Chapter 1
Delilah sat solemnly and listened as the lawyer droned on, speaking words that should have meaning to her. But instead she felt as though she was stuck inside a Charlie Brown cartoon. She knew she should be paying closer attention, this man was giving her the details of her grandmothers last wishes. Instead, her mind wandered to the only mother, and father, she’d ever known – Isabella Greyson. Her grandmother had raised her from birth. Delilah’s mother had passed away during her delivery from complications. It didn’t help that she was a mere eighteen when she’d birthed her, a child herself. So, in true southern fashion, Isabella, or Momma Belle as she’d grown up calling her, raised Delilah as a single parent. And now, as Don Houston spoke of her as a thing of the past, she found herself struggling to concentrate.
“Did you hear a word I said?” Don drawled out in his deep southern voice.
Delilah shook her head, “Sorry – I spaced out for a moment. Can you repeat it?” She smiled sweetly at the burly man seated across from her, trying to banish the sadness threatening to take her focus once more.
“Darlin’,” he slid his hand across the desk, placing his palm against the top of hers, “I know this is hard. Isabelle was a wonderful woman who did a lot for this tiny community – she’ll be missed, by everyone.”
“I know. It’s just hard to believe she’s gone. I should have been here – instead…” her words faded as she fought back a sob.
“Delilah,” Don squeezed her hand, “your grandmother was so proud of you. Don’t for a second blame yourself or feel guilty. She wanted you to go and live a life.”
“Yeah – look at that life.” Delilah snorted, a lone tear rolled down her cheek.
“None the less,” Don pulled his hand free, “she left everything to you. The house, the farm, the land. Hell, she even left her truck to you. It’s all paid for, Delilah. Not only that,” he smiled as he pushed the folder towards me, “she was sitting on a pretty nice nest egg.”
She pulled the folder towards the edge of the desk and flipped it open. Her eyes glazed over the legal jargon, landing squarely on the last sentence.
Isabelle Greyson bequeaths her entire financial portfolio to her only living relative, her granddaughter, Delilah Greyson. The portfolio contains several stocks and bond, in addition to 1.45 million dollars. The portfolio is managed by…
Delilah swallowed, the mention of who managed the money a forgotten detail as she looked up at Don, “What the hell, 1.45 million dollars? How does my grandmother have, 1.45 million dollars?”
“Didn’t you ever wonder how she hardly worked? Delilah, your grandmother invested wisely – as you can see, and it amassed wealth that kept you two sustained comfortably.”
“I never knew,” another sob bubbled up her chest, “She gave me such a good life – and the first chance I got, I ran from it. How could I be so stupid.” Delilah shook her head, the regret icing her veins. As soon as she had the chance, she left this town and never looked back.
She’d graduated from the University of Northern Alabama with a bachelor’s degree in English, and a minor in creative writing. Her senior year in college she met John. He was also an English major, studying to be a journalist like her. Delilah thought he was her forever. She packed up and followed him to New York. He’d landed the dream job as a correspondent journalist. He’d proposed to her shortly after they’d moved there, asking her to support him while his career took off. Delilah begrudgingly took a part-time job for a local community paper, doing fluff pieces. She hated every second of it but bit her tongue and supported John. Everything was going well, so she thought. Then everything she’d planned out crumpled in a matter of twenty-four hours. She’d received the call about her grandmother’s accident. The accident that left her dead. The memory of that day plays on repeat in her head. She’d packed up her things from her tiny desk, informed her boss she’d be leaving for a few weeks and headed out. John hadn’t been answering his phone, so Delilah rushed to the apartment they shared in New York. As she unlocked the door and stepped through, the hairs on her neck prickled. Sounds of skin slapping and moans filled the room. Frozen like a deer in headlights, she stood wide-eyed at the door. Clothing littered the floor, leaving a trail to the bedroom. She recalled the moment her world crumpled before her. There, in the bed she shared with John, laid a woman she’d never seen. Above her John was thrusting his hips into her as she screamed out his name. They had been so caught in the throes of passion they hadn’t noticed Delilah standing at the door. Slowly she moved around the man she’d given her heart to and gathered a few belongings. As she stepped into the bathroom, she’d fought back the tears threatening to spill. Swiftly she collected her things, tossing them in the backpack she’d grabbed from the closet. Emerging from the bathroom, she realized John was now on his back, while the mystery woman ground atop him. This time he saw her. He’d sworn, tossing the woman off him and jumped from the bed. Grabbing at Delilah, he begged her to listen to him, swearing it was a mistake. Looping the key from her ring, she tossed it to the counter alongside the ring she’d taken off. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she stepped out slamming the door, shielding her from John’s pleas.
Glancing up, she realized Don was watching her. “Look, Delilah. Your grandmother held no ill will towards you. You’re young and you needed to find yourself. Maybe now, you can do just that.” He slid the keys across the table, “Here are the keys to the house and her truck. I’ll warn you though…” he huffed out a breath, “the house isn’t in the best shape. She was in the process of having it repaired. Here’s the number to the contractor she was using, you should get in touch with him. It’s been pre-paid, so it would be a waste not to finish the work.” Nodding, Delilah gripped the keys in her hand and stood.
“Do you need a ride?”
“I think I’ll walk. I need to clear my head.” She slung the backpack over her shoulders and stepped outside. Don followed her to the door.
“I’ll need your banking information so I can get the finances transferred to you.”
“Give me a day or two. I need to get an account on my own first. Everything was tied up with John… and now, well – that’s over.”
Don nodded in understanding, “No rush. You have access to her accounts as is, but it will be easier in the long run to put them in your own account.” He slipped a card from his pocket, “here’s my card. It has my cell on there. Call me if you need anything, ok?”
“Thank you, Don. I’ll be in touch.”
Delilah adjusted the heavy bag on her back and glanced around at the tiny town she’d grown up in. It wasn’t much, nearly four miles in total and only six hundred or so people lived in the city limits of St. Florian. It was like someone had dropped a town from a story book in the middle of Florence, Alabama – a much larger city only a hop away from here. Even though the town was mostly wooded, bordering Shoal Creek, she felt safe enough to walk home. Her grandmother owned seventeen acres just outside the city limits. The property ran along the edge of Shoal creek, which by its own right was more like a river, stopping at the edge of county road 94. From town, it was a five-mile walk, but she didn’t care – she needed time to think.