To Catch A Thief. Nan Dixon

      Carolina shouldn’t have brought up Daddy. Shouldn’t have asked questions. She knew better. Knew depression clung to her mother like a shadow. Her father hadn’t cared enough to take care of his other family.

      They headed up the steps, Carolina taking Mamá’s elbow as she shuffled and almost lost her balance. Inside, Mamá collapsed on the sofa.

      “Do you want anything?” Carolina asked.

      “Could you get me a pill and then rub my head?” Her mother’s voice cracked with the pain.

      “Of course.” After getting the pill and a glass of milk, Carolina said, “Let me know if I hurt you.”

      She stood behind the sofa and kneaded her mother’s shoulders. Each day Mama’s skin changed. Her muscles were losing their bulk. Carolina didn’t press hard, just kept working them until they softened. Moving up, she pressed her thumbs into the base of her neck and worked on the taut tendons.

      “Oh...oh...” her mother groaned.

      Carolina ripped her hands away. “Did I hurt you?”

      “No. That’s...good.”

      She worked her thumbs through her mother’s gorgeous thick hair. Would it fall out when the treatments started?

      Carolina ended the massage by working her mother’s temples. Again, she dug in her thumbs and listened to Mamá’s groans. But this time she could tell it was from relief.

      “Better?” Carolina asked.

      “Yes.”

      Carolina helped her mother stack pillows and settle on the sofa. Even after walking in the sunshine, there was a grayish cast to her mother’s skin. “Get some rest.”

      “I will.” And she dropped off.

      Carolina waited. Planned dinner. Worked on her to-do list. Then while Mamá slept, she headed to her mother’s bedroom and searched through the bags scattered on the floor. Jackpot. The bags still held the receipts and most of the clothes still had their tags.

      She took the bags to her car and called the attorney. “Can I return clothes my mother bought?”

      “You have power of attorney now. It shouldn’t matter if you put the credit back on your mother’s card.”

      “Good.” She would find time tomorrow to take the things back, using the ruse of going to the grocery store.

      The credit wouldn’t solve the debt her mother had accumulated, but it would help. Then she would call the leasing company to turn in the car.

      Time to search for a job. She opened her laptop. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could find a weekend singing gig?

      There were none around.

      So she searched for waitressing and bartending jobs. And found a few. Only a couple on Tybee, everything else was in Savannah.

      She opened job postings. There was one for a part-time bartender. At Southern Comforts, a new restaurant. Perfect. She clicked it open and read the listing. “Weekend hours. Possibility for more. Savannah.”

      She winced, hating to leave her mother for that long. She scrolled to the bottom. “Apply at Fitzgerald House with Abby Fitzgerald.”

      She shivered, suddenly freezing. Fitzgeralds. Her father’s real family. The ones who’d ruined her mother’s life. Her half sisters.

      “What are you doing?” Rosa peered over her shoulder.

      “I didn’t hear you wake. Are you hungry?” Carolina tried to close the screen.

      Mamá held out her hand. “What are you doing looking at that family’s website?”

      “I was looking for part-time work.” Trying to figure out how to pay off Mamá’s debts.

      “Not with those bitches.” Mamá pointed a finger at the screen. “Work for anyone but them.”

      Carolina patted her mother’s hand. “I know.”

      Rosa sank into the dining room chair, holding her head. “Could you make me some tea?”

      “Sure.”

      Carolina would apply for the waitress and bartending positions listed on Tybee Island. She pulled out the tea a nurse recommended for Mamá’s headaches, making two mugs. She’d had a headache since she’d added up Mamá’s bills.

      “Shall we take this to the porch?” she asked.

      Her mother stared at the job posting on Carolina’s laptop, her nails clicking against the wooden table. “Maybe. Maybe.”

      Carolina headed to the porch, wishing she’d shut the computer before she’d fixed her mother’s tea. Even talking about the Fitzgeralds made her mother rant.

      “I was thinking we could have fish tacos tonight.” Carolina pushed open the door.

      Her mother stared at the screen.

      “Mamá?”

      Her mother’s head jerked. “What?”

      “I thought we’d have our tea out on the porch.”

      Her mother’s eyes didn’t focus as she walked outside. She sat in a chair and Carolina took the rocker.

      “I think you should do it,” Mamá blurted out.

      “Do what?”

      “Apply for the job with the bitches.”

      Carolina choked on her tea. “I don’t want to meet them.”

      Her half sisters wallowed in wealth while she and Mamá struggled to survive.

      Her mother’s dark eyebrows came together. “I want to know what they’re up to. I want you to see the birthright they kept from you.”

      Carolina clenched her fists. “I don’t.”

      Her mother bounced out of her chair. “You could be a...a spy.”

      Was this her mother’s obsession with the Fitzgeralds talking or her brain tumors? Every muscle in Carolina’s body tensed. “I don’t want to spy.”

      “It would be for me. For your mother.” She clasped her hands against her chest and swayed. “For all the things I couldn’t give you. You deserve this. We deserve this.”

      “Mamá, sit.” Carolina eased her back into a chair. “I need a job closer to home.”

      Maybe if Carolina never brought up the job again, her mother would forget.

      Please let Mamá forget.

      * * *

      “MOM, I’LL BE all right.” Sage said for the tenth time that morning. He sat at the kitchen table and sipped his coffee. He sure would miss Mom’s coffee, but he hated having her hover.

      “You’re still as rocky on your feet as a newborn calf.” She brushed back his hair. “I wish Jackson could have stayed longer.”

      Sage didn’t. Jax had stayed for three days, his presence a constant reminder Sage had screwed up. Not that Jax or Mom ever said anything. It was their looks of concern and disappointment. He’d failed to live up to the Cornell image. Honor before everything. “Jackson had to get back to saving lives.”

      Mom crossed her arms, staring down at him. “Your head still aches.”

      “I’ll handle it. You’ve been here a week. Go home to the ranch.” He wanted quiet. He hadn’t had true peace since he’d awakened in the hospital.

      He liked people, he really did, but he needed space. And he wanted to get back to work. “I’m okay. Besides, the ranch needs you.”

      “Uncle Dale is running the ranch.” His mother frowned.