“That’s a new kind of mood. Are you sick?”

  “No. Please look at the calendar in the kitchen and tell me what’s on it.”

  “I’m there now,” his mother replied. “I have a brunch at eleven with Kitty Dawson and her sister who’s visiting from Jacksonville. Other than that, I don’t have any plans.”

  “So you’ll be there in the afternoon?”

  “Kitty likes to talk, so it will be around two o’clock before I’m home. Why does that matter?”

  “I’ll plan on stopping by around three o’clock. That way you don’t have to rush.”

  Buddy ended the call before his mother could ask any more questions. His next call was to Gracie.

  “Buddy, that’s wonderful,” she said after he’d given her the update. “What are you going to do with Elise?”

  “Stare at her and listen to the sound of her voice.”

  “She’s seventeen years old, not seventeen months.”

  “I’ll feed her solid food. Maybe I’ll take them to the Southside Grill for lunch. I’ve set up my mother for a surprise visit at three o’clock.”

  “Are you sure you should surprise her?”

  “Yeah, it would be more stressful for her thinking about the visit than if we just showed up.”

  “She’s going to cry.”

  “I might cry too.”

  “Anyone would cry. Have you talked to Mayleah yet?”

  “No.”

  “She called me after you dropped me off. She’s on her way back from Atlanta. The police have already brought Katrina Caldwell, alias Patricia Nichols, in for questioning and have a search warrant for the apartments.”

  Buddy checked the time on his watch. “Mayleah should be back by now, but I bet she’s exhausted. I’ll wait to talk to her.”

  “Yeah, she didn’t sleep any last night.”

  * * *

  The following morning Buddy arrived early at the office.

  “What brings you in at the crack of dawn?” Millie asked.

  “I need to clear my schedule tomorrow. I’m going to be out of the office most of the day.”

  Millie pulled up his calendar. “You don’t have anything until Pete Molitor comes in around lunchtime.”

  “I’m going to reschedule with Pete, and also push the conference call with Merriwether Wells to another day,” Buddy said casually. “I met my daughter in Atlanta on Saturday, and she’s coming for a visit.”

  Millie’s mouth dropped open. “Elise is coming here?” she said as her hands went to her heart. “This is unbelievable,” she said. “After all these years. How? Where?”

  “There’s a lot to tell.”

  Millie settled into her chair. “Jennifer won’t be here for another hour. I’ll log out so you don’t have to pay me.”

  Buddy smiled and said, “That’s okay—you deserve to know.”

  In telling Millie, Buddy focused on the encounter with Amber and Elise, not the dark saga with Reagan.

  “And Amber is okay with you being in Elise’s life?”

  “So far.”

  “Why not earlier?”

  “She wasn’t hiding from me; she was hiding from her father. After he died a few years ago, she thought about reaching out to me but didn’t.”

  “Because Rascal told her you’d moved on with your life?”

  Buddy nodded. “Pretty much, yes. That part stung. You were probably right about his motive in thinking he was protecting me from an obligation I didn’t want or a responsibility I couldn’t carry.”

  “I’m sorry,” Millie said and slowly shook her head. “But that’s in the past, and I’m excited about tomorrow.”

  * * *

  The following day Buddy nervously paced through the house as it got closer to the time for Amber and Elise to arrive. Eleven o’clock came and went without anyone turning into his driveway. Fifteen minutes later he heard the sound of a car outside, but it was someone turning around to head down the street in another direction. He picked up his phone and sent Amber a text asking if she was having trouble finding the house. She immediately replied:

  No. We’re here.

  Throwing open the front door, Buddy saw the red Volvo pull into the driveway. Amber was in the passenger seat. Elise was behind the wheel and wearing sunglasses. They got out. Elise had on jeans and a turquoise top. Her wavy brown hair looked much like the style Maddie adopted when she was in college. His daughter removed her sunglasses and walked up to him with the same firm footsteps that had compelled her across the parking lot to help rescue Reagan Landry.

