Mom kisses me on the forehead, and I give her a hug, a real one, but I don’t say anything. Sam, who’s been quietly leaning against the door, comes over to me and says, “Hey. Take care of your brother, okay?” Sam is a good man. I was wary for a long, long, long time, but I’ve seen him do quietly amazing things for us, including fighting to save us when our lives were on the line. I believe him when he says he cares.
I also believe it’s hard for him, because our asshole dad killed his innocent sister, and when he looks at us he can’t help but see some part of Melvin Royal in me and Connor. I study myself for hours in the mirror sometimes, picking out bits that resemble Dad. My hair’s more like Mom’s. But I think the shape of my nose is more like Dad’s. And my chin. I’ve looked up how old I have to be to get plastic surgery, just to remove any trace.
Connor sometimes looks exactly like pictures of our father when Dad was a kid. I know it bothers my brother a lot. I know he spends a lot of time obsessing about whether he will turn out . . . bad.
Mom needs to get him help. Soon. And if she won’t, I will.
“I’ll take care of him,” I tell Sam, then give it a shrug for good measure as if it’s no big deal. But Sam gets it.
“And yourself, tough chick.”
“Who you calling chick?” I demand, giving him a grin. We don’t hug again. We bump fists, and he goes to do the same with Connor.
Then he and Mom are gone, out the door, and we go out on the porch with Javier Esparza and Boot the dog to wave goodbye. Well, Boot doesn’t wave. He still looks unhappy he didn’t get to chew my face off. I give him a guarded pat on the head. He snorts again, but then he turns to Connor, and without the slightest evidence of fear, my brother sits down next to the dog and scratches him between the ears. Boot closes his eyes and leans against him.
Boys, I think, and roll my eyes.
I watch Mom and Sam get in the car. I watch them drive away. My eyes are clear and dry, and I’m proud of that.
Mr. Esparza says he’s going to make chili dogs for lunch. He puts Connor to work chopping up onions.
I go to my room, shut the door, and weep into my pillow, because I am as afraid as I’ve ever been in my life that I will never see my mother again.
And that Dad’s going to find us.
3
SAM
Gwen is still too quiet, an hour out onto the road. I can feel the pain vibrating the air around her.
“You okay?” It’s an inadequate question, but I have to try. There’s something haunting in the blank way she’s staring out the window at the flickering trees, like she’s trying to hypnotize herself into something like peace.
“I just abandoned my kids,” she says. Her voice sounds strange. I shoot her a quick look, but the road is narrow and curved, and I can’t spare much focus from keeping the SUV on the road. “Left them with . . . strangers.”
“They aren’t strangers,” I say. “Come on. You know they’re good people. They’ll do everything they can to keep the kids safe.”
“I should have stayed with them.” I can tell that she’s aching to ask me to turn the car around. “I just want to take my kids in my arms and never let them out of my sight again. I’m terrified . . .” Her voice fades out for a few seconds, thin as fog, then comes back stronger. “What if I never come back to them? What if they’re taken while I’m gone?”
She sounds so shaken that I pull the SUV off on the shoulder, in the blue shadow of trees. “Do you want to go back?” I cut the engine and turn to look at her. Not judging, but worrying. If this is going to work, I need to be sure that she’s up to it. I won’t blame her if she isn’t, but deep in my heart I know I have to go, with or without her. Melvin Royal is out there, and he’s going to come for Gwen, and those kids. This used to be about revenge for me, about getting justice for my sister, Callie, but now it’s something more.
“Of course I want to go back,” Gwen says, then takes in a deep breath. “But I can’t, can I? If I don’t fight for my kids and protect them now, how can I ever look them in the eyes again? He’s going to come for them. And I need to be in his way when he does.”
Gwen’s all raw pain, wired in place with steely control. Looking at her, you’d never doubt that she means what she says. And I don’t, not about Melvin Royal. She will face him head-on. And she won’t run.
“We’re going to kill him,” I say. It isn’t dramatic, and it isn’t a question. “We understand each other, right? We’re not in this to find him and call the cops and put him back in jail. The man will keep hurting you any way he can for as long as he lives. And no way am I letting him go on doing that.”
I don’t mean to betray that much, but there it is. If I feel love for this woman, it’s a harsh kind of love, dangerous to both of us until the ghost of Melvin Royal is finally put to rest.
“Yes,” Gwen agrees. “We’re going to kill him. It’s the only way to be sure the kids are safe.”
I nod slowly, then give her a smile. The one that answers me is grief and guilt and apology all together. “I have to confess, I never thought I’d be talking about becoming a straight-up murderer. Funny the things you learn about yourself, when you’re pushed.”
Gwen puts a hand on my arm, and I feel it through the cloth, hot as a brand. I let go of the steering wheel and slide my hand into hers. Our fingers twine. We don’t say anything for a long, long moment, and the peace of the wild country road, the trees, the distant call of birds, is so far from the darkness inside that it feels like another world away.
A ringing cell phone shatters the silence, and we both go for our pockets. “Mine,” I say, and because I recognize the number that shows up on the screen, I answer. “Hey, Mike. What’s up?”
“The hell you think is up, Sammy, I called you to shoot the shit? Business, son. I got a couple of leads on possible Absalom members. You want to take one?”
“Sure,” I say. “I take it this isn’t official.”
“Officially, I haven’t got enough to ask any of these sons of bitches what time of day it is, so you take it however you want. You want the tip or not?”
I have no pen or paper, so I make an air scribble with one hand, and Gwen takes the hint; she comes up with a pen and the rental agreement for the SUV. I listen to the two options that Mike Lustig reads out and make an instant choice. I jot it down. “Got it. We’ll take the closest one to us, in Markerville.”
“You go careful, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “You, too.”
Mike hangs up without a goodbye, which is just his style. I hand the written note to Gwen.
“Arden Miller, Markerville, Tennessee,” she reads off. “Man or woman?”
“Don’t know.”
“And where’s Markerville, besides in Tennessee?”
Having a name, a direction, makes this feel real now. Momentum. I give her a sudden, broad grin and put the SUV in gear. “Don’t know that, either. First stop: buy a map.” That would sound weird to most people these days, but neither of us can afford to risk using the Internet. Not with Absalom watching everything.
The longer we can stay off the grid and off anyone’s radar, the better.