Christina and Marigold lived in a small house on the outskirts of town. The lawn was neat but the flowers in the beds were sparse and the exterior of the home had paint peeling. I could see some partially rotted boards on the end of the porch as we drove up, and two windows were missing screens.
“Looks like Christina could use some help,” I said.
Gertie nodded. “But she’s not the sort to ask.”
“What about child support?” I asked. “How does that work in cases like this?”
“In Louisiana, you can be awarded child support indefinitely if a child is disabled prior to becoming an adult and is unable to care for themselves,” Ida Belle said. “But being awarded something and collecting it are two different things. I don’t know if she even pursued it, honestly.”
“Marigold would be eligible for Social Security or disability or both, I think,” Gertie said. “Not sure exactly how it works, but I’m sure it doesn’t cover much.”
“What about Christina?” I asked as we made our way to the front door. “Does she work?”
Gertie nodded. “She’s a medical transcriptionist. Worked in medical records at the hospital before the accident and took some courses so she could shift to working from home. It’s a decent fit given that Marigold needs monitoring 24-7, but I don’t think it pays a whole lot.”
Ida Belle shook her head. “Two people to support—one with a lot of medical needs—and a mortgage to boot. It’s not like it used to be. Everything’s a lot more expensive, plus people don’t do maintenance themselves the way they used to.”
“Lack of skill or lack of time or both,” Gertie agreed.
Gertie rang the doorbell and we waited. It was so quiet that I wondered if anyone was home. The garage was closed, so we couldn’t check for a car, but after a minute or so, I heard footsteps inside. The door swung open and a harried-looking Christina peered out at us.
She relaxed a bit when she saw us standing there and forced a smile as she opened the door. “Gertie, Ida Belle…it’s nice to see you. Please come in.”
I introduced myself as we stepped into a pleasant but dated living room. Worn hardwood was covered by an even more worn rug. A couch and love seat with sagging cushions were placed around a brick fireplace. Two recliners sat facing a television over the mantel. An old upright piano stood against the side wall, magazines stacked on the bench.
Christina shook my hand and nodded. “You’re the other queen. I just finished brewing some tea. Come back to the kitchen and I’ll pour us up some.”
“I brought you a chicken casserole,” Gertie said.
“And a box of cookies from Ally’s bakery,” I said and held them up.
“We figured you’d be stressed and behind with everything that happened,” Ida Belle said. “Thought we’d ease one task, at least for tonight.”
Christina took the casserole from Gertie, and I sat the box of cookies on the counter. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” she said. “I was going to pick up some staples from the grocery store today and then this. Usually I take Marigold with me, but she can’t handle it right now.”
“Let me know what you need, and Walter will send someone with a delivery,” Ida Belle said.
“Oh, I couldn’t bother Walter with that,” Christina said. “He’s got a business to run and with tonight being New Year’s Eve, he’s probably running low on stock to begin with.”
“Just snacks,” Ida Belle said. “Eggs, milk, bread, and the like are fine. He could close the gap so you get through the weekend, anyway.”
She put a tray of glasses filled with iced tea on the table and sank into one of the chairs. “Really? That would be a godsend, to be honest. Those items and some sliced cheese and butter would get us by fine. Especially since we have one of Gertie’s incredible casseroles.”
Ida Belle pulled out her phone and started texting.
“How is Marigold doing?” Gertie asked.
Christina sighed. “She’s okay. She couldn’t breathe and at first, I thought it was the smoke, but I didn’t so much as cough, and I was right there with her and felt nothing. Anyway, it was a panic attack, I guess.”
“PTSD?” I suggested. “Ida Belle and Gertie told me about the car wreck that caused her brain injury.”
Christina nodded. “That’s what the doctor said. I just… It seemed so severe a reaction, you know? She’s had other episodes but never like this. They had to sedate her to get her in the ambulance. After the accident, it took a long time for me to get her to ride in a car again without anxiety meds, and even then, she always insisted on being in the front seat. I worry about how much this is going to set her back.”
“I imagine it was upsetting for you as well,” Gertie said. “But she’s calmer now?”
“Almost too calm,” Christina said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She got out of the car when we got home, went straight to her room, and she’s just been sitting there this whole time,” Christina said. “I’ve offered her something to eat and drink, to turn on the television or read to her, but she just shakes her head and keeps staring out the window. I don’t like it, but she doesn’t seem to be in any distress, so I don’t think the hospital is the right place for her either.”
“Maybe she just needs some time to process things,” I said. “You mentioned reading a book. Did her injury take away her ability to read?”
“Yes, and I think that might have been the biggest loss,” Christina said. “Marigold loved to read. She was reading at a college level by the time she was six. Spent all her allowance on books after she blew through the Sinful Library in a single summer.”
