Replacing Gentry by Julie N. Ford

What were the possibilities? The ramifications? Too many what-ifs to process at one time. Then as if the presence of this Gentry-esque woman wasn’t enough, the unnerving feeling she’d brought with her had every self-preserving instinct telling me to flee. And, at the same time, I couldn’t move. If there was any possibility that she was, in fact, Daniel’s ex-wife, I needed to know.
    In order to properly assess the situation, I knew I had to remain calm. Self-assured. Objective. “You can’t be her. It isn’t possible.” I forced my eyes to hold hers, my voice to sound steady. “So who are you really, and what do you want?”
    “Directness. An admirable quality,” she said, like my frankness was an unexpected but amusing twist to her sordid game. “What do I want? I want to save you time and possibly heartache.” Her eyes flicked toward Bridger and Bodie. “You’ll never save them, you know.”
    My head spun, double-checking the boys’ position. They still lingered around Gentry’s grave about forty yards away.
    “Who, Bridger and Bodie? Are they in danger?” I asked, though I was fairly certain she was speaking metaphorically.
    She took a few casual steps over to a steepled tombstone and ran her hand over the weathered stone. “Oh, everyone’s in danger, sweetheart. But then you already know that, don’t you?” she said, eyeing me as a cat does a mouse.
    Another breeze swept by, the chill nipped my skin, prodding to my bones. The vivid contrast of her eyes, mysterious and cruel, reached inside me, studying, as it seemed, my innermost thoughts. In spite of my best efforts to remain calm and controlled, I felt insignificant—vulnerable—in her presence.
    “I don’t know,” I stuttered, “what you’re talking about.”
    Her head tilted quizzically to the side as she asked, “Why are you here, Marlie? What exactly are you trying to prove?” Her lips lifted a touch on each end.
    I repeated her words in my head. Why had her questions or accusation as the case may be, sounded familiar? “I have nothing to prove to you or anyone else,” I said with as much indignation as I could muster.
    “You really don’t know, do you?” she observed as if the objective of her game had unexpectedly shifted. “Interesting.” Taking a few well-placed steps closer, she appeared to be trying to stay out of the boys’ line of sight. “And Electra hasn’t warned you?”
    I thought back to mine and Electra’s few, brief conversations and came up empty. “Warned me about what?” I asked, feeling as though I were falling further into a puzzle I couldn’t possibly solve. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
    “Oh, you will,” she said and then waited a beat before bestowing another clue. “But then why worry about it when you already have so many things to think about, to distract you from the truth.”
    I decided to play along. “What things?”
    Like a serpent, she began to glide, winding slowly, brushing her fingertips from one gravestone to another, while making her way closer to me. “Things like money. Only, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You have plenty now. Don’t you?” She paused to take a momentary glance in my direction. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Fancy cars and sparkling diamonds.”
    “I suppose, but money isn’t everything,” I disagreed. “The things that last like family, friends—that’s what’s important.”
    “That’s right.” She snapped her fingers in mock recognition. “And the quest for love—the need to be wanted, accepted—that’s number one, isn’t it?” She held up a slender finger before clicking off the rest of her list.
    “Then career, children, husband . . . nowadays women can have it all, can’t they?” she added with a tired sigh followed by a pitiful glance. “Only, what about women like you, the ones whose wombs have been forsaken? What about them, huh?”
    She laid a finger to her chin, pretending to think.