“I guess someone got tired of it being a tourist attraction,” Abby said.
She moved toward the fridge, trying to keep her expression neutral. Mom wore a troubled look.
“If that bastard uses this to get out of the plea deal, God help me, I’ll kill whoever did this.”
Abby stared at her mother in disbelief. Leave it to Mom to say the one thing Abby hadn’t thought of. Abby quickly moved over to Lily.
“Don’t listen to Mom. They’ve got video of the cabin, the physical evidence; they’ve got your statement, Shaina’s statement. No fucking way he’s getting out of this now.”
“Aunt Abby, language.”
Sky was looking at Abby with disappointment in her eyes.
“Swear jar, Aunt Abby.”
Abby went over to her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. She handed it over to Sky.
“At this rate, you’ll have college paid for by the time you’re twelve.”
Sky giggled, and Abby grabbed the remote and flipped off the TV. They’d had enough of that nonsense. The cabin being gone was a good thing. She’d done a good thing.
The rest of the morning flew by in a blur. Wes arrived at eight thirty. He’d agreed to look after the kids, which Abby was grateful for. She needed to know they were protected. As Lily and Eve made their way to the car, he pulled Abby aside.
“Last night was unexpected.”
“I know…”
“I got your note and it meant everything to me.”
“I’m glad.”
She went to leave but he pulled her close to him.
“I want you and David to come live with me. I want us to have a real discussion about making that happen…”
“We will. After today, we’ll talk about everything.”
He smiled, and then he kissed her. Abby sank into him, wishing she could hold on to him like this forever. But she couldn’t lose her mojo now.
After a quick drive through light traffic, they parked underneath the Lancaster courthouse and were ushered through the back entrance, avoiding the throng of reporters and onlookers who’d gathered on the steps, eager to hear the sordid details of the sentencing.
Not a single seat remained open in the courtroom. Family members, reporters, and true-crime fanatics sat squashed together. It was still a spectacle, Abby thought. Even after all these months, people were still absorbed in their story, reveling in the tawdry details of what Rick Hanson did. Abby saw Missy slip into the courtroom, along with her Brooks Brothers parents. The DA had told them that Missy wanted to speak out against Rick. There was a part of Abby that thought she wouldn’t come, but she had. Missy appeared years older than the last time Abby had seen her. She was gaunt and her dark hair was cut short and streaked with gray. She wore all black as if she were in mourning.
Lily leaned over to Abby. “She looks terrible, doesn’t she?”
Abby shrugged. “She’s proof that guilt will destroy you. Don’t feel bad for her, Lil. She’s got to live with her choices.”
Lily didn’t say a word. They’d argued about Missy and the fact that even if she suspected something was off, she could never have truly known the depths of his depravity. Abby didn’t care. If she had even a shadow of a doubt about someone, she’d do whatever it took to uncover the truth. She didn’t have a shred of sympathy for Missy Hanson and she never would.
Abby watched as Rick’s mother, Agnes—a fragile, broken woman—was led into the courtroom. She kept patting at her eyes with a tissue as she took a seat in the front row behind Rick. Abby had seen her on an episode of one of those true-crime shows. She’d always imagined Rick’s mother to be some white trash junkie, but Agnes appeared to be a simple, decent woman; a lower-middle class single mother and dental technician who’d thought she’d raised a wonderful man. In her eyes, Rick had been a dedicated educator and devoted husband. Agnes couldn’t deny the evidence, or that’s what she’d told the reporters. But when they asked her about Rick, she said she’d always love him.
“I know what he did. He’ll have to face his maker and answer for his actions, but he’s my boy. I’ll always love my boy.”
Rationally, Abby understood what Agnes meant. But as much as Abby loved David, she couldn’t imagine standing by him if he did something like that to someone. She simply couldn’t imagine. A murmur began spreading through the courtroom, and Abby saw the deputies leading Mr. Hanson in. He was wearing a crewneck and a white button-down shirt with a striped blue tie, his jet-black hair freshly coiffed. He could’ve stepped right out of a J. Crew ad. She remembered him doing his best Dead Poets Society impression, leaping onto desks, inspiring them all, making them think—even for fifty minutes—that there was no better place to be than AP English. And even now he was still so smug and so damn shiny, as if he’d just come from the yacht club. His mother began to weep. He shook his head.