Amelia didn’t pray often, but when she was little, her mother would read her stories at bedtime and then teach her how to kneel down by the side of her bed and pray. Amelia never got much from it herself, but she always loved the nights when her mother prayed. They made her feel like God was there, like he was actually listening and would keep her father safe, would help Amelia grow big and strong, would comfort Ellie. When her mother was killed in a simple car accident because she wasn’t wearing her seat belt and hit the windshield, when she walked out of the car and every paramedic including her father missed her concussion, when her brain gave out rather than her body—Amelia stopped praying. Her mother’s God couldn’t even keep her safe; why would he care about the children she left behind?
But then her father got sick, and the urge to pray came back. At first she told herself that it was just a coping mechanism, a simple way to make her feel in control when the world was crashing down around her. But the more she did it, the more she felt comfort and peace, and though there was no doubt in her mind that God would do just as much to save her father as he’d done to save her mother, she let herself find comfort in the conversations with her deity.
Today, she closed her eyes and said a quick and silent prayer. Not for some kind of miracle or an angel to scoop her out of the car. No, her adult prayers were far different, simpler, than her childhood prayers. Today as they sped down the highway, Amelia prayed for peace, that she’d know what to say to Randy and that he’d remember she was there. She prayed that she’d live to see Kate’s recital and Cora’s science fair. That Randy would find his center and his son.
Her eyes were still closed as the car began to slow. She doubted greatly that it was her prayer making the difference; he’d probably realized the insanity of his mad dash down Highway 12 or mentally reviewed some stats on the number of years he could spend in prison for vehicular manslaughter. He didn’t stop this time; he just returned to a cruising speed that was maybe a few miles over the posted speed limit but under control enough so she could let her arms drop and the belt gave enough slack so she could sit up and put her feet on the floor.
Amelia leaned over and snagged her phone off the ground, examining it quickly for signs of damage. When she went to turn it on, Randy finally spoke.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Amelia answered, tentatively.
“Don’t make that call. Please.” His voice was steady and calm, like he’d finally come to his senses.
“I’m not calling anyone, Randy. Not unless you want me to.”
He shook his head, still keeping his speed at a reasonable ten miles above the speed limit. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m some crazy person. I’m not going to lose it again, I promise.”
Amelia didn’t believe him. Why should she? The more time she spent in the car with him since his explosion, the more she realized just how little she knew about him as a person.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, and then before she lost her nerve she added, “So . . . what happened? Is Dawson okay?”
Randy flinched at the mention of his son’s name but then swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down under the carefully trimmed beard. “I’m sure Dawson is fine.”
The sentence surprised Amelia. It was comforting because no part of her wanted that little boy to be hurt or lost or in any kind of risky situation, but after Randy’s response and ominous warning that they’d lost Dawson somehow, Amelia pushed herself up a little taller in her seat, annoyance building.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Then . . . what was that all about?” Amelia pointed her thumb back over her shoulder in one hard pump.
“Dawson’s mother picked him up early from school.”
“Wait, what? I thought she was dead,” Amelia blurted.
“My wife is dead,” he said bluntly. “Dawson’s birth mother is alive.”
“Dawson is adopted?”
“No, not exactly.” He readjusted his grip on the wheel, and the needle bumped up slightly but not enough to make Amelia fear for her life again. “Real estate is new to me. I used to work for JBTM Tech, recruited right out of college. I moved up the ranks pretty fast and was one of the youngest VPs in company history. Then I met Dawson’s mom. I’m gonna be up-front with you—she was an intern. But it’s not what it seems. There was a company party, and I got pretty wasted. I woke up the next morning in my office with this girl naked beside me. I had no memory of the night, but it was clear we’d been together. I apologized, we parted ways, and I hoped for discretion, but then the texts started and e-mails, and then the positive pregnancy test sealed in an envelope was sent to my home. My wife was already very ill, and that test nearly killed her.” He stopped talking for a moment, and Amelia couldn’t tell if he was emotional or angry or was pausing for dramatic effect.
“We worked it out so that Dawson came to live with me and Stella after he was born. The idea was that once Stella was better, she would adