Too Far to Say Far Enough: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

ensemble, but any minute the claws would come out if I didn’t give this my full attention.
    “Just tell your two Sherpas to put the bags on the upstairs landing,” I said to Erin.
    She glanced at Ms. Willa and, with a knowing nod at me, fled the scene even less unobtrusively than Chief and Bonner. I turned with a stifled sigh to Ms. Willa.
    “Your building looks great,” I said. “The guys have turned that place into a—”
    “I’ve seen it,” she said. “I had Owen Schatz take me down there.”
    “Then you know it’s fabulous.”
    “Harold Renfroe would be pleased with it, I’ll give you that.”
    Her tiny face squeezed in. I was about to get an earful about how Troy Irwin had ruined her first late husband and cheated him out of that piece of prime real estate on St. George Street, as well as the rest of his fortune.
    “All right, everyone—it’s time,” Hank called from the living room.
    I thanked God for her as I took hold of Ms. Willa’s wheelchair. “We need to get in there,” I said.
    “I want that shop to be the talk of the town,” Ms. Willa said. “I want to make sure the score has been evened.”
    We were still tapping toward Troy Irwin, and that was a dance I refused to do, not just today but any day. Anytime. Anywhere.
    “I’ll give you a full report when I come over this week,” I said, my fingers already curled around the handles. Then I dropped that onto the Things To Deal With Later pile and steered her to the living room.
    The court had made the adoption legal. It was time for us to make it real.

CHAPTER TWO
    Everyone was gathered around the trunk-turned-coffee table Hank had covered with Desmond’s Harley-Davidson throw. Somebody, probably India Morehead, had seen to it that the contraband Oreo crumbs were shaken from it and had placed a white china basin over the ketchup stain.
    India herself wafted in from the kitchen carrying the matching pitcher of water and wordlessly settling the air with her flowing silk and her unflappable class. I’d given up wishing I could be like her when I grew up. Ophelia, who followed her with Desmond’s Harley beach towel folded like a king’s robe, could actually be her own version of India someday. She spent most of her free time away from Sacrament House with her mentor and had distinctly more natural promise than I did. Ophelia’s Hispanic beauty often stole my breath from me, even with the echo of sadness in her eyes. I wasn’t sure that would ever go away.
    “Y’all can sit right here,” India said, waving a willowy hand at two red cushions on the floor beside the trunk.
    Desmond had left the cocky grin parked somewhere. That was Desmond for “This serious, now.” While Hank took her place at the top of the circle, between Zelda and Jasmine, who was, of course, already crying, I risked looking at Kade Capelli for the first time that day.
    Kade was the only one who looked unconnected to the group. His handsome Harvard confidence made a better shield than the visor on my motorcycle helmet. If anyone else picked up on the slight stiffening around his eyes or the minute hunch of the athletic shoulders, they didn’t let on. I couldn’t convince myself that I saw it because I was his mother. I had, after all, only known him for four months.
    He was across from Desmond and me, standing next to Chief, arms hanging easily at his sides just the way Chief’s were. Though sandy blond to Chief’s gray, in posture, he looked more like Chief’s son than mine. That was probably because they’d been working together fifty hours a week for the last two months. He’d definitely spent more time with Chief than he had with me.
    I looked away before Kade could see my eyes begging.
    “The Lord be with you,” Hank said, square hands raised.
    “And also wichoo,” was the reply from the Sacrament Sisters. Everyone else joined in as well, but I always heard the women above the rest, as if they felt the Presence the most.
    Hank stretched her arm