Oceans Apart by Karen Kingsbury Page A

quiet moan. “My dear Kiahna.” The attorney said her name as though by itself it might have contained a thousand memories. “This was her worst fear.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Kiahna was like a second daughter to me.”
    “Oh.” Ramey understood. She felt the same way. “I didn’t know.”
    The man’s voice drifted. “She and my daughter were best friends through junior high, closer than sisters. Marlee . . . she fell in with a bad crowd and when high school came around, she and Kiahna didn’t spend much time together. Even then Kiahna was a friend.
    A sweet girl who lived out her faith every day. She . . . she would 51

    – Oceans Apart –
    drive to parties and pull my daughter out. Then she’d come by the next morning to talk a little sense into her. She did everything possible to save my daughter from the life she’d fallen into.” The man grunted as though he was trying to gain composure.
    “Marlee died of alcohol poisoning the summer before her senior year. At the funeral, Kiahna hugged my wife and me and told us we were like parents to her. That if we ever wanted time with our second daughter, she’d be there.”
    A single teardrop pushed its way from the corner of Ramey’s right eye and a warm stream of tears followed. She couldn’t think of a response.
    The man sucked in a quick breath. “We hadn’t seen her in a while, but she came by a few months ago. Brought my wife flowers and chatted while Max ran around out back.” He paused. “She loved that boy more than life.”
    “Yes. Yes, she did.” Ramey wanted to keep sharing lovely memories of Kiahna, but the matter at hand was pressing. “Mr. Ogle, you have Kiahna’s will, is that right?”
    “It is.” He sounded suddenly tired in light of the obvious reason for the phone call. “Two envelopes—one with her last will and testament. One with a letter for Max.”
    “The one she wrote before he was born?” Ramey gripped the phone a bit tighter. “She told me about it.”
    “No. She brought by a new one every year around Max’s birthday. So the file would be current.”
    Ramey’s heart sank a bit in her chest. The physical ache within her doubled. Why . . . why would God—if there was a God—take Kiahna when she loved her little boy so? When she was all the child had? She squeezed her eyes shut. “Mr. Ogle, Max is in my care. We need to know Kiahna’s intentions.” A lump formed in Ramey’s throat. “The sooner the better.” 52

    – Karen Kingsbury –
    Ramey heard the sound of pages flipping. “This afternoon at two o’clock, how does that look for you?”
    She glanced through her sliding glass door. Max was on the small back patio, lying on the cement, his head resting on Buddy. He was in no condition to go to school, and depending on what Kiahna’s letter told them, he might not return. Whatever Max’s future held, a resolution was needed. She brought her thumb and forefinger to her face and massaged her temples. “Two is perfect.” The attorney hesitated. “Will Max be there?”
    “Yes. He . . . he has nowhere else to go, Mr. Ogle.”
    “I understand.” Again the man’s pain resonated across the phone lines. “But some of what I’ll be reading to you is very sensitive.
    We’ll need at least some time alone. Without the boy.” A dozen thoughts competed for Ramey’s attention. Kiahna’s documents held something sensitive? What was it, and why hadn’t she shared the information earlier? Ramey’s throat grew tight again, and she heard herself begin to wheeze. An asthma attack.
    She’d need her inhaler within a few minutes or she’d be in trouble. She gave the attorney directions to her apartment. “Mr.
    Ogle”—she coughed twice—“I’ll have Max play inside. We can talk on the patio.”
    They hung up, and Ramey found her medication. Three puffs and her airways were clear again. For now, anyway. Her doctors had told her that her health was deteriorating, succumbing to the many ailments that plagued her.