The Tidewater Sisters: Postlude to The Prayer Box by Lisa Wingate

Author:Lisa Wingate [Wingate, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781414388298
Published: 2014-06-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

I’m sitting in the bookstore and Internet café across the street, just waiting, as I have been all day. I feel like a detective on a stakeout, only in a sad sort of way, since the fact that I’m here means I don’t trust my sister. I circled the dealership before I left, and all the exits lead onto this one road. If I see her making a break for it, I’m not sure what I plan to do. Follow her, I guess. Make certain she’s headed to a bank, rather than the nearest highway out of town.

Maybe she believed my threats and the letter from Vince, but in spite of the knock-down fight in her office, it feels like she gave up too easily. Part of me says she must have something up her sleeve. Part of me says she has a cushy deal here at Merritt Cars and she doesn’t want to blow it by having me march in there and make it known to everyone what a shyster she is. She clearly wants to take care of this quietly.

That’s to my advantage.

But Gina doesn’t like to lose, especially to me. Aside from that, I wonder where in the world she will come up with the money. Maybe she really will sell her Jeep.

The hours have been endless. I’ve read two books and talked on the phone with everyone I can think of, just to pass the time.

Fifteen more minutes go by. The five o’clock deadline looms close. What is my sister doing over there? Worrying away the minutes like I am, or loading up on ammo and excuses, so she’ll be ready when I come back?

A sweat breaks over me, travels from head to toe, a kind of walking dread.

That’s it, I text Paul. I’ve promised to let him know when I leave the coffee shop. I’m going over. I reason that it’ll take me at least ten minutes to pay my bill, get in my car, and find a break in the rush-hour traffic.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t. There’s no one in line at the checkout counter and traffic parts miraculously, like the Red Sea. I’m in front of the dealership six minutes early.

When I step inside, it feels like the receptionist and everyone else are watching me. Is that my imagination?

I cross the showroom, turn the corner, and Gina is standing in her office with her chin held high and her teeth clenched. Behind her, her backup is none other than Merritt Walker. He’s an imposing figure, at least six foot four, 280 pounds, and in middle-aged good shape. He eyes me with his arms crossed, a stern frown on his face. I can only imagine what my sister has told him about me. Gina has an amazing way of convincing people she’s the victim.

It doesn’t really matter what Merritt Walker thinks, and Gina doesn’t introduce us, of course. She merely snaps the check off her desk and extends it my way. “Here. Maybe this will help you get by awhile.

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