Page 79 of His Wounded Heart
I sit on the side of my bed and pull on real work boots, then stand in front of the mirror attached to my closet door. I look different. Even my expression is different. I have a mischievous smile on my face. I recognize it because it’s Bella’s smile.
“Why not go all out?” I ask myself.
I unwind my braid and shake out my hair, then I go back into the bathroom and even put on some of the new eyeliner and mascara that I’d picked up at the grocery store.
I go back into the bedroom and take another look in the full-length mirror. I really do look different. I mean, I look like me, but not like Bella’s mom or the oldest Avery girl. I look like Trenda. The inside me.
“Mama, are you ready?” Bella calls from the kitchen.
“Yes, honey. I am.”
“I found your letter. It was stuck behind the back of your office table.”
“What, Sweet Pea?” I ask as I rush down the hallway so we can get under way.
“Mama, you look beautiful.” My little girl reaches out and strokes the arm of my sweater. “It’s so soft. Is it warm?”
At over a hundred dollars, it better be!
“It’s very warm.”
“Don’t get any icing on it,” Bella warns me as I go into the kitchen and look over all the baked goods we have to bring to the rec center construction site. We’ve cooked enough to feed an army. I think we’re going to need two boxes, along with her kitty and unicorn tray.
“Should we bring them milk?” she asks. “Milk goes good with brownies and cookies.”
“You have a good point.”
“If we go to the store, can I get a chocolate milk?”
My kid is a trip.
“Bella, look down in that cabinet and see if we have those big, red plastic cups.”
“Okay. Here’s your letter that you dropped.” She hands me an official-looking envelope, then hunkers down in front of the lower cabinet.
It’s the dumb lawyer letter. I don’t have time for it. I go into my office to shred it, then look a little closer and see that it’s addressed to Trenda Avery, personal and confidential. This has to be the first letter that the registered letter had referred to.
“Found the cups, Mama!”
“Good girl. Give me a minute while I open my letter.”
Ms. Avery,
It has come to my firm’s attention that you have a vested interest in the estate of the late Brantley T. Harris. Unfortunately, the reading of the will has already taken place, but our due diligence on behalf of our former client compels us to reach out to you so that you and your daughter’s interests are seen to as Mr. Harris wanted.
Please get ahold of me immediately at the following email address or telephone number.
Respectfully Yours,
Horace Grant
Attorney At Law
Fetterman, Grant and Peterson, LLC
I scowl at the letter. I might not ever want to go to Nashville again, but am I going to let Carla chase me off? No! I’m not that wimpy nineteen-year-old anymore.
I sit down and turn on my computer and open my email. Of course there’s another email from the AOL account—this time it’s titled You’re Both Dead. That makes my blood freeze; not so much the threat to me, but that it says both.
