Sister Dear (28 page)

“Yes,” Allie whispered.

Childree pursed his lips and squinted at the ground. “Tell you what,” he said, scuffing his foot on the wooden slats. “Meet me at the corner of Fifth and Wade. Coffee shop there.”

“Thank you.” Allie nodded and backed away as quickly as she could, practically running to the car. From the corner of her eye, she saw one white curtain move back an inch. His wife watched as she opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and cranked the engine.

“On your way, now,” Childree raised his voice. “Go on, go.”

Allie found the coffee shop easily, a seventies-style diner with wide Formica tables trimmed in stainless steel and loud, orange décor. She was nursing her second cup when Childree finally arrived. He entered slowly and raised his chin to the man behind the counter. The only other customers, two men in the back, didn't look up.

Childree eased into the booth. “I don't have long,” he told Allie. “How do I know you don't want to scam me or my family?”

“Look, Mr. Childree, I'm not trying to cause trouble. I've done my time and don't want to violate my parole,” Allie whispered.

Childree motioned for coffee.

“I have a few questions and I'll leave you alone. Please.”

The man fell silent when the waitress sidled over and poured the dark liquid from a glass pot, eyeballing Allie the entire time.
When she walked away, Childree placed both elbows on the table and leaned forward.

“What you share with me . . . ,” Allie continued. “It could answer questions for other families. Families of other players who might have not suffered like your son, but who have physical injuries or problems that prevented them from ever playing ball again.”

Childree nodded. “He was no good. That coach.”

Allie blew on her steaming-hot coffee. “There are no words for me to express how awful this must have been for you. I read the articles. Everything I could find. I'm so very sorry.”

“Obliged,” the man muttered. He reached for his coffee, grasping the handle tight. “I told my son to be careful.”

“Why?” Allie asked. “What made you think he needed to be?”

The wiry man tapped his temple. “Watchin'. Listenin'.”

“I see.”

“He rode those boys at practice. Like dogs.”

“Did he . . . hurt them?” Allie asked, her voice barely audible, even to herself.

Childree held up his hand, thick fingers spread toward the ceiling. “I suspect he did. I suspect it more now. There's so much I didn't do. Shoulda seen.”

Allie clutched her coffee mug, barely feeling the heat sear her fingertips. This man had been through hell.

“They told me it was heatstroke,” Childree said. “And maybe that was part of it. They practiced some insane hours. I told my son a dozen times, ‘Boy, you don't have to do this. You can quit.' But, he never listened. And now he's gone. It ain't right, a mother and father burying their child.” The muscles in his face twisted with grief, a portrait of loss, of unanswered questions, of agony and helplessness.

Allie heart pounded. “It sounds like, Mr. Childree, you didn't raise your son to be a quitter.”

Childree grimaced. “That's right. I taught my son too well. And he died for it.”

Allie reflected on the man's version of the story. “What had been happening with him? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“He changed. His mood, his sleep, his activity. Went from a straight-A student to failing exams, getting into fights—”

“Really?” Allie sucked in her breath. Fights, aggression, just like the Wolverine players. Her mind raced with questions and possibilities. “A few fights? How many?”

“I lost count. Every day, bruises on him. I saw his back one day—he'd taken off his shirt after mowing the yard. It looked like someone'd taken a bat to my boy. When I confronted him, he tol' me it was none of my concern, not to worry myself.”

Just like Ben's brother.

“He was so angry. And he was bigger, taller. Stronger too. Lamar worked out all the time with the coach's team of trainers. Volunteers he brought in for special clinics. Conditioning, strength training, they even did a self-defense class one time. He was obsessed with doing anything the coach said, like his life depended on it.” Childree wiped his forehead.

Allie held her breath, trying to process all of it. “Mr. Childree, you said self-defense? Like with a police officer?”

Childree nodded. “Yeah. You know, Coach Thomas worried about someone jumping them or pulling a knife.” His reddened eyes darted from Allie to the front of the diner. “The neighborhoods can be a rough place.”

