I smiled, noting how she referred to Ali in the present tense. “I was lucky to be his wife.”
“Oh yes, such a decent and devoted young man. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“It’s a terrible loss,” I agreed, wrestling with my emotions, determined to keep my composure.
“If you know Ali, you must also know my daughter, Elizabeth?”
“I have met Lizzie, yes.”
“And my son, have you met him too?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
A puzzled expression crossed her face. “That’s very surprising.”
“It is?” I asked. “Why?”
“Because of how Ali—”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the appearance of a nurse wearing colorful floral scrubs. “Miss Martha, it’s time for your medication.”
The older woman frowned. “But I just took them.”
“No, dear, you haven’t had your meds yet today.”
Martha regarded the woman with suspicion. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” she said, her voice upbeat. “Would I lie to you?”
Mrs. Martins looked dismayed. “I keep forgetting so much lately.”
“We all have days like that,” the nurse said in a soothing tone. “Here you go.”
I looked around the room to give Mrs. Martins some privacy while she took her medications. A grouping of family photos on the side table caught my eye. Lizzie looked the same as now, just older. But I didn’t immediately recognize Mrs. Martins. She looked much younger in the picture, smiling and vibrant, worlds apart from the frail older woman sitting across from me. My gaze caught on the third person in the photo. My pulse spiked as I stared at the familiar face.
“There you go, Miss Martha,” the nurse said to Mrs. Martins as she finished giving her medication. “You call if you need anything.”
After the nurse left, I struggled to stay calm. I didn’t want to do anything to alarm Mrs. Martins. “Are these your children?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
“Yes, that’s Elizabeth, who, of course, you know. And that’s my son, William.”
My heart kicked. “Bill Warren is your son?”
Her rheumy eyes lit up. “So youdoknow my Billy?” She shot me a puzzled look. “I thought you said you didn’t know him.”
“I guess I forgot that he was Lizzie’s brother,” I blustered. “I think the association slipped my mind because they don’t have the same last name. Why is that?”
“Didn’t you know?” she said. “Billy is the product of my first marriage. Lizzie is the child from my second marriage to Lawrence.”
Shock rippled through me. Lizzie and Bill Warren were half siblings. What did that mean? Why hadn’t Bill Warren mentioned the connection?
“If you’d come this morning, you could have seen Lizzie,” Mrs. Martins said.
“Lizzie visited you today?” I asked. “She’s in town?”
She nodded. “Oh yes. When she’s in Virginia, she books a room at the extended-stay hotel down the street.”
“And does she visit you often?”
