Sugar Daddy (Travis Family #1)(42)

"They're nearly giving them away," Mr. Ferguson had pressed. "In fact, the Monet is

now the exact same price as the pine coffin you purchased. I can switch them out for you at no extra expense."

I had almost been too stunned to speak. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Suspecting that Mr. Ferguson's generosity might have had something to do with the fact that he had taken Miss Marva out to dinner a couple of nights before. I went to ask her exactly what had happened on their date.

"Liberty Jones," she had said indignantly, "are you suggesting I slept with that man to get you a discounted coffin?"

Abashed, I replied that I'd meant no disrespect, and of course I didn't think such a thing.

Still indignant. Miss Marva had informed me that if she had slept with Arthur Ferguson. there was no doubt he would have given me the dadgum coffin for free.

The graveside service was beautiful, if a little scandalous by Welcome standards. Mr. Ferguson conducted the sendee, talking a little about Mama and her life, and how much she would be missed by her friends and two daughters. There was no mention at all of Louis. His kin had taken his body off to Mesquite. where he'd been born and many of the Sadleks still lived. They'd hired a manager for Bluebonnet Ranch, a shiftless young man named Mike Mendeke.

One of Mama's closest friends at work, a plump woman with tea-colored hair, read a poem:

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

It may not have been a religious poem, but by the time Deb had finished, there were tears in many eyes.

I laid two yellow roses, one from Carrington and one from me. on top of the coffin. Red may be the preferred color of roses everywhere else, but in Texas it's yellow. Mr. Ferguson had promised me the flowers would be buried with Mama when it was lowered into the ground.

At the end of the service, we played "Imagine" by John Lennon, which elicited smiles from a few faces, and disapproving frowns from many more. Forty-two white balloons—one for each year of Mama's age—were released in the warm blue sky.

It was the perfect funeral for Diana Truitt Jones. I think my mother would have loved it. When the service was over, I felt a sudden fierce need to rush back to Carrington. I wanted to hug her for a long time, and stroke the pale blond curls that reminded me so much of Mama's. Carrington had never seemed so fragile to me, so vulnerable to every kind of harm.

As I turned to glance at the row of cars, I saw a black limo with tinted windows parked in the distance. Welcome is not what you'd call limo country, so this was a mildly startling sight. The design of the vehicle was modern, its doors and windows sealed, its shape as streamlined and perfect as a shark's.

No other funeral was being held that day. Whoever was sitting in that limo had known my mother, had wanted to watch her service from a distance. I stood very still, staring at the vehicle. My feet moved, and I suppose I was going over to ask if he—or she—wanted to come to the graveside. But just as I started toward it. the limo pulled away in a slow glide.

It’s me. The thought that I would never find out who it was.

Soon after the funeral Carrington and I were visited by a guardian ad litem. or GAL, who had been appointed to assess whether I was fit to be her legal guardian. The GAL's fee was one hundred and fifty dollars, which I thought was pretty steep considering she stayed less than an hour. Thank God the court had waived the fee—I didn't think my checking account would cover it.

Carrington seemed to know it was important for her to behave well. Under the GAL's observation, she built a block tower, dressed her favorite doll, and sang the ABC song from start to finish. While the GAL asked me questions about the baby's upbringing and my plans for the future, Carrington climbed into my lap and pressed a few impassioned kisses on my cheek. After each kiss, she glanced significantly at the GAL to make certain her actions were being duly noted.

The next phase of the process was surprisingly easy. I went to Family Court and gave the judge letters from Miss Marva. the pediatrician, and the pastor of the Lamb of God, all offering good opinions as to my character and my parenting abilities. The judge expressed concern over my lack of a job, advised me to get something right away, and warned me to expect the occasional visit from Social Services.

When the hearing was over, the court clerk told me to write out a check for seventy-five dollars, which I did with a purple glitter pen I found at the bottom of my purse. They gave me a folder with copies of the petition and information release forms I'd filled out, and the certificate of guardianship. I couldn't help feeling like I'd just bought Carrington and been handed the receipt.

I went outside the courthouse and found Lucy waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, with Carrington in her stroller. For the first time in days, I laughed as I saw Carrington's chubby hands clutching a cardboard sign Lucy had made for her: PROPERTY OF LIBERTY JONES.

CHAPTER 12

Fly High with TexWest!