Or the one after that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
AYDA
Clint’s family lived in a typical Texas neighborhood. It was an older subdivision, the trees lining the streets well developed and offering shade as they stretched to meet one another. There were some two-story homes speckled around, but most were ranch styles, which sat at the back of a short lawn. The house we were visiting was the latter and looked well loved. The windows had shutters nailed to the siding, the cheerful pale yellow a contrast to the building’s pale blue. The yard was also one of the few with flowers planted in the beds.
I was holding two large donut boxes like a shield between the door and myself as I leaned in to knock. Drew shuffled in discomfort. His guilt only visible to me when he kept adjusting the neck of his T-shirt like it was choking him.
There were plenty of voices inside the home, the loudest of them sorrowful, mixed with the sound of tears. I reached out to knock again, thinking they hadn’t heard me the first time when it cracked open, and a small face appeared on the other side. The little boy must have been all of seven, his big, red-rimmed, brown eyes staring up at the two of us in question.
“Hi,” I said, glancing at Drew for a second beforecrouching and resting the boxes on my knees. I held out a hand and smiled gently. “I’m Ayda, and this is Drew. Are your parents or grandparents home?”
The small face nodded somberly then disappeared.
I rose to my full height and shrugged at Drew only seconds before the door was pulled open fully. A woman with the same big brown eyes as the little boy studied us. Hers were swollen and red, her nose raw from her obvious grief.
“Can I help you?” she asked hoarsely.
“Hi, sorry to disturb you. My name is Ayda, and this is Drew. We are…” I stopped and shuffled. “We were friends of Clint.”
“Drew?” she asked, looking at Drew and down at the patch on his cut before dragging her eyes back to me. “Drew Tucker?”
“That’s him.”
“You’d better come in,” she said, stepping from the path of the door. “The whole family is here. It’s chaos. They won’t believe you, of all people, are here. Clint… he wrote us all letters, and—” She stopped and shook her head, her annoyance at herself for rambling obvious. “Please come in. I’m Elise. Clint’s wife.”
I stepped inside the house and offered her the boxes with a small, sad smile. She nodded in thanks and accepted them gracefully, waiting for Drew to be all the way inside before closing the door behind him.
Their neat, orderly home was full of people. There were dishes upon dishes spread out on all the surfaces. Casseroles, pies, and all kinds of snacks were out for consumption. It seemed to me that when people were unsure of how to express their absolute sorrow, they sent food. That was where my ideahad come from. Mom had taken food to one of our neighbors who’d lost their father once. She said it would remove the burden of cooking from them.
I stayed close to Drew as we followed Elise through the crowd, ignoring the stray glances of curious eyes as we passed. Looking around, I could see why. These people were suburbanites, and we didn’t fit the bill. I couldn’t imagine what Clint had done to land himself in prison. I wasn’t going to ask, either. Not now. Not when they’d only just lost him.
“We can talk out back,” Elise said, pushing a sliding glass door aside as she waved at a small group sat around a cast iron fire pit on the other side of a small pool. Once we were outside, she stuck her head back inside and told someone to keep an eye on her grandsons before waving us over to the small group.
Three people looked up at us as we approached, an older woman smiling directly at me. Her hand found the older gentleman’s beside her, and she squeezed his fingers when he accepted her embrace gratefully. The younger man there must have been in his late twenties, and he was the one to stand once he saw me.
“These are Clint's parents, Martha and Jerry, and this is our oldest son, Paul.” She turned to the small group. “This is Drew and Ayda Tucker.”
I didn’t have the heart or inclination to correct her as I held out my hand in greeting, following Drew’s lead and shaking their hands in the order they were introduced to us. Elise pointed to a small bench in invitation. Hand in hand, Drew and I followed her direction and sat on the short stone bench, feeling increasingly more uncomfortable.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said quietly, taking the leadas I think Drew wanted me to do.
Every one of them nodded automatically, but Paul was the first to speak, his features twisting in hatred as he leaned forward, his elbows planted on his knees. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Even Dad knew it was coming.”
“Paul,” Elise pleaded, her heart in her voice as she sank to the small brick wall that contained some kind of plant. Paul just shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth, barely containing the cry that seemed so desperate to escape. I felt awful being here with a family that was slowly crumbling into grief, but we were here for a reason. Now that Clint was dead, I knew Drew would see that through to the last second. He would honor whatever promise he’d given the man who’d helped Harry in his final days.
“What? You want me to sugarcoat it now, Mom?”
“Paul!” It was Martha correcting him this time. “Enough.”
“It will never be enough, Grams. Not now. He’s gone.” Paul lifted his gaze and found Drew. “Those bastards were more crooked than Lombard Street. Dad knew not many of them would get out of there alive. We know why you’re here, Mr. Tucker, and I will give you everything I have to make sure someone pays for this.”
Drew leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together. He looked tired before he’d even started. Drew could barely manage his own grief, never mind that of others, but I knew he would find a way to do this. That’s just who he was. He looked down at the ground, more than aware that everyone’s attention was on him before he glanced up through heavy eyes and directed his focus on Paul.
“It seems like everyone knows why I’m here but me,” he said quietly, his voice somehow commanding. “Do you haveany idea who’s done this to Clint?”
Paul held his gaze, unblinking with his intensity. “You don’t know?”