My mouth fell open. All I could do was blink at her, too stunned to immediately respond.
“It’s not your fault that you couldn’t afford better,” she continued, her patronizing tone getting under my skin. “But we’re your family now so you should let us help you.”
“Henry,” I called, my eyes not leaving June’s. “It’s time to go.” Then, through clenched teeth, to June, “Howdareyou question my ability to take care of my son? I am agoodmother!”
She patted my hand. “Of course, you are, darlin’. You’ve been doing the best you could. Montgomery should’ve let us help you sooner.”
Henry bounced to my side and handed June his cup. “All done, Mamaw June!”
“You sure are!” she gushed. “You’ll have to tell your mama how much you like your smoothies.”
I shook my head and let out a thin, incredulous laugh at her audacity to keep from being impolite. “Let’s go, baby.”
I dragged Henry away without another word, my mom-guilt tearing my heart apart. June wasn’t wrong. Ihadn’tbeen able to afford the best food or to make everything from scratch with all the best ingredients the way they seemed to at Dawes House. But damn her for insinuating Henry’s health issues were because I didn’t have money. Damn her to hell.
“Zellie!” Whit called after us, but I didn’t stop until he caught up to us in the foyer. “Please don’t be upset with June,” he said gently. “She means well.”
I sent him a wry look. “Oh, I’m sure.”
He reached out to touch my arm just as the elevator door slid open. I jerked away, but clearly not taking the hint, he stepped inside with us.
“Are you coming to play at our house, Mr. Whit?” Henry asked, grinning broadly with excitement, still buzzing from sugar or smoothies—or whatever June had slipped into that cup.
Whit sent me a quick glance, then shook his head. “Probably not tonight. I’m just going to stay and talk with your mama for a little bit.”
“Go get ready for your bath, baby,” I told Henry as soon as we entered the apartment, forcing a tight smile, though indignation still vibrated in my veins.
As soon as Henry disappeared down the hall, Whit exhaled and dragged a hand through his dark hair before finally meeting my eyes. “I’ll talk to June. But think it over, Zellie. You might change your mind. There’s old knowledge that has been passed down, preserved for generations. Things modern medicine has forgotten.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I said. “And, trust me, I’m open to anything that cansafelytreat Henry’s condition. But June hadno rightto treat him without my permission.”
Whit nodded. “You’re absolutely right. She should’ve checked with you first.”
“Andshamingme because I’m poor?” My voice cracked, tears stinging behind my eyes. “I already feel like a failure half the time for not being able to give Henry everything he deserves. I sure as hell don’t need someone like June making me feel even worse!”
Whit stepped closer. “You’re a great mother,” he assured me. “You can’t help your circumstances, Zellie. You’ve done everything you could to try to create a better life for you and Henry, even if the options weren’t great.” He grinned. “You certainly didn’t want to move into Dawes House and have to deal withme, if I recall correctly.” His voice softened. “But here you are.”
I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about everything he’d said about June’s intentions or about my abilities as a mother. But he was right about one thing—Ihadn’twanted to move into Dawes House. But I’dhad no choice.
And now here I was, standing in front of this enigmatic, mysterious man, his kindness and friendship so much more than I’d ever expected. Whose presence soothed something raw inside me. Who stirred longings I’d buried years ago.
Whit’s eyes searched mine—hopeful, questioning, unguarded.
And my pulse quickened, breath catching as I whispered, “But here I am.”
Chapter eleven
This must be what hell feels like…
That’s all I could think as I checked the date on my phone, confirming it reallywasonly June. I stood in front of the window air conditioner in my bedroom in nothing but a thin tank and even thinner pajama shorts, cursing the sticky night air that that refused to let me cool off even with the chilled air blasting me in the face, lifting my hair, needling at the sweat that clung to every inch of me, sweat that soaked my clothes and bedsheets the second I tried to sleep. Making a mental note to press Chase for an ETA on the central air installation, I wiped the back of my neck and went back to my bed, praying the sheets were cool enough for another attempt at sleep.
I was staring up at my ceiling fan, watching the lazy rotation, considering getting up again to check whether the AC wasreallyon the highest setting, when my phone rang. Frowning, I reached for it. My stomach dropped when I saw the caller ID.
Vivian.
What horrible thing did she want to accuse me of that couldn’t have waited until morning?
My first instinct was to send the call to voicemail, but I hesitated when I glanced at the clock and realized that it was after 2 a.m. Even when Vivian was off the wagon, she didn’t have a habit of drunk dialing me anymore.
