Family Ties. Ernest Hill

      

FAMILY TIES

      Also by Ernest Hill

      A Person of Interest

      Cry Me a River

      It’s All About the Moon When the Sun Ain’t Shining

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

      FAMILY TIES

      ERNEST HILL

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      For my three little Angels,

       Priya, Jioni, and Amiya.

       I am proud of the spirited girls that you are,

       and I look forward to the dynamic women

       that you will become.

       You are my heart.

      Acknowledgments

      Thanks to my agent, Frank Weimann, for his excellent representation; my editor, Selena James, for her insightful questions and comments; my family and friends, for their unwavering support; my readers, for their continued interest in these characters; and all the dedicated souls who make up the Kensington family.

FAMILY TIES

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Chapter 40

      A Reading Group Guide

      Discussion Questions

      1

      I stood before the window watching large torrents of rain fall from the eave of the roof. But my mind formed no lasting image of the rain; instead, the sound of the rain cast a strange spell upon me, a spell that cautioned me to fully contemplate what had just happened. And as I did, fresh tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I mourned from a place deep within my soul, and as I mourned, I felt rise in me a rage that echoed the voice that told me to leave this place and to forget these people and to begin life anew in a town where I was not known. A town hundreds of miles from Lake Providence, Louisiana.

      I turned from the window and removed the tiny suitcase from the closet. I pulled open the dresser drawer, and I was about to remove my clothes when footsteps in the corridor made me turn and look. Behind me, in the shadows of the hallway, I saw the dim form of a heavyset woman. It was Mr. Henry’s sister, the one we called Miss Big Siss. She eased forward, and I could see that she was still wearing the long black dress and wide brim hat she had worn at the funeral. She made it to the doorway, then stopped. She looked at me. Our eyes met.

      “Are you alright?” she asked.

      Her question caused me to pause. I looked at her, then sank onto the bed, fighting against raw emotions tugging at my already moist eyes. I opened my mouth to answer her, but no words came. I turned my head back toward the window again. Outside, the rain had ceased, and in its place hung a dreary, ominous-looking haze. But I was neither seeing the haze, nor the trees, nor the tiny vegetable garden nestled just beyond the hurricane fence; instead, I was seeing the undertaker as he slowly lowered the steel blue coffin into the recently excavated earth. Suddenly my emotions broke and I began to sob again.

      “Hush, now,” she said. “Henry wouldn’t want that.”

      I felt the bed give, and then I felt her arm about my shoulders, hugging me tight, gently rocking me from side to side.

      A moment passed and then she spoke again. “Henry lived a good life,” she said, then paused. I closed my eyes. I felt my body begin to tremble. “But he had gotten old and tired, and it was just his time to go.” She paused again, waiting for me to say something, but I remained quiet. “He was proud of you,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

      I didn’t answer.

      “You were like a son to him.”

      I still didn’t answer.

      “And I thank you for what you did for him.”

      Suddenly a lump filled my throat; I opened my eyes and looked at her. “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

      “Yes, you did.”

      “No, ma’am…I didn’t.”

      “You did,” she said. “Before he closed his eyes, you allowed him to see his dream. And I thank you for that.”

      I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

      “But now there’s something I want you to do for me,” she said.

      Suddenly, I pulled away and looked at her with eager eyes.

      “Anything,” I said. “Anything at all.”

      “I want you to go home,” she said. “I want you to talk to your mother. I want you to work things out.”

      Stunned, I rose and moved next to the window. It had been ten years since I had seen my mother, and at that time she had made it perfectly clear—she never wanted to see me again. I turned and looked at Miss Big Siss. I opened my mouth to speak, but sorrow choked back my words. I raised my fist to my mouth and cleared my throat. My eyes blurred, and I shook my head.

      “I can’t.”

      “Why not?”

      “She doesn’t want to see me,” I said.

      My voice broke again, and I lowered my head, feeling warm tears collecting underneath my chin.

      “Nonsense,” she said. “What mother doesn’t want to see her child?”

      “Mine.”

      “You don’t believe that.”

      “She told me not to come back.”

      “When?”

      “Just before the judge sentenced me.”

      “She didn’t mean it.”