Lee held her glass with both hands and slowly shook her head. "He'll die," she mumbled without looking at Adam.
"Not yet. But it's nice to know you're concerned."
"I am concerned."
"Oh really. When did you last see him?"
"Don't start this, Adam. You don't understand."
"Fine. Fair enough. Explain it to me then. I'm listening. I want to understand."
"Can't we talk about something else, dear? I'm not ready for this."
"No. 11"
"We can talk about this later, I promise. I'm just not ready for it right now. I thought we'd just gossip and laugh for a while."
"I'm sorry, Lee. I'm sick of gossip and secrets. I have no past because my father conveniently erased it. I want to know about it, Lee. I want to know how bad it really is."
"It's awful," she whispered, almost to herself.
"Okay. I'm a big boy now. I can handle it. My father checked out on me before he had to face it, so I'm afraid there's no one but you."
"Give me some time."
"There is no time. I'll be face-to-face with him tomorrow." Adam took a long drink and wiped his lips with his sleeve. "Twenty-three years ago, Newsweek said Sam's father was also a Klansman. Was he?"
"Yes. My grandfather."
"And several uncles and cousins as well."
"The whole damned bunch."
"Newsweek also said that it was common knowledge in Ford County that Sam Cayhall shot and killed a black man in the early fifties, and was never arrested for it. Never served a day in jail. Is this true?"
"Why does it matter now, Adam? That was years before you were born."
"So it really happened?"
"Yes, it happened."
"And you knew about it?"
"I saw it."
"You saw it!" Adam closed his eyes in disbelief. He breathed heavily and sunk lower into the rocker. The horn from a tugboat caught his attention, and he followed it downriver until it passed under a bridge. The bourbon was beginning to soothe.
"Let's talk about something else," Lee said softly.
"Even when I was a little kid," he said, still watching the river, "I loved history. I was fascinated by the way people lived years ago - the pioneers, the wagon trains, the gold rush, cowboys and Indians, the settling of the West. There was a kid in the fourth grade who claimed his great-great-grandfather had robbed trains and buried the money in Mexico. He wanted to form a gang and run away to find the money. We knew he was lying, but it was great fun playing along. I often wondered about my ancestors, and I remember being puzzled because I didn't seem to have any."
"What would Eddie say?"
"He told me they were all dead; said more time is wasted on family history than anything else. Every time I asked questions about my family, Mother would pull me aside and tell me to stop because it might upset him and he might go off into one of his dark moods and stay in his bedroom for a month. I spent most of my childhood walking on eggshells around my father. As I grew older, I began to realize he was a very strange man, very unhappy, but
I never dreamed he would kill himself."
She rattled her ice and took the last sip. "There's a lot to it, Adam."
"So when will you tell me?"
Lee gently took the pitcher and refilled their glasses. Adam poured bourbon into both. Several minutes passed as they sipped and watched the traffic on Riverside Drive.
"Have you been to death row?" he finally asked, still staring at the lights along the river.
"No," she said, barely audible.
"He's been there for almost ten years, and you've never gone to see him?"
"I wrote him a letter once, shortly after his last trial. Six months later he wrote me back and told me not to come. Said he didn't want me to see him on death row. I wrote him two more letters, neither of which he answered."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I'm carrying a lot of guilt, Adam, and it's not easy to talk about. Just give me some time."
"I may be in Memphis for a while."
"I want you to stay here. We'll need each other." She hesitated and stirred the drink with an index finger. "I mean, he is going to die, isn't he?"
"It's likely."
"When?"
"Two or three months. His appeals are virtually exhausted. There's not much left."
"Then why are you getting involved?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's because we have a fighting chance. I'll work my tail off for the next few months and pray for a miracle."
"I'll be praying too," she said as she took another sip.
"Can we talk about something?" he asked, suddenly looking at her.
"Sure."
"Do you live here alone? I mean, it's a fair question if I'm going to be staying here."
"I live alone. My husband lives in our house in the country."
"Does he live alone? Just curious."
"Sometimes. He likes young girls, early twenties, usually employees at his banks. I'm expected to call before I go to the house. And he's expected to call before he comes here."
"That's nice and convenient. Who negotiated that agreement?"
"We just sort of worked it out over time. We haven't lived together in fifteen years."
"Some marriage."
"It works quite well, actually. I take his money, and I ask no questions about his private life. We do the required little social numbers together, and he's happy."
"Are you happy?"
"Most of the time."
"If he cheats, why don't you sue for divorce and clean him out. I'll represent you."
"A divorce wouldn't work. Phelps comes from a very proper, stiff old family of miserably rich people. Old Memphis society. Some of these families have intermarried for decades. In fact, Phelps was expected to marry a fifth cousin, but instead he fell under my charms. His family was viciously opposed to it, and a divorce now would be a painful admission that his family was right. Plus, these people are proud bluebloods, and a nasty divorce would humiliate them. I love the independence of taking his money and living as I choose."
"Did you ever love him?"
"Of course. We were madly in love when we married. We eloped, by the way. It was 1963, and the idea of a large wedding with his family of aristocrats and my family of rednecks was not appealing. His mother would not speak to me, and my father was burning crosses. At that time, Phelps did not know my father was a Klansman, and of course I desperately wanted to keep it quiet."
"Did he find out?"
"As soon as Daddy was arrested for the bombing, I told him. He in turn told his father, and the word was spread slowly and carefully through the Booth family. These people are quite proficient at keeping secrets. It's the only thing they have in common with us Cayhalls."
"So only a few know you're Sam's daughter?"
"Very few. I'd like to keep it that way."
"You're ashamed of - "
"Hell yes I'm ashamed of my father! Who wouldn't be?" Her words were suddenly sharp and bitter. "I hope you don't have some romanticized image of this poor old man suffering on death row, about to be unjustly crucified for his sins."
"I don't think he should die."
"Neither do 1. But he's damned sure killed enough people - the Kramer twins, their father, your father, and God knows who else. He should stay in prison for the rest of his life."