“You’ve had a rough time of it,” Donald said and though he was being kind, Marla felt as if there was a hint of condescension in his words.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“But I’ve heard you have some kind of amnesia,” Cherise said. “It’s temporary, right?”
“I hope so.”
Cherise said solemnly, “We’ll pray for you.”
Her husband nodded. “Perhaps we should join hands now and ask for the Father’s forgiveness and guidance?”
Cherise set down her cup and reached for Marla’s hand. Donald did the same, but before the prayer could get under way Eugenia clipped into the room, Coco at her heels. She’d donned a somber gray suit that matched her expression and suddenly the keyring in Marla’s pocket seemed to weigh a ton. The dog growled low in her throat, then took up her position behind Eugenia’s favorite chair.
“Cherise. Donald,” Eugenia said without a smile.
“Aunt Genie!” Cherise shot to her feet and flung her arms around the smaller woman.
“How are you?” Eugenia said tonelessly as Cherise stepped back and beamed.
“Better now that I’ve seen Marla. We—Monty and I—were sick to death with worry. I was frantic to see her. I wish Monty would have come with me, but he was busy today and I didn’t know when we’d have another opportunity,” Cherise said, taking a seat again as Eugenia settled into her wingback and dropped one hand to scratch the little dog’s ears.
Cherise opened her palms, fingers stretching wide in supplication. “Look, there’s been a lot of bad blood in the family and it’s gone back generations, we all know that, but it’s time to put a stop to it. I mean, when I heard that Marla had almost lost her life . . . I just fell down and prayed. Something like this really puts things into perspective.”
Donald clasped his hands and let them fall between his knees. On his left was a wide gold band proudly pronouncing he was a married man, on his right was a signet ring of some sort and another on his pinkie where a large diamond flashed. “Cherise and I think that this is an opportunity for the family to come together, that when tragedy strikes, or nearly strikes, it’s important to put the past behind us and look forward. To take God’s hand and walk with Him, thank Him for all the blessings he’s bestowed upon us.” Donald’s smile was placidly serene and phony as hell.
Cherise reached over and squeezed Marla’s hand. “You and I, we were always close. I thought of you more like a sister than a cousin, or an in-law. And I know Monty, he was always fond of you. Is fond of you.” Her eyes were round, sincere, but there was just a hint of something more in their amber depths—something dark and sinful. “We’re here to see that the rift that seems to have widened between us in the past couple of years is bridged.”
What the devil was this all about? Marla wanted to escape from the saccharine and goodwill and idealistic, shopworn phrases that rang false in her ears.
The front door opened and Nick, wearing his scarred leather jacket, jeans and wary expression strode in. The corners of his mouth pinched at the sight of Cherise and her husband.
“Cherise,” Nick said, nodding at his cousin. He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His gaze skated over his cousin’s upturned face to land full force on Marla. Stormy blue eyes bored into hers. “So, how’s it goin’ today?”
“Better,” Marla said, refusing to think about last night in the living room and how his body felt against hers. “Lots better. I think I’m starting to feel human again.”
“Jaw still hurt?”
“A little.”
“A lot, I’d wager,” he said, unzipping his jacket.
“I’ll deal with it.”
“I imagine you will.” One edge of his mouth lifted a fraction, then he turned to Donald. “You must be Cherise’s husband.”
“I’m sorry,” Eugenia said and made quick introductions as the Reverend rose and extended a big hand over the coffee table. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said to Nick.
“Not all bad, I hope.”
Donald smiled. “Nah. Cherise thinks you’re one of the good guys.”
Nick snorted and sent Marla a look that could sear through stone. “Then she’s a distinct minority.”
Donald laughed, Cherise blushed and Eugenia’s frown deepened. Nick grabbed a cup of coffee and settled one hip against the window ledge, his long, jean-clad legs stretched in front of him.
In the ensuing small talk, Marla learned that Donald had once been a pro football player, a running back, one of those Christian athletes who prayed before each game. But all that was before God had decided that a three-hundred-fifty-pound linebacker would tackle Donald, crack three of his ribs and break his ankle in two places, thus ending his short, though seemingly awe-inspiring, career.
“. . . So the man upstairs thought I needed to lead a congregation rather than a team,” he said with a smile, then set his cup on the table. “And that’s one of the reasons we’re here.” He reached toward his wife and she, like a trained dog, linked her fingers through his. His other hand smoothed the worn leather binding of his Bible. “Cherise has been concerned that the family is splintering. Her parents are both gone now. Nick, you took off years ago and your father, too, has passed on.”