“Bring it.”
His eyes lifted.
“You think—”
“I think we do not have enough facts.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because your son has been taking something that should not smell the way this does.”
“That is all I know.”
“And because your daughter just described symptoms your wife had while taking something that looked the same.”
Garrick’s throat moved.
He whispered:
“I gave it to her.”
Nola said nothing.
“Every night.”
His voice broke.
“The doctor would measure it.”
“Then when he stopped coming as often, he told me how much.”
“Mae hated it.”
“She said it burned.”
“I told her medicine wasn’t supposed to taste pleasant.”
His eyes filled.
“I made her swallow it.”
Nola stood.
She stepped close enough that he could not look away.
“You followed instructions from a man presented to you as a physician.”
“I held the spoon.”
“That does not make you the person who filled the bottle.”
He flinched.
“If this is what you think it is.”
“I don’t know what it is yet.”
“But if someone used your trust to harm her, then your love was used against you.”
Garrick stared.
“That may not make you feel innocent tonight.”
“It should.”
His eyes closed.
Nola continued more softly:
“Get the box.”
He nodded.
This time he went.
Clara climbed onto the bed and carefully slipped her small hand into Weston’s.
The boy did not wake.
Eli stood in the doorway.
He had been listening.
Children always listened when adults believed they were elsewhere.
His jaw was clenched.
“Who gave Mama the medicine?”
Nola looked toward him.
“Dr. Wren.”
“I know.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Nola studied him.
The boy had Garrick’s dark hair but not his father’s emptiness. His anger was alive, sharp, searching for a target.
“You think someone told him to?”
“I don’t know.”
Eli looked toward the stairs.
“Vernon Crow.”
Nola went still.
“Why did you say that?”
“Papa says we don’t talk about him.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“He came a lot when Mama got sick.”
“How often?”
“Every week sometimes.”
“To see your father?”
“Sometimes.”
“To see your mother?”
Eli hesitated.
Nola saw it.
“What?”
“He would ask Papa to come outside.”
“For what?”
“Ranch things.”
“How do you know?”
“I listened.”
Of course he did.
“What ranch things?”
“Buying Hollow Creek.”
Nola’s eyes narrowed.
“Did your mother want to sell?”
Eli shook his head immediately.
“She hated Mr. Crow.”
That was stronger than Nola expected.
“Why?”
The boy looked toward the hallway.
Then lowered his voice.
“Because she said he counted other people’s misfortunes like money.”