s favorite game show drifted in from the living room.
“I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Laud,” Uncle Emile’s newest secretary said in the overly formal tone of someone trying too hard to sound professional. “He asked me to inform you that Mr. Black will attend the council meeting in his place tonight.”
“What? No.” The building inspector had insisted they obtain a variance after someone—their saboteur, no doubt—complained that the location of the wheelchair ramp violated the town’s building codes. Facing town council would be stressful enough without adding Rick to the equation.
“Mr. Black apparently has experience dealing with government,” the woman assured her and clicked off before Ginny had a chance to respond.
Yeah, the justice department. Ginny slapped down the phone. “How could he?”
Glass shattered on the floor behind her. “How could he?” Lori parroted.
Ginny spun around to scold her sister, but at the sight of Lori staring wide-eyed at the broken shards, a laugh with an hysterical edge popped out instead. Brown moppy hair framed pudgy cheeks and a broad, flattened nose. Even at eighteen, Lori had the innocence of a young child. Sometimes she drove Ginny crazy, but Ginny could never stay mad at her.
Lori tossed another plate. “How could he?” she repeated, this time with a grin.
Ginny lunged for the remaining stack of dishes. “No, don’t.” She grabbed the bowl from Lori’s hand, but Lori wouldn’t let go. “Come on, sweetie. Give it to me. You can’t smash the dishes. It’s not funny. I’m sorry I laughed.”
They both let go and the bowl shattered across the floor.
Lori wagged her hands, shifting from foot to foot.
Glass crunched.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” Lori bellowed and plopped onto a chair, grabbing her foot.
Ginny gently peeled off Lori’s sock. As soon as Lori saw the blood, her tears started.
“Shh, now. I’ll put a bandage on that cut and you’ll be fine.”
Mom appeared at the doorway, looking ten years older than she had when she’d slipped to her room during supper. The lines of her disease—well, both of them—had carved fatigue in her face, and her thinning hair made her seem skeletal. A faded pink bathrobe hung from her shoulders and her threadbare slippers offered little protection against the broken glass.
“Watch your step,” Ginny cautioned as she focused on tending Lori’s cut.
Mom teetered and reached a knobby hand out for a chair. She stared at the mess as if Ginny were again three and had helped herself to a glass from the cupboard.
“What happened in here?” Mom’s voice slid through her throat, unanchored and sloppy.
Ginny prayed she didn’t intend to shore up with another secreted bottle. “It’s okay, Mom. Just a couple of broken dishes.” She hadn’t yet mustered the courage to confront Mom with the telltale signs she’d tumbled from the proverbial wagon after years of restraint. The small brown paper bags. Breath mints on her night table. Unsteadiness Ginny might otherwise have blamed on the cancer. She couldn’t have endured the inevitable denials.
The doctors tried to treat Mom’s cancer, but they had no remedy for heartache over a wasted life.
Mom glanced at the clock. “Don’t we have to be at the council meeting soon?”
“You don’t have to come. The approval process is just a formality.”
“Nonsense. Those crooks on the town council will dream up any excuse to deny us the group home we need. All they care about is lining their pockets.” She fluffed what little hair she had left. “But those clowns will have a harder time living with their consciences if they have to look a dying woman and her handicapped daughter in the eye.”
Ginny’s gaze darted to Lori. They never called Lori handicapped. She was special.
Lori hopped from her chair and clapped her hands. “Clowns?”
Mom smiled the special indulgent smile reserved for Lori. “That’s right, dear. Except these clowns don’t have painted faces. Now you go comb your hair while I get dressed.”
Oh great, that’s just what Ginny needed. Wasn’t it bad enough that the man she’d once loved had happened back into her life, as, uh, Duke? “Mom, do you really think you’re in any condition to go tonight?”
The spark in Mom’s eyes flickered out. “Why can’t you see I’m not that person anymore?”
Because you are. Swallowing the words, Ginny turned away.
Rick’s newest lie had dredged up all the old betrayals—his and Mom’s. Never mind that a small part of her hoped his heart had leaped to life when he saw her, the same way hers had.
Duke. Yeah, sure. His name might be Floyd for all she knew.
And who knew what kind of trouble he’d brought with him?
At the front of the town’s council chambers, Mayor Riley, his double chin tripling, leaned back in his padded leather chair and folded his hands in smug satisfaction.
Ginny sprang to her feet to reiterate a dozen reasons why he should reconsider his veto, but before she could utter a word, Rick’s voice rose from the back of the room.
“Mayor, if I may, I’d like to address the council. I’m the foreman on this project.”
“Your name?”
“Duke.” He flashed a warning glance in Ginny’s direction. “Duke Black.”
The mayor motioned him forward. Ginny slumped into her seat and prayed he didn’t make their situation worse.
“That man looks an awful lot like your Rick,” Mom whispered, her words remarkably clear given the way she’d slurred them earlier.
“He is Rick.”
“Why’s he calling himself Duke?”
“Good question, Mother. Why don’t you ask him?”
Lori’s face scrunched as she pointed at Rick. “That’s—”
Ginny clapped a hand over Lori’s mouth. Lori’s cheeks reddened the way they always did just before she threw a fit.
Thankfully, no one seemed