Christina reached for a napkin and dabbed at the tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should be past the emotions by now. I guess Marigold isn’t the only one having a flashback.”
Gertie reached over and patted her hand. “You’ve had a really rough go of it. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t shaken up.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I mostly take things one day at a time and try to be thankful for the things we do have. Aside from the brain injury, Marigold is otherwise healthy, which is a miracle given how that car looked. And she still understands people. She just doesn’t talk herself.”
“If she can’t read, then she can’t write either,” I said.
“No. We tried teaching her sign language, but it didn’t make sense to her. Something about wires being crossed—layman’s terms, of course. It was the same with the piano. She used to play but now, if you show her sheet music, she just shakes her head.”
“I’ve seen some cases of unique inclusion and exclusion in functionality dealing with injured soldiers,” I said.
She studied me for a moment. “That’s right. You were CIA. I guess you know a little about PTSD then.”
“Too much,” I said. “Not personally, which I’m thankful for every day, but I’ve seen enough of the fallout to know it changes lives forever and never positively.”
“It’s definitely the most challenging thing I’ve ever faced,” she said. “And I worry so much about what will happen to Marigold when I’m gone.”
“You can’t put that kind of pressure on yourself,” Gertie said. “You’ve got plenty of time to figure things out and Marigold is still young. Scientists are discovering things every day. You don’t know where Marigold will be in five years, much less fifty.”
“Good Lord, I hope I’m not around another fifty years,” Christina said. “I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”
“Have you heard…I don’t suppose anyone has told you about Brock Benoit?” Ida Belle asked.
“Brock?” Christina asked. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in forever. What about him?”
“He’s dead,” Ida Belle said. “The police are treating it as suspicious.”
Christina shook her head. “I will admit I never liked the boy. I thought he was a bad one even back then and didn’t want Marigold hanging around him, but you know what happens when you tell teenagers to not see a boy.”
“You think Marigold had a romance with Brock?” Gertie asked.
“I think she had a crush on him,” Christina said. “And Brock took advantage of that. Marigold wasn’t the first or, I’m sure, the last person he took for a ride, mind you. Poor Gina Tassin proves that one up. I always figured he’d come to no good end living that way, so it comes as no surprise to hear someone might have killed him.”
“You think he finally took advantage of the wrong person,” Ida Belle said.
Christina nodded. “Sure, and from what I see on TV, the music industry is cutthroat. He probably met his match in Nashville.”
“Oh, he didn’t die in Nashville,” I said. “He was here—at the Bayou Inn.”
“Here!” She stared at me. “Why in the world would he be in Sinful? He’s got no family and hasn’t been back since he shot out of here like a bullet after high school.”
“No one seems to know why he was back,” Ida Belle said. “Our guess is it had something to do with RJ, but who knows.”
“RJ…yes, I guess that could be, although I’ve never known him to come for a visit on the few occasions she has,” Christina said. “You’re dating Carter, right? What does he say?”
“Nothing,” I said. “He doesn’t like when I get into his professional business. All we know is that he’s investigating it as a suspicious death.”
I heard a noise in the doorway and looked over to see Marigold standing there, just staring at us and frowning. Christina jumped up and hurried over.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “Do you want something to eat?”
Marigold shook her head and shuffled past us for the refrigerator. She pulled a bottle of water out and walked past us again, this time heading out the back door. Through the window, I saw her sit on the edge of the porch and flip open the notebook she’d been carrying.
“She’s sitting on the end of the porch,” I said as Christina couldn’t see her from where she was standing.
Christina sank into her chair again, stress practically oozing out of her pores. “I wish I knew what to do. I’ve already called the therapist and she’ll see her first thing Monday, but otherwise, I’m at a loss.”
“Do you think something besides the fire is bothering her?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Christina asked.
“I just wondered if seeing RJ seemed to cause her any distress,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” Christina said. “I was surprised to hear from RJ. I haven’t on any of the few occasions she’s blown through town, but when she invited Marigold to ride on the float, I thought it might be a fun thing for her to do. And she was definitely excited about it. I haven’t seen her smile that way in a long time.”
I nodded and watched as Marigold used the pen on her notebook. I knew she couldn’t be writing but wondered what she was drawing.
“Do you mind if I talk to her?” I asked.
Christina stared at me, surprised. “I don’t know…I guess it’s okay. But why?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve seen some things and just wondered if maybe I could recommend someone to help. The CIA doesn’t just give you a gun and let you run around shooting people. We have to build cases and some of that building depended on witness testimony. Given our targets, the witnesses were often military and rarely in peak health, mentally or physically.”