  Buddy started to hold out his hand, but Elise stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. Even the brief touch was indelibly imprinted on Buddy’s mind.

  “What do you want me to call you?” she asked in a voice that held hints of the same tones as her mother’s.

  “I don’t know,” Buddy managed. “I guess you could call me Buddy. You already have a dad, and I’m not here to take his place.”

  A broad smile creased Elise’s face. “Okay, Buddy it is. Until we agree on something else.”

  “Come inside,” he said. “We can sit on the back porch. I thought we might grab lunch later at the Southside Grill.”

  Sitting on the porch, Buddy felt awkward. As he’d mentioned to Gracie, he simply wanted to stare at Elise and listen to her talk without caring what she said, but she seemed to be holding back. He didn’t know what to say to a seventeen-year-old woman to jump-start a conversation. He wished Gracie were present.

  “I talk all the time in my job,” he finally said. “And I’ve rehearsed a thousand times what I’d say if this moment came, but right now I’m tongue-tied.”

  Elise smiled. “Why don’t you tell me about the first time you saw me?” she suggested.

  Buddy’s paralysis lifted. “You were a beautiful baby,” he said. “Way cuter than any of the other infants in the hospital nursery.”

  For the next few hours they talked back and forth. Instead of going to the Southside Grill, they fixed deli sandwiches at Buddy’s house. Having Elise in his kitchen made the house seem more like a home than it ever had.

  “Have you thought about where you want to go to college after you graduate from high school?” Buddy asked after they finished eating.

  “My dad went to Georgia Tech, so that’s on my list. But I’m also thinking about liberal arts schools like Vanderbilt and Wake Forest.”

  Buddy remembered what Amber said about Elise having the funds to go anywhere she wanted because of the money paid by Rascal. As he listened to his daughter, Buddy picked up on other traits that existed in his family line. Elise liked to paint and be outside in nature.

  “Tell him about running,” Amber said.

  “I’m on the cross-country team. I was second-team all-conference last year, and I hope to do better this year. My goal is to run a marathon this winter.”

  “That’s good,” Buddy said. “I’ve completed several marathons.”

  “Would you like to do another one?”

  Despite his having advised Dr. Simpson that he’d given up marathons, Buddy made a split-second decision: “Yes. Could we do it together?”

  “I wouldn’t want to hold you back—”

  “Don’t worry about that. My goal would be to keep up with you and finish. Did you ever play fast-pitch softball during high school?”

  “I made the junior varsity team when I was in the ninth grade, but when they started throwing curveballs, I struck out all the time.”

  “I know that pain.”

  It grew closer to three o’clock. Buddy told them what he had in mind regarding his mother.

  “That’s fine with us,” Amber said. “I was hoping it would work out for today. But I think you should let her know we’re coming.”

  Buddy didn’t argue. He placed the call.

  Beatrice answered. “I left Kitty’s house fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “Are you on your way?”

  “In just a few minutes. Is it okay if I bring a couple of guests?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Amber and Elise. They’re with me now at my house.”

  There was silence. Buddy hoped his mother hadn’t fainted.

  “I think that would be a wonderful surprise,” Beatrice said.

  “We’re on our way.”

  Buddy drove them the short distance and pointed out a few landmarks. They pulled into the driveway.

  Beatrice opened the door as they walked across the porch. “Good to see you, Amber,” she said, and then she fixed her eyes on Elise.

  “And I’m Elise, your granddaughter.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Beatrice said and the tears began to flow.

  As Buddy watched, Elise wrapped her arms around her grandmother. This wasn’t a quick hug. It was a total embrace.

  Buddy turned to Amber and mouthed the words, “Thank you, thank you.”

  Later, Buddy called Gracie, who left the courthouse early and came over to Beatrice’s house so she could spend a few minutes with Amber and Elise before they returned to Atlanta. The five of them sat on the front porch together. Gracie’s eyes seemed to stay constantly moist.

