“Hey, what’s that?” Sierra climbed the steps to the porch.

“Elaine sent me Olivia’s first gardening journal.”

“Why?”

“Family history. Olivia was Elaine’s grandmother. She suffered several miscarriages and was a key player in my adoption.”

“Oh.”

“I suppose, in a way, we are kindred spirits,” Libby said. “Though if my granddaughter had a baby, I would like to believe I would do anything to help her keep it.”

Sierra leaned over Libby’s shoulder and studied the page. “She was a fantastic artist.”

“She was.” Libby retrieved the black-and-white pictures. “Check out the first one. They’re standing in front of your mercantile store.”

Sierra studied the image closely. “Wow. Time goes so fast.” She flipped the picture over and read the caption. “Wow. Olivia knew Sadie Thompson.”

“Who was Sadie Thompson?”

“Supposedly a real wild child,” Sierra said. “She ran moonshine with her father and brothers and at one point ran a man down right in front of the store with her truck. I think there are folk songs written about her.”

“Who did she hit?”

“That I don’t remember, but I can ask Mom.”

Libby looked at Sadie’s solemn face, drawn to her moody gaze, which felt vaguely familiar. “What happened to her?”

“She vanished,” Sierra said. “Sheriff came to arrest her but couldn’t find her anywhere. There was a big manhunt, but she never was found. Legend has it that her ghost still haunts the woods near Mrs. Carter’s.”

“Her ghost? Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because it’s not true. It’s just a story.”

“What’s the story?”

Sierra shrugged. “They say if you drink corn liquor on a moonless night on the Woodmont property, you’ll see her.”

A ghost would have explained the odd sensations she had felt in the greenhouse the other morning. But so would her imagination and nerves. “Oh, I bet your mind can conjure up all kinds of things if you drink corn liquor in the woods. All late at night.”

Sierra laughed. “No comment.”

She studied Sadie’s small bow-shaped face. “I hope your mom can shed more light on this girl.”

“We’ll see. Have you and Elaine spoken since Monday?”

“No. I guess this is her way of keeping in touch without irritating Lofton.”

“The infamous Lofton. Spoiled and drives too fast in town. Let me guess, she’s not happy about having a big sister.”

“No. She looks at me as if she thinks I’m going to take all her mother’s money or love or both.”

“Twit.”

Libby smiled. “I guess I can’t blame her. I came out of nowhere, and it has to be a shock.”

“You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Agreed. But neither did she.”

“I see the journal as a great sign. Elaine wants to stay connected despite Lofton’s reservations.”

“I suppose,” Libby said.

“Did Elaine answer all your questions? I remember you always had a list of questions for your birth mother.”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask very many. I was just a little overwhelmed.”

Sierra traced the shape of a purple iris drawn on the corner of a page. “She sent you this for a reason, Libby.”

“Why not just tell me what I need to know? Why hide behind letters and journals?”

“Are we talking about Elaine or your father now?” Sierra asked softly.

“Right now? My dad tops my shit list. Why couldn’t he just tell me?”

“He was afraid he would lose you. He already lost a wife.”

Libby released an exasperated sigh. “Why would I turn away from him over something like this?”

Sierra knitted her fingers together and then pulled them apart. “Logic and emotion rarely speak the same language.”

“He knew I loved him.”

Sierra tipped her head back against the rocker and stared toward the blue sky. “Once you’ve been hurt badly, it’s hard to open yourself again. Although not well, your mother essentially left him.”

“How did you get so smart?”

Sierra rubbed her finger along the edge of her jaw. “Sadly, the hard way.”

“But you’ve done a good job of moving on.”

“That’s the thing; I’m staying busy, but I haven’t moved on. I’m stuck in this whirlpool of activity, treading water as fast as I can to keep from being pulled under. Your dad might have been that way after your mother’s death.”

“I thought you were thriving.”

“I’m surviving.” Sierra drew in a breath and rolled her shoulders, as if shrugging off a weight she knew would reappear within seconds. “Don’t let grief and anger weigh you down or hold you back. Do a better job than I am.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LIBBY

Wednesday, June 17, 2020

Bluestone, Virginia

Olivia’s journal sat untouched as Libby responded to several brides-to-be with proposals, tips, and notes for each. Of the three, she guessed she might get a callback on one, and then there was no guarantee it would result in a contract. Making it in this business—at least in this stage of her career—meant being available all the time.

After scanning email and wading through the 50 percent–off summer-sale ads and current events, she glanced back at the journal. The clock chimed five times, and her stomach grumbled on cue. “I don’t want to deal with you, Olivia. Not right now.”

After rising, she walked to the kitchen. The leftovers from Elaine had yet to be opened. Since she was a little kid, she had always been picky about leftovers. Her mother had loved them, swearing the food’s flavors improved overnight. Not Libby. When a meal was done, it was done.

Her fallback was a pizza place in town. She had swung by a few times last fall when she had visited Dad. The carbs were off the charts, and just thinking about the fat grams made her want to cry. God, it was good. And so it would be tonight as well. And maybe for a little while, she could forget about Elaine. There was always a bright side, she reminded herself.

More than ready to leave the silent house, she grabbed her purse and decided to walk. The center of town was less than a mile away, and the weather was pleasantly warm, with no humidity. That would not last much longer, as summer was ready to kick in.

As she passed the mercantile store, she saw Sierra inside with a guy dressed in jeans, a blue T-shirt that read LANE CONSTRUCTION, and work boots. Not a stretch to assume he was the contractor.

She knocked on the window, and Sierra waved her inside. Sierra was smiling, but the contractor was not. He had that “time is money” look that she appreciated. “Not staying long. Getting pizza. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thanks. Mom is cooking tonight. Libby, I’d like you to meet John Stapleton. My contractor.” Libby picked up on the underlying excitement in Sierra’s voice, which she knew was attributed to the project more than John.

Libby crossed the room and shook John’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you. You going to have your hands full with this building?”