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  “Enabling?” Lauren took a step toward him, felt Hannah brush her ankle as she followed. “You’re actually going to tell me that we’re to blame for my sister’s problems? Her family?” She pointed her finger. “You were the reason Jess ran away last year. She wouldn’t have needed those sleeping pills if she hadn’t been upset by your unsolicited, so-called friendly advice. Trying to convince her she needed therapy or medication. Can you even imagine how that felt? How hurtful it was?” Lauren’s finger began to shake. She willed it to steady. “My father had a stroke as a result of your interference, Eli. A stroke.”

  “Lauren, hey—”

  “Don’t,” she warned, somehow close enough now that her finger brushed the front of his shirt. She was vaguely aware of Shrek lumbering their way off leash, Emma following a good distance behind. “Don’t say you ‘admire’ that I’m trying to help my sister. Not when you’re the guy who wouldn’t do a thing to help her during that drug-screening situation. You knew it was a prescription medicine. You could have confirmed that. Vouched for her.” Her finger connected with his chest in a jab. “Jess’s job was at risk. A real friend would have—”

  “Shrek, back.”

  “Hannah—no!”

  There was a bellowing bark, a high-pitched response, then a deep yelp.

  “Hannah, let go of his ear!” Lauren pleaded, frantic. “Eli, Emma, stay back. She’ll bite. Let me find something to distract her. I have toys, treats, and—oh no!”

  Another fit of growling, a blur of black-and-white, then . . .

  Laughing. Eli and then Emma joining in. “Good boy, Shrek.”

  Lauren stared, incredulous.

  Hannah was flat on her back—completely subdued by a blind dog’s enormous black paw planted square in the center of her chest. Shrek’s brows perked as he gazed calmly toward the sound of his master’s voice.

  “I can’t believe it,” Lauren breathed.

  Eli shrugged. “Leader of the pack.”

  “I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD CHOICE,” Eli told Vee Viette, meaning it.

  He sank into one of several overstuffed chintz armchairs and gazed with appreciation around the wood-paneled great room of Mimaw’s Nest. Beamed ceilings, white cotton curtains topped by ruffles of red- and white-checked fabric, above a hardwood floor stenciled to look like braided rugs—real ones would have been skid hazards. A staggering number of collector’s plates covered the walls—Hummels to Elvis—along with a few festive Mardi Gras masks. Dominating the far wall was a huge color portrait of a beaming African American woman. The late great Auntie Odette, he’d been told.

  All in all, the room was a colorful mix of what Eli’s mother would call “tacky comfortable,” but most of all welcoming—down to the huge rawhide bone Shrek was happily gnawing on the wide front porch. Very welcoming. Starting with the air itself, which smelled of pancakes, hash browns, and plates of steaming boudin sausage. The room hummed with a blend of music, distant laughter, and the frequent clucking of chickens through the screen door. Chickens, Elvis. And nothing obviously “medical”—uniforms included.

  The staff, mostly Vee’s extended family, came to work dressed as they would be at home: jeans, T-shirts, overalls, or shirts with the tails tied up over hippie-print skirts. Some added hats, scarves, and funky jewelry that would never fly at the hospital but were sure to coax a smile or laugh from even the most challenged residents.

  A group that now included Eli’s brother. Drew had moved in last night. His first comment had been “Wow—cool.”

  “We’re so glad your family is willing to share Drew with us.” Vee nudged a basket of still-warm beignets his way. “I wasn’t sure it would happen.”

  Eli had been surprised himself. The judge never took his suggestions for Drew. But when he’d presented the idea of Mimaw’s—sitting in the Landry study, flanked by those gun cases—his father had been unusually reserved. Not distracted or sullen. Simply accepting. He’d let Eli explain what he knew about this place, allowed his wife to ask most of the questions. Including those about medical supervision, equipment, and staff training. The judge made a general statement about Drew’s medical paperwork but didn’t mention the advance directive. No threats. Or thinly veiled implications that Eli wanted anything other than to ensure his brother’s comfort and safety. He hadn’t even complained that the facility’s location, acreage off the highway west of Houston, was a longer drive for visitors. And medical transport.

