"Nope. After Lawrence was taken from us, it hurt to watch kids doing what he should have been doing— using his talent. We'd gone to every one of his high school baseball games, stood behind him when he signed his letter of intent. Nope. I got to hate sports, all of them."
"You'll have to learn to at least like basketball again. Your grandson is a star athlete," I said.
Thaddeus smiled. "Won't be hard to like it. Won't be hard at all."
We talked about Will all the way to Huntsville, and I told him all I knew about his newfound grandson. When we arrived at the prison barricade, however, Thaddeus's good spirits faded quickly.
"He'll be upset at me coming," he said as the driver lowered the automatic ramp and then maneuvered Thaddeus and his chair onto the parking lot asphalt.
"He loves you. He'll get over it," I answered.
Jeff said, "We'll take it from here" to the driver.
After we went through the security checks, Jeff arranged for us to meet with Lawrence in an interview room rather than the visitors' area. Guess he has more pull than DeShay.
"I get a bad feeling every time I come here," Thaddeus said as Jeff wheeled him down a corridor, one of Goree's gray shadow guards leading the way. "But it's worse today. They say hell is hot, but I think it's as cold as this place."
"You need my jacket?" Jeff asked.
"Nah. This kind of cold comes from inside. No jacket gonna help that."
We were taken to a small room, bigger than the chaplain's closet, but still a tight squeeze for a wheelchair. This place had been built long before wheelchairs were common.
We waited in tense silence as the guard left to get Lawrence. When they finally brought him in, the tension grew a thousandfold.
Lawrence looked at his father for a brief second then turned angry eyes on me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Sit," Jeff said, his voice hard as granite.
"I wanted to come," said Thaddeus. "I got something big to tell you, son."
Lawrence looked down, rubbing his white-clad thighs up and down. "You don't need to see me like this. It's not good for you, Pops."
"Don't you want to know why they brought me?" Thaddeus's voice was soft, and when I looked his way, I saw his eyes were brimming with tears.
Lawrence had noticed this, too. "See what you all have done? He doesn't need this kind of stress."
"He needs his family," I said. "And that's you."
"What do you know about it?" Lawrence raised his chin defiantly.
"She knows more than I did a few hours ago," Thaddeus said. "You have a son, Lawrence. I have a grandson."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Even though his father had spoken, Lawrence directed the question at me.
"Time to tell us about Sara Rankin," I said.
Lawrence shook his head, looked down again. "I don't know what you're talking about. You've been filling my father's head." He glared at me. "What are you, some kind of sadist?"
Jeff said, "We have DNA proving that your father and Will Knight are related. If we could get your DNA, the picture would be complete."
Lawrence suddenly rose, still shaking his head. "You're lying. All of you. Why, Pops? Why do this to me?"
"Son, have I ever lied to you?"
Lawrence had gone white around the lips, and I could see he was trembling. He turned to the guard. "I want to go back to the cellblock. I'm done here."
He looked confused and lost, and at that moment I was certain Lawrence did not know or yet believe his baby, the child he conceived with Sara Rankin, was alive.
Suddenly, Lawrence bolted, the guard hot on his tail.
Jeff was already on his feet, headed for the door. "I want him back here."
"Maybe we should leave him be?" Thaddeus said. "It hasn't sunk in."
"Wait, Jeff," I said. "I've got an idea. Before we drag him back unwillingly, I know someone who might make this easier."
Ten minutes later, after Chaplain Jim Kelly had arrived and we filled him in, he said, "Do you think that what you're on to will free Lawrence?"
"I can't promise anything," Jeff said.
Thaddeus's shoulders slumped, and I rested a hand over his. "But if you can help get Lawrence to tell us about his relationship with Sara Rankin, we'd be a lot closer to the truth about Verna Mae Olsen's murder."
"In good conscience, I must have Lawrence's permission to speak about what I know," Kelly said quietly.
"Will he come back here with you?" I asked.
"He might. I'll try," the chaplain said.
Once Kelly was gone, I noticed dabs of sweat bordered Thaddeus's hairline, and he, too, looked pale around the mouth.
"Could you get me my bag, Abby?" he asked.
I handed it to him, but he was shaking too badly to unzip it. He asked for the glucose monitor, and Jeff was the one who ended up pricking Thaddeus's finger. After the blood was applied to the little strip, the number that appeared seconds later was 530.
"That's bad, right?" I said.
"I've seen better," Thaddeus replied, his voice weak.
"I'm taking him to the clinic," Jeff said. "You handle this, Abby. You've talked to Lawrence before and the less people staring at him, demanding answers, the better. Learn what you can."
As Jeff wheeled him out, Thaddeus raised a hand and brushed my arm. "Make my boy help himself. Please."
I was concerned about Thaddeus, and when Kelly arrived with a now handcuffed prisoner, Lawrence must have read my anxiety.
"Where's Pops? Is something wrong with him?" he asked.
"He wasn't feeling well. Sergeant Kline took him out for some air," I answered. Sometimes the whole truth is not beneficial.
"You made an old man sicker than he already was. You happy now?" Lawrence said.
Kelly put a hand on Lawrence's shoulder. "I believe this woman wants to help you and your father. You need to tell her the truth. Tell her what you told me."
Lawrence looked sideways at Kelly. "I don't know. She comes here with her stories, brings my father out of a sickbed and—"
"Sit down and start talking," Kelly said. "That's what you do with me."
Lawrence closed his eyes, let out a heavy sigh. And then he sat.
Kelly took Jeff's abandoned chair.
"You haven't tricked my father into thinking I have a son, right?" asked Lawrence.
"No, I haven't. You do have a son, and though I've known it since I first saw Will Knight's resemblance to you, we now have scientific proof."
"I don't get it," Lawrence said, shaking his head. "How could this be true? And how did you find out about Sara?"
"That's a very long story. Jessica Roman convinced me that that you and Sara were lovers. You conceived a child."
"Yes," Lawrence said, his gaze beyond my shoulder, as if he were looking back in time. "God, we were happy."
"I'm here to help you." I leaned forward, hands between my knees.
"But Sara fell. She died. I thought our baby died with her. Died because of me." Lawrence's voice was strained, his expression again confused.
Kelly said, "We've worked on this, Lawrence. It wasn't your fault. You were in the Harris County jail when the accident happened."
"But she ran away because she was pregnant," Lawrence said. "Ran from her parents. If she hadn't, then she'd be alive."
"There was no mission trip?" I asked.
"That's what the pastor and his wife told everyone when she disappeared. She'd left them a note—we wrote it together—saying she had to leave home to take care of someone in need. It was the truth, in a way."
"That's how it became a mission trip to them, I guess. Did she even plan on telling them about the baby?" My guess was no.
"We talked about what to do, who to tell. Sara was underage and we were sure her parents would make us give the baby away, so we couldn't go to them. And if you knew Sara—" He stopped, closed his eyes.
"Sara knew what she wanted, right? She wanted you and the baby?"