  “If this was spring, I could blame it on the pollen,” she said as she pulled another tissue from her purse. “But it’s just so beautiful to be sitting here with all of you.”

  “I told Elise you can’t have enough loving family members in your life,” Amber said to Beatrice.

  Gracie’s admiration for Amber skyrocketed. To say those words after what Amber had experienced in her own family was as amazing a testament to healing as Gracie had ever heard. And Elise was a bright, articulate young woman. When it was time for them to leave, Beatrice asked Gracie to stay behind while Buddy drove Amber and Elise back to his house.

  “I had no idea why Buddy was taking off work on a Tuesday,” Beatrice said when they were alone. “Thank goodness he gave me a few minutes’ notice.”

  “It was still a good surprise.”

  “The best,” Beatrice said, then sighed. “And having you and Buddy here together with Elise. I’m not sure how to describe how that makes me feel, except that it’s like family.”

  “He invited himself to church this past Sunday, and I took him to dinner at my parents’ house.”

  Beatrice beamed. “I didn’t think this day could get better, but it just did.”

  Gracie drove directly from Franklin Street to softball practice. News about Reagan had reached a couple of girls on the team. All they knew was that their former teammate was in the hospital in Atlanta. No one was aware of Gracie’s involvement.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Laura asked when they gathered to pray at the end of practice.

  “That’s why we do this,” Gracie answered.

  As the girls scattered, a familiar truck pulled into the parking lot. It was Mayleah, wearing her trademark cowboy hat and boots. She got out and came over to Gracie.

  “Have you recovered?” Gracie asked. “I couldn’t have done what you did.”

  “Mostly,” Mayleah replied, taking off her hat. “I talked to Buddy, and he told me that Amber and Elise came to town for a visit.”

  Gracie told her about the time at Beatrice’s house.

  Mayleah nodded. “And the circle is closed.”

  “Yes, and I hope it gets stronger.”

  “It will.” Mayleah glanced down at the red clay dirt for a moment before looking up. “And as long as I’m in Milton County, I’m going to enjoy watching that happen.”

  Thirty-One

  Saturday morning Buddy put his golf clubs in the trunk of his car. A couple of minutes later he pulled up to Gracie’s house. He could hear Opie barking when he approached the side door. Gracie was wearing golf shorts and a white top. A light blue visor was already on her head.

  “I’m here for my golf lesson,” Buddy said.

  “You must have the wrong address,” Gracie replied with a grin. “I haven’t played in almost a year.”

  Driving to the club, Buddy told her about his last golf outing with Sammy Landry: “We went to the range a few days later, and I was spraying the ball all over the place, more like a baseball player trying to get on base than a golfer trying to hit the green.”

  “I’m very rusty,” Gracie replied. “I brought some cut balls to use on the holes with a water hazard.”

  “I hope you brought extras for me.”

  The country club was just outside the city limits. The entrance was framed by pecan trees.

  “I talked to Crystal last night,” Gracie said as they drove toward the clubhouse parking lot. “Reagan spent the night with Frances and has an appointment with Dr. Simpson next week.”

  “That’s good. I hope she agrees to meet with you too.”

  “I’m going to invite her to a game so the girls can show her some love.”

  Gracie turned down the offer of an electric cart, which pleased Buddy. He enjoyed walking a course, especially earlier in the day. Throughout the round, he couldn’t stop smiling. Not at his shots, but in watching Gracie. She was intense and focused. And he enjoyed every nuance of what she said and did. The cut golf balls came in handy. Buddy complimented Gracie on the symmetry of one of her splashes. He then dropped two straight balls into the same pond. As the sun rose higher in the sky, they stood side by side on the tee box for the eighteenth hole.

  “It’s time to get serious,” Buddy announced.

  “I’ve been doing the best I can all morning,” Gracie replied. “But my putter isn’t cooperating.”

  “I mean put something on this hole.”