  It had all seemed surreal, even ideal. Until the thought occurred to Eli—around two o’clock this morning, jolting him awake—that his father’s strange acquiescence might have been a sort of apology to his wife. For deliberately shooting at her younger son.

  He swallowed, glancing to where one of the staff was helping an elderly resident strap on one of those washboard musical instruments, encouraging the man to rub his shriveled hand against the ribs of the metal vest along with the Cajun music. He was a quick study.

  “And thank goodness,” Vee continued, “your brother was released before the next storm moves in. We’ve got rain coming again—maybe winds. Francis’s picking up strength. We tend to keep track.”

  “Yes.” Eli still had trouble accepting what he’d heard about this young woman. Not only that she’d survived Hurricane Katrina, but that she and her older cousin had sought shelter in one of the temporary sites that spawned media horror stories. He didn’t want to imagine what a twelve-year-old girl might have endured. It seemed a miracle that this peaceful haven could have been founded by evacuees from that disaster. Eli glanced at the ceiling. “No problems with the roof after that wind from Eloise?”

  “No.” Vee smiled. “We tend to check those things, too.” Then her brows pinched. “I inquired at the hospital today about that girl from the urgent care who fell off the roof. No change in her neuro status.”

  “I checked too. Her vital signs are stable, and the injured kidney is functioning normally.” Eli decided to spare her his real opinion: that none of those things mattered if Darcee was brain-dead.

  He glanced away for a moment as the caregiver began to sing along with the resident’s exuberant washboard strums. Another collection on the wall caught Eli’s eye, one he hadn’t noticed before: dozens of crosses, all sizes and shapes, colors and materials. He thought of Emma’s Palm Sunday cross. She’d already pinned it up in Drew’s new room.

  “A lot of people were in that cafeteria.” Vee’s amber eyes captured his. “It was an awful thing to see. Dodie, the EKG tech, said she’s had some nightmares. I’m glad Lauren’s going to have that support meeting.”

  “Right.” In the chapel. He’d heard about it. Apparently Lauren was also teaming with social services to do some one-on-one peer counseling, to assess staff for signs of traumatic stress. He’d tell her she could skip him. Not that they would be speaking after the big dogfight yesterday—theirs, not Shrek and Hannah Leigh’s. Fortunately he and Lauren worked in different departments. Avoiding each other wouldn’t be a problem.

  “It looks like all of Drew’s medicines were delivered.” Eli weakened and reached for a sugary beignet. “The nurses said he’s been swallowing the pills okay. He needs to have the head of his bed raised to do that. Drew’s had some trouble with choking since he’s been in bed more.”

  “No worries; he’ll be fine,” Vee assured. “And I think you’ll notice that your brother won’t be in bed as much here.” She smiled, her head nodding to the washboard music. “We’ve got great chairs and even better encouragement.”

  Eli wished there were hope for more. But he knew better. “Did you say all of your staff are family members?”

  “Most of them. You met Renee and Eulalie and Florine. And Isaac and Uncle Henrie.” She smiled with obvious pride. “There are a few more Viettes. And some Fruge cousins that help with building maintenance. But we’ve been short one registered nurse the past three months. Some of the Houston Grace staff have been filling in.” She met Eli’s gaze directly, abandoning her musical head nod. “One o
f the nurses is Lauren Barclay. She’s due here in about an hour.”

  - + -

  “What am I up to? Emptying rainwater from a roaster pan,” Lauren answered, dropping down onto the weather room couch with her cell phone. “And poaching chicken breasts for Hannah Leigh. She won’t eat dog food. What’s happening in Austin?”

  “Same old, same old . . .” There wasn’t a speck of complaint in Kate Callison’s voice. “Wes wants me to ride along with the horse-mounted team today. Be the designated nurse in spurs and chaps.” Kate’s laugh was half purr. She deserved joy; it had been a long time coming. “I don’t think that man would notice if I showed up at the church in search-and-rescue gear instead of a wedding dress. It’s all he thinks about.”

  “Except for you.” There was no denying Lauren’s twinge of envy. Kate had found her happy ending. While Lauren found . . . a shoe full of coffee grounds. In her continuing role as her sister’s keeper, which Jess welcomed like a hill of Texas fire ants.