Christina’s eyes widened. “I never thought of that, but then I don’t know much about the military or those government agencies. If you think you might be able to help, by all means…”
I headed out the back door and walked over to where Marigold was sitting. She never once looked back and didn’t even turn her head when I sat beside her on the porch. I looked over at her notebook and saw what she’d been working on, but it wasn’t a picture. Not exactly. It was rows of stick figures in different poses.
“Can I see what you’re working on?” I asked.
She turned her head toward me, then stared directly at me, not even blinking.
“My name is Fortune,” I said. “We’ve never met but I’m a friend of Ida Belle and Gertie’s. You know them, right?”
She nodded.
“They’re really nice,” I said. “And lots of fun. We came by today to see how you were feeling and to drop off a casserole. Gertie makes the absolute best casseroles and we brought cookies from Ally’s bakery. Have you been to the bakery?”
She nodded again, this time smiling just a tiny bit. Score another for Ally.
“Yeah,” I said. “Ally makes the best cookies, pies, cakes, and, well, anything with sugar that I’ve ever eaten. I had to start running more after I met her because I was going to outgrow all my clothes.”
The smiled widened and she passed her notebook over to me. I flipped back a page and this time, the rows were filled with emojis of sorts. Hearts, stars, clouds—small, simple objects that could be easily drawn. I riffled through the other pages and saw the same things repeated.
“Your penmanship is excellent,” I said when I handed the notebook back to her. “Have you ever tried drawing anything bigger? Like maybe the pier and the bayou? Or your house?”
She shook her head and pulled out a cell phone and accessed the images. Then she showed me pictures of the bayou and her house and pointed to the screen.
“Phones take good pictures, don’t they?” I asked. “I especially like this one with the sunset over the water. Did you take it?”
She nodded and shoved the phone back in her pocket.
“I saw you at the parade last night,” I said, watching her closely. “I was the queen on the other float. Do you remember?”
She nodded again but shifted her gaze to the grass.
“I’m sorry there was an accident with your float,” I said. “Are you okay now?”
She nodded again but I could tell she was starting to get agitated.
“I’m glad you’re fine,” I said. “I better go back inside. Make sure you have some of those cookies.”
She nodded but never looked up. I rose from the porch and headed back inside. Christina gave me an anxious look as I walked in.
“She responded to my questions,” I said. “But she started to get agitated when I mentioned the parade. I didn’t want to push it, so I left her alone. She was drawing stick figures in her notebook. The other pages have what looks like rows of emojis.”
Christina nodded. “She started with the stick figures about a year after the accident. Then the emojis after I got her the phone and an iPad. I didn’t see the point in the electronics at first as she couldn’t read or write, but the therapist said she’d benefit from the mental engagement with the games and things like the apps for coloring. And I can play audiobooks for her. She loves the camera and is always taking pictures. I have to check it because she’s been known to snap things she shouldn’t. I wasn’t aware until she showed one of me in the shower to a friend.”
“Oh no!” Gertie said.
Christina smiled. “At least it was a lady friend. Could have been worse. The camera has come in handy though. I’ve taken pictures of different food and drinks and have a folder of them. That way, if she’s wanting something in particular, she just has to find the picture and point.”
“That’s smart,” I said.
“It definitely helps lower the frustration level with not being able to communicate,” Christina said. “Were you… Did you see anything that gave you ideas?”
“Maybe,” I said and pulled out my phone. “Let me have your phone number. I want to text you a lady’s information. She’s an expert on PTSD and works with some of the toughest cases that the military has.”
“Oh, but she’s got an important job and a full roster, I’m sure,” Christina said. “She won’t have time to help Marigold. Even if she did, I don’t have the money to pay someone on that level.”
“She’ll talk to you because she’s a friend of mine,” I said. “And while she won’t be able to treat Marigold, I’m sure she’ll have some ideas and even some recommendations of people you can contact to implement the kinds of testing and training she suggests. She’s got an enormous network as she has to find ongoing help for soldiers all over the country. Most of them work at discounted rates or even for free on the really difficult cases in exchange for permission to use the data for articles and books. No real names are included of course.”
Christina put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God! If someone with that kind of skill set could help, that would be a miracle. Thank you.”
“All I’m doing is giving you a number,” I said. “But hopefully, she’ll have someone to pursue.”
Christina jumped up and wrapped her arms around me. “It’s more than just a number. It’s your intention.” She let go of me and wiped at the tears in her eyes. “There are times when I lose all hope—for Marigold, for myself, and quite frankly, for humanity. Then someone makes a gesture like this, and it restores my faith. I can’t tell you how much I needed that restoration today.”
I felt my chest constrict.
“I understand,” I said. “As odd as it may sound, coming to Sinful is what restored my faith.”
Christina raised one eyebrow. “If coming here restored your faith, then I don’t ever want to dwell in the place you were before.”
“No one does.”