“Oh, you found our family photo,” Ashlynn said, catching me off guard.

I jumped, placing my free hand on my chest as water sloshed out of my cup and onto my other hand. “You scared the crap out of me.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure how. I clomp around like an elephant these days.”

I pointed to the man. “Is that your dad?”

A frown washed over her face. “Yeah. You ready?”

“Yep.” I took a sip of the water, the rough plastic scraping my bottom lip. I dumped out the water in the sink and set the cup on the counter. “Sorry to add to your pile of dishes. Will your husband wash them when he gets home?”

She released a harsh laugh. “That’s a good one. First of all, I ain’t married, but even if Chuck washed dishes, he ran off with Becca Sloan a few weeks ago.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I heard you were married.”

She snorted. “Momma liked to tell people that. She thought people were gonna judge me for having a baby without a marriage license, but Chuck would never pull the trigger. Guess now I know why.”

“I’m sorry,” I added softly.

She rested her hand on her belly. “My momma was supposed to help me raise him. We were gonna—” She stopped abruptly and sucked in a breath. “Now it’s just me. I might be havin’ this baby, but he ain’t gonna get a job and pay the electric bill,” she snapped, but I knew her anger wasn’t directed at me. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

I hoped I was only getting started.

Chapter Twelve

We drove in silence for a few minutes. Ashlynn looked out the window, her body turned away from me. She reminded me a little of Lula back in December, when she was pregnant and thought she was alone. Unplanned pregnancies weren’t all that uncommon here—not that I was judging—but all too often the women didn’t receive much support. It was clear Ashlynn had lost her main supporter the moment Pam was locked up.

“When are you due?” I finally asked.

“The end of August,” she said, still staring out the side window.

“And you’re having a boy? You called your baby a him.”

“Yeah.” Her response was flat, making me wonder if she would have preferred a girl. Or maybe she was intimidated to now be facing this alone.

“Are you and your mother close?”

She didn’t answer, and I glanced over to see her wiping a tear from her cheek. She caught me looking at her and shrugged. “Close enough.”

“How long ago did you graduate high school?” I asked.

Her body jolted. “I graduated a year ago. This ain’t no teen pregnancy.” But then her cheeks flushed, making me think maybe she hadn’t turned twenty yet.

“I’m not judging you, Ashlynn. You’re about to have a baby and your mother’s in jail, likely to go to prison. I’m just trying to figure out how to help you.”

Her body tensed. “I don’t need your help.”

I inwardly groaned. While she probably did need my help, I needed to stop trying to force it on people. I was very much an outsider, and while many people in Drum had accepted me in a short period of time—likely because Max had given me his blessing, so to speak—not everyone appreciated my attempts at intervention. Max himself had bristled at my tendency to offer unsolicited advice. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to insinuate…” I took a breath. “I just know how hard this will be without your mother. When I was in college, I had a friend who had a baby without the support of a significant other. Her mother had died years before, so she didn’t have much support, and she was still in school. She didn’t like to ask for help, so my friends and I kind of had to force it on her.” Belatedly, I realized that Charlene “Carly” Moore had never gone to college, but I had to trust that Ashlynn likely wouldn’t be repeating this conversation.

“You may be driving me to see my mother, but we ain’t friends.”

“You’re right,” I said, not taking offense and telling myself to let this go. “We’re not friends, but if you ever need a friend, I’m here for you, okay? I can give you my home phone number before we part ways in Ewing, and you know I work at Max’s Tavern. You can always reach me there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to help me out so bad?” Then horror filled her eyes. “You ain’t gettin’ my baby.”

“What?” I protested. “I don’t want your baby! I don’t even know if I want babies of my own!”

“Then why are you so interested in mine? Are you a trafficker?”

“Of babies?” I asked, incredulously. “No!” I pushed out a sigh. “Look, I’m not some evil person, I promise—I just like to help people. But I do admit to coming on strong sometimes.” I took a breath, then tried to appear less crazy. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“I ain’t alone, you know. I’ve got my Aunt Selena.”

I perked up at that. “Is she your mother’s sister?”

“No, she’s Momma’s friend. But we call her aunt.”

Selena? She never came to the ladies’ luncheons. I wondered where she fit into Pam’s life. “I take it she lives around here?”

“She lives in downtown Drum. By the Methodist Church.”

She had an uncommon enough name that Ruth or Max probably knew her, especially if she lived downtown. I’d ask them later.

We sat in silence after that. Everything I thought of bringing up seemed too intrusive, and I didn’t want to give her any more reasons to think I was a potential child trafficker. Instead, we listened to music on a used iPod Marco had gotten for me and preloaded with some of my favorite music.

Thinking about the day Marco had given it to me made me smile, but a wash of sadness quickly followed. For the first time since I’d arrived in Drum, I wondered if my priorities were off. Instead of trying to dig up evidence on Bart, maybe I should be putting all of this energy into figuring out a way to have a normal life. I could live as Carly Moore and maybe marry Marco. We wouldn’t be safe in Drum, Tennessee, not with Bart Drummond holding threats over my head, but what if we went somewhere else? I could go as Carly Roland and keep dyeing my hair. Maybe my father would never find me.

That was a foolish pipe dream. My father wouldn’t give up searching for me until the day I died.

So why was I spending all this time on Bart Drummond? Was it my way of burying my head in the sand and hiding from the real problem?

While I knew the location of the sheriff’s department, I didn’t know where to find the county jail. Strangely—or not—Ashlynn did.

“Do you want me to come in?” I asked as I pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m not a kid,” she snapped. Obviously, she was still offended by my questions.

“I know, but it’s your mom…”

She shot me a withering look, then got out of the car. “I’ll be fine. Come back and get me in forty-five minutes.” She shut the door with a little more force than was necessary.