  “How’s that dicey situation with your sister and—” Kate’s voice hinted at melodrama—“the dark and dangerous PA?”

  Lauren’s stomach shivered for no reason she could explain. “Eli’s out of the picture for the most part. But we all work together. I’m keeping an eye on everything.”

  “That sounds like you. Hey, we heard about your patient. The woman who fell from the roof. It was in the Grace Medical management bulletin as a prompt for a system-wide safety assessment. Horrible thing. Were you involved in any of that?”

  “I helped on scene. She landed on the patio right outside the cafeteria—full of visitors and staff. I’m sure you can imagine how it affected people.” Lauren thought of Jess, how distraught she was even without witnessing the incident. “I’ll be doing some peer counseling for the staff. And helping with the annual disaster plan update, of course.”

  “Speaking of that, our weather reports keep mentioning those tropical storms. I don’t have to worry about you getting caught in a hurricane, do I?”

  “No. That’s common news coverage this time of year. Besides, my mother wouldn’t allow it, not when she’s not here to direct things.” Lauren glanced at the rainbow of storm maps and the plethora of weather gizmos. “Our only weather challenge is this pathetic sieve that’s masquerading as my parents’ roof. I’m running out of Tupperware bowls.”

  “Ha! Oops—better run. Wes’s truck just pulled up. Stay safe, pal.”

  “Always. You too, Kate.”

  Lauren disconnected and was about to slip the phone in her pocket when she saw she’d missed a text from Vee. About thirty minutes ago. Probably came in when she was watching the dog-training DVD. She’d had to turn the TV volume up in order to hear it over Hannah’s growling critique. She tapped to open the message:

  Drew Landry @ Mimaw’s. Eli here too.

  “Great,” Lauren groaned aloud. Apparently there was no place she could go to escape him. Not work, not Mimaw’s, not even her Buffalo Bayou.

  She walked toward the kitchen, yesterday’s encounter prodding once again. Eli had seemed as wary as she’d been about their chance meeting at the dog park. If Emma hadn’t been there, Lauren had no doubt they would have pretended not to notice each other. They’d been doing that, avoiding each other like two repelling magnets, since the day she’d begun work at Houston Grace. It was easier than she’d imagined—minimal professional contact required because they worked in separate departments and almost no personal interaction at all since he’d dropped down on Jess’s revolving list of buddies.

  She poured fresh coffee into her cup, added a generous splash of almond milk, then carried it to the kitchen table. She set it next to her open Bible, a safe distance from the vintage orange Tupperware Servalier bowl positioned under a ceiling drip. She was going to leave the bowl there even if the latest weather report promised sun.

  Lauren chuckled, thinking of Emma Landry and the way she’d burst into an exuberant Annie song as she left the park. “‘The sun’ll come out tomorrow. . . .’”

  That such a hopeful and sunny child could be the daughter of “the dark and dangerous PA” seemed impossible. They were so different. Lauren frowned as she recalled what the little girl had said about her mother: she was an actress in Paris, and it was the reason she’d left them. The innocent revelation clearly bothered Eli. By his own admission, he didn’t share much about his daughter. That much seemed true; Jess rarely mentioned her, had insisted Eli’s wife was dead when her parents pressed for information about the older man who was a single father—and the Landry family black sheep. Lauren suspected it was a combination of all those things that made Jess strike up a friendship with him in the first place. Another way to rebel against her parents. She’d waved him like a red cape under a bull’s nose. And Lauren, as always, had been the appointed fixer.

  She’d made a point of attending a few of the Grace Hospital softball games—Jess and Eli were both on the team. But instead of an arrogant and entitled “player” exerting undue influence—her parents’ claim—Lauren’s first impression of Eli had been much different. Good-looking, obviously, but quiet, more interested in the game than in socializing. In truth, he and Jess didn’t interact all that much. Still, Eli had engaged Lauren in conversation a few times, once even suggesting she join the group for pizza afterward. The spontaneous invitation had made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if it was because she saw something in his eyes that hinted at interest in her . . . or because she could imagine herself being okay with that.

