Page 20 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

Chapter Six

2025

Martin had serious reservations about Gia Abernathy and Cricket staying with Bailey Rae even for a night or two, but there’d been no deterring her once her mind was set. At least he could give her home and property a once-over to make sure Gia’s husband wasn’t lurking in a closet or behind a tree.

Although there were sure enough boxes around for someone to hide behind. He carried the woman’s small suitcase, just the basics donated by the shelter. Bailey Rae had offered to outfit them with more from her stockpile and even donate furniture from the farmhouse—if the woman didn’t mind brown-and-orange plaids from the 1970s. Whatever it took to help keep Gia safe until her husband was located by authorities. Not that they’d had much success finding him—or the man’s brother either, just his empty fishing boat.

And Martin wasn’t overly confident they would anytime soon. Portions of the river were deep and treacherous, used in the past for log driving to the paper mill. Other stretches were narrow and marshy, populated with gators and snakes.

Minutes later, a thorough clearing of each room assured Martin that no one lurked in the farm cabin other than Skeeter, who’d had no sense of personal space and kept bumping into his legs. Standing in the open doorway, Martin waved to the two cars out front—his truck andKeith Farrell’s van. At least Thea and June had convinced Bailey Rae to let Keith stay in the Airstream out back for protection, and they would keep watch over Libby. Keith appeared to be relieved for the break from caregiving for his mom.

Gia stood at the open truck door with her arms wide for her child. The little girl leaped out and wrapped herself around her mother like a spider monkey. Gia flinched but didn’t let go in spite of her cracked ribs and battered face.

Martin’s gaze shifted to Bailey Rae, protective urges thrumming a steady cadence in his brain. Bailey Rae had to be exhausted from working in the restaurant, clearing out the house to sell, and now taking in temporary pseudo-boarders.

Bailey Rae motioned toward the hall, a cluster of thin bead bracelets sliding along her wrist. “You can set that down just in there. I’ll show them to their room in a bit.”

“And you’re certain no one had access to the security system while you were away?” he asked, nudging the suitcase farther in a corner by a box of children’s books. A Little Golden Book rested on top, yellowed with age.The Little Engine That Could.

“Absolutely.” She waggled her phone at him. “I have an app.”

He would still feel better once he’d swept the property beyond the yard as well. Keith and a lazy hound dog felt like pitiful defense against a man who beat his own wife.

Back in the living room, Bailey Rae knelt in front of Cricket, who hadn’t pulled her thumb from her mouth since they’d picked her up from the social worker at child services. “Gia, I’m sorry I don’t have more toys for her to play with. I sold most of them last weekend.”

Keith opened a hall closet—still full of jackets—and reached up on the top shelf. “There may be a few things left. Let me look around. Aunt Winnie and Uncle Russell used to keep a few special toys here for when I came over to play. Aha. Here we go.”

Smiling, Keith pulled down a shoebox with childish handwriting on the outside:Keep out. This belongs to Keith Farrell. Hepivoted back to Cricket, who wore a pink shorts set a size too large. “Matchbox trucks were my favorite. I used to sit on that same braided rug. My good friend Russell taught me how to use the grooves as guides on a racetrack.”

Lowering himself to the rug, Keith lifted the lid from the box. He ran the cars along the curves and transformed the floor covering into their own Formula 1 tournament, while Bailey Rae persuaded Gia to put her feet up in the recliner. Close to her daughter, of course. Although she would likely drift off before long, with Skeeter keeping vigil beside the chair.

Martin shuffled from foot to foot, eager to get started scouring the grounds around the cabin.

Bailey Rae smoothed her hands along the floral sundress she’d changed into during the scramble to get to the hospital today, explaining on the ride over that she’d wanted to make a good impression on the hospital staff when they released Cricket and Gia into her care. “Do you have time to stay for supper? It won’t be anything fancy. I’m working to clear out the freezer before I go. Tonight’s menu is gumbo stew served over grits.”

Grits.

As if he needed more motivation to head outside. He stifled a wince. “I can’t, but thank you.”

She laughed softly. “Your disrespect for grits is showing. If you can’t stay, at least let me make a to-go dish for you, and you can let me know what you think of grits made properly, by a Southerner.”

“I imagine you will use this gift of a meal to make a believer out of this Arizona boy.”

“That I will.” She held up a hand as she walked toward the kitchen, hips swaying gently. “It’s all about the consistency, salt, and butter.”

She multitasked with smooth efficiency and confidence. Setting a pot of water on the stove to boil. Placing a container of gumbo on the counter. Carrying a mug of hot tea and an ice pack for Gia, whose face looked even worse today. But what alarmed him even more? That thechild didn’t seem in the least concerned about her mom’s injuries, as if this were a normal occurrence.

While Bailey Rae stirred the grits, adding a surprising amount of butter and salt, she nodded toward the living room, where Keith and Cricket moved trucks along the circles in the braided rug. “Uncle Russell didn’t just show Keith how to use the rug as a racetrack, he also bought cars for Keith when he was a kid with no father. They’re probably worth a fortune now. Not that I would ever sell them. Too much sentimental value. Also, as you saw by the very official labeling on the box, I am not even sure they belong to me.”

“That was kind of him,” Martin said, leaning against the archway between the two rooms. He wasn’t letting anyone out of his sight. He understood that the past and present were melding in his mind. The threat of the random shooter in the hangar then. The threat of Gia’s husband now.

“My aunt and uncle never had children of their own, so they enjoyed spoiling other people’s kids.” She turned the stovetop to low and began pulling bowls from the cabinet, along with a disposable plastic container. “Russell was part of a NASCAR pit crew. He even raced a bit, before his health failed and he took on more long hauls as a truck driver at the mill.”

Cricket nudged a toy vehicle with her toe, sending it off the rug and toward the kitchen. “Dirt track? Daddy do that.”

At the mention of Gia’s husband, Bailey Rae stepped back from the stove. “I think I may have some blocks. Would you like to build towers?” She patted Martin on the chest on her way past. “Stir the grits so they don’t get lumpy. Hopefully the blocks will distract her from mentioning her father again.”

Her touch lingered. “Grits aren’t supposed to be lumpy? I haven’t tasted them any other way.”

---