  “A bet?” Gracie raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never done that. I don’t need an incentive to play my best.”

  “You haven’t heard my wager.”

  “Okay,” Gracie said slowly.

  “If you win this hole, I have to do something you want to do,” Buddy said, then stopped.

  “And if you win?” Gracie asked.

  “You have to do something I want to do.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  Buddy waited as Gracie studied him. He knew it was a moment for her to decide if she trusted him.

  “You’re on,” she said. “You hit first.”

  The eighteenth hole was a 355-yard par four with a dogleg to the right, two fairway bunkers, and a tiny creek past the bunkers. Three sand traps protected the green. Everyone who played the course considered it the toughest hole.

  “Watch out for the bunkers,” Gracie said as Buddy placed his ball on the tee. “The large one is right where you’ve been landing your drives all morning.”

  Buddy, who was bending over, looked up at her. “That won’t work with me,” he said. “Pressure is my middle name.”

  “I thought the ‘C’ stood for Christopher.”

  Buddy took a practice swing and then struck the ball solidly with a loud thwack. It sliced over the bunker and landed just on the other side of the trap at the edge of the fairway.

  “Don’t try to match that,” he said, turning to Gracie. “I suggest you lay up short of the bunkers.”

  “That’s my intention,” she answered.

  Gracie had a smooth swing that made Buddy jealous. It showed off her excellent hand-eye coordination. As she brought down the driver, it didn’t look like she was going to have much power, but over the last couple of feet the head speed accelerated. For a woman her size, she crushed the ball. It flew out and up and landed in the middle of the fairway about forty yards short of Buddy’s ball.

  “So far, so good,” she said.

  They walked side by side across the green grass until they reached her ball.

  “I recommend a 3-iron,” Buddy said. “You still have a long way to the green and need to bounce it up.”

  “Thanks,” Gracie said as she took a 5-iron from her bag.

  She lined up the shot but then stepped back. Buddy expected her to change clubs, but she returned to her ball and hit it sharply. It sailed higher than Buddy expected, took four bounces, and rolled onto the left front edge of the green. It was a fabulous shot.

  “I’d like to bottle that,” Buddy said.

  “That’s the thing about golf,” Gracie replied. “Once you hit a nice shot, you’re always chasing it, hoping to do it again.”

  “I guess that’s common to all good golfers. Sammy Landry says the same thing.”

  They walked over to Buddy’s ball. He could barely set his feet without having to stand on the edge of the bunker. He took out a 7-iron. Without taking a practice swing, he hit a ball that arced nicely and landed in the sand trap on the right front of the green.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  Gracie laughed. “Explain, please.”

  Buddy picked up his bag. “My sand game is my strongest component because I’ve had so much practice. I think my golf balls have something like a magnetic attraction to sand.”

  They made their way to the green.

  “Even though I’m in the trap, I’m actually closer to the pin,” Buddy said. “You hit first.”

  “Seriously?” Gracie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Gracie lined up and hit a putt that crossed over a rise and rolled down to within four feet of the hole. She had par in her sights. While Gracie was marking her ball, Buddy stepped into the sand trap with his wedge. His ball rested nicely on top of the sand, which was harder than normal due to a rain shower the previous evening. He took a couple of practice swings. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled and hit the ball. It shot up out of the trap along with a splatter of sand, then rolled down toward the hole and in for a birdie. He dropped his club in shock.

  Gracie’s eyes were like saucers. “Did that just happen?” she asked.

  “You are my witness, because none of my friends will believe it.”

  Buddy retrieved his ball and raised it to his lips. Gracie stroked in her ball for a par. They walked off the green and toward the clubhouse. Buddy didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t leave me wondering,” Gracie said. “What do you want me to do? Cook you a peach cobbler?”

  “That would be nice, but it’s not what I had in mind.”

  They reached Buddy’s car, and he opened the trunk. “That was fun,” he said. “You only beat me by five strokes.”