  Considering the whole situation, it was unnerving at best. She decided to back off and told her parents she didn’t think there was anything to worry about. Only a few weeks later, Jess had filled the prescription and run away.

  Lauren took a sip of her coffee, attempting to wash down the too-familiar swirl of guilt. She should have done more to discourage the friendship, especially when it became clear that Eli’s unwelcome counsel was upsetting Jess. That kind of friction always sent her into a tailspin.

  Lauren squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of her sister’s disappearance that spring break, her parents’ frantic worry. Her first instinct had been to call Fletcher, but he’d been on that Hawaiian anniversary cruise with his parents. And then she’d seen Jessica’s Facebook posts about needing to get away, along with those photos of beaches in Corpus Christi. So she’d raced there alone, crazy to save her sister and not knowing Eli was on his way too. When she met up with him, she’d raged against his intrusion into Jess’s life. Blamed him for her disappearance. She’d made Eli a target for every frustration, every moment of anger and anguish she’d felt in a lifetime of protecting Jess. All the while terrified—more than Lauren had been in her entire life—that her sister was dead, gone forever.

  She’d screamed at Eli, told him she hated him. He’d taken it all, offering nothing in his defense.

  Then Lauren had dissolved, sagging to her knees and sobbing. For the first time ever she’d lost hope, exhausted from trying to remain strong and responsible. Sick at heart of it all, she’d wished someone could just take over, make things okay.

  Eli had reached down and helped her stand again. For a brief moment he’d hugged her close, then stepped back and looked her squarely in the eye, promising he’d find her sister. Which, thank God, he did.

  And then, back in Houston, somehow she’d ended up in his arms again. Where, so unexpectedly, they’d shared that kiss . . .

  Lauren’s phone chimed in her pocket. The alarm she’d set:

  Jess. Anatomy & Physiology 1 PM

  It was a recurring weekly reminder, one of several alarms she put in place in the event that Jess overslept or forgot she had class. This was her sister’s final required course in pre-nursing. A last milestone to ensure Jess’s acceptance into the degree program in the fall—a foothold on her future. Lauren had promised her parents she’d help that happen.

  “You’re policing Jessica.”

  “I’m not,” Lauren hissed aloud, hating that Eli’
s words had drifted back. She stood, gritting her teeth. It was time to get ready for her shift at Mimaw’s. She’d take care of Drew Landry if she was asked to; Vee was right that he could use some stability and TLC. But that didn’t mean Lauren had to put up with his brother’s off-base opinions about her family. Or be constantly reminded of her mistake that night he brought Jess home.

  - + -

  “Jessica!” Fletcher slowed his open Jeep, pulling to the curb in front of the Barclay house. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “What are you . . . ? Hey, hold on there!”

  Jessica halted her ladder climb, twisting her torso to peer his way. She leaned back, raised her arm to wave.

  “Watch out!” The top of the fifteen-foot aluminum ladder lost contact with the stucco and wobbled sideways, jolting Jessica like a clown act. She pitched forward, arms hugging the ladder, her slender frame in baggy jeans and a gauzy tunic not enough ballast for even a kitchen step stool. She yelped, flattening her palms against the house.

  “Don’t move!” Fletcher vaulted from the Jeep and jogged toward her, trying not to imagine her hurtling to the ground.

  “I’m perfectly fine now,” she shouted down to him, wind whipping her hair as, miraculously, the ladder steadied against the wall. She smiled, her beauty making his breath catch. “No worries, neighbor.”

  “Come down,” Fletcher croaked. He cleared his throat, told himself he shouldn’t be thinking what he was: that he wanted her down here, safe—in his arms. He watched as Jessica swept her hair away from her face, giving the pale strands one last stubborn tug, the way she had for as long as he could remember. “It’s way too early to string Christmas lights around your mother’s flying pig. Why are you up there?”

  “Trying to keep from drowning in my sleep.” Jessica descended the last several rungs, then dropped light as dandelion fluff to the lawn. She walked toward Fletcher, brushing her hands together. Her lips pouted. “Bad enough to have to move back home without a roof leak over my bed.”