Following his gaze to the rundown building across the street, Allie took in its broken window and peeling paint. “I see.” She turned back to face him, clasping both hands on the table. “You don't happen to remember the guy's name? The self-defense class trainer?”

“Nah.” Childree took a sip of coffee.

Allie's shoulders sagged as she fought to get her mind back on track. “And how did things go from there?”

“There was one day he was so nervous. Shaky. Knocked over a few things in the kitchen. Could hardly look me in the eye.”

“I accused him of taking something. Drugs, pills, something to build up his muscle and speed. He denied it, and then punched a dent in my pickup just to get back at me. He apologized later, but I knew he was hiding something.”

Just like the player who'd hit the quarterback. Outright rage, uncontrollable. And no one in the community wanting to look for reasons. Everyone turning the other way.

“Did you say anything to the doctors at the hospital? To the school?”

“Sure.” Childree laughed, hollow and bitter. “You know what they told me?”

“No, sir.”

“Same thing as Lamar did. My son's coaching was none of my business. The staff said it was my son's fault.” Childree pressed a hand to his chest. “They said he didn't drink enough water, that Lamar didn't tell the coaches that he needed a break. As if a child should know better than grown men who are supposed to be looking out for him. My boy wanted to do his best.”

Allie swallowed. “I'm sure he did.”

Childree covered his face with his hands. “I miss him. Every day. Every single day.” He composed himself, brushing away tears with tight fists, one still gripping a napkin. “My son, when he died, he was not the same person. Someone, something, messed with his mind.”

“I'm so very sorry,” Allie whispered.

“Were there drugs?” Childree looked at the ceiling. “God knows his mother would never admit it. It would kill her to know for sure.” He looked at Allie. “But something was wrong. Something was different. He changed, and it started with that man.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

EMMA

2016

On her tiptoes, Emma reached for the top shelf. Her fingers brushed against a small, silk-covered box, tied up with yellow ribbon. With a careful grasp, she pulled the container from its resting place and cradled it between her two hands.

All that she had left of her baby.

Emma glanced behind her, as if someone had called out or made a creak in the hallway. There was nothing but the sound of her own uneven breathing. Her palms were damp. She sank into the nearest seat.

With a shaking hand, Emma reached for the ribbon. She tugged and the bow came apart. Emma lifted at the edge of the box. Under layers of tissue paper, her fingers found a small black velvet satchel. With a deft motion, she pulled the cinched edges apart and dropped the contents into her open palm.

Coach's college ring. And the game coin. Emma closed her hand around the cool metal.

He'd confided that his wife thought the ring was ostentatious and gaudy; she'd bothered him about it so much that he'd finally, begrudgingly, put it away for safekeeping years earlier.

Emma, aghast at the confession, had treasured the University of Georgia ring. He'd given it to her two months after they'd begun meeting. She'd worn it on a chain—hidden inside her shirt—until the sight of it made her burst into tears.

One by one, Emma opened her fingers. She released the ring and the coin, setting them on top of the velvet bag. She shifted her gaze back to the box.

A rustle outside startled Emma. She tensed and twisted toward the window. A sturdy branch, choked with green leaves, brushed against the glass. The wind had picked up, and the sky was the color of marble, gray swirled with creamy white and black.

Emma shivered and sucked in a breath, then lifted the rest of the tissue paper away. The porcelain cherub was smaller than she'd remembered, delicate, with details etched and hand painted. The figure was really an angel, Emma decided, and all she had left of her unborn child.

Fate didn't play favorites. Everyone lost someone. Her parents lost Allie, Allie lost Caroline, Caroline lost her mother. Emma had lost twice as much. Her baby and the man she loved. The last time Emma saw him, he was alive.

What had happened in those final moments? What had he said? Was he thinking of her?

Emma could never ask. She could never say.

But with Allie home, every day was more difficult. Her sister wanted answers. Caroline wanted the truth. But the truth was complicated, ugly, and painful. And people were interfering.

Like water in a whirlpool, memories and meaning began spinning, turning faster, until everything and every person seemed sucked into the vortex. It was killing her, one neuron and one cell at a time, like a fast-growing cancer out of control.

Somehow she'd stop it. She had to. And her next target would never even see it coming.

THIRTY-EIGHT

ALLIE

2016

“What's our Friday look like?” Natalie breezed into the office, pulling off her sunglasses and tossing her keys on the desk.

“Pretty busy,” Allie answered, holding a copy of the schedule. “The usual suspects—a wound check, routine exams with immunizations, a tumor we need to biopsy. One of our owners called and said her pug's having seizures, the last one thirty minutes ago. I advised her to bring him in—”

“She didn't want to?”

“Not at first. She wanted meds, but I convinced her to come in.”

“Okay, good. What about this afternoon?” Natalie asked, pulling a scrub top over her head.

She watched as her boss smoothed her top and ran a hand through her short hair. Natalie's pixie cut was adorable, a look that would cause most people to underestimate how solid and tough the woman was from the inside out.

“This afternoon we're supposed to head out to a few farms,” Allie said. “Most are about twenty miles out. It's a nice day. We can tour the stables.”

Natalie bobbed her head, tied her scrub pants. “Okay.”

Nick popped his head in the door. “Ready to go? Phones are on.”

“Thanks, honey,” Natalie called after him. It was almost a bellow, Allie decided, looking in amazement at the small woman beside her.

“Impressive,” Allie said.

“It's all in the delivery.” Natalie winked. “But I've been told I lack subtlety. By more than one person.”

“If it isn't broken, don't fix it, right?” Allie replied with a grin.

“Exactly. I like the way you think.” Natalie pulled on her lab coat, wrapped the stethoscope around her neck.

As they walked toward the first exam room, Allie hesitated, thinking back to what Lamar Childree's father had said.
Someone, something, messed with his mind.
Allie had been up since dawn mulling over the comment. What had happened at Childree's school also happened at Mansfield Academy. Coach Thomas had lead teams at both places.

But where would the coach get the drugs? His own pharmacy? Was it possible to fold in occasional orders for steroids with all of the other legitimate ones in ways the DEA wouldn't have noticed?

It would be much easier, much safer for his reputation and family, if he had alternate sources. She had a fleeting, terrible thought—a quick glimpse of the coach and Gaines teaming up on her father after hours, threatening to put her dad out of business unless he complied with their demands. Of course it was a long shot, but would it be so crazy?

“Hello?” Natalie waved a hand.

Allie jumped at the sight of fingers two inches from her face. “Sorry.” She coughed and reddened. “My mind was somewhere else. I'm back now.”

“Well, good.” Natalie wrinkled her nose. “Because we need to chat a minute about something.”

From down the hallway, Nick's voice interrupted. “Hey, Natalie?” The sound of his footsteps followed, coming closer.

Natalie held up one finger and put it to her lips. “Hey, babe,” she replied as her husband rounded the corner and stuck his head into the room.

“The rooms are full,” Nick said, glancing from Allie to Natalie. “Anything I can do?”

“Thanks.” Natalie smiled at her husband lovingly. “We're just finishing up, okay? Be right there.”

“Good deal.”

As soon as Nick disappeared, Natalie looked up at Allie. “So, I didn't want to say anything, but Emma stopped by last night.”

At the mention of her sister, Allie stiffened. “What? Was she looking for me?”

“No,” Natalie replied. “It was odd. Russell and Nick were gone, and I was doing paperwork.” She licked her lips. “When I went to lock up, she was standing at the front door.”

Mind spinning, Allie folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself tightly. “And?”

“She introduced herself. And said she wanted to talk about you,” Natalie said, raising an eyebrow. “She said she was concerned. That you had been acting erratically. That I should be on guard.”

The sentences hit Allie like a sucker punch. “Whoa. What?”

“Oh, there's more.” Natalie grimaced. She pressed her fingertips to her chin. “I probably shouldn't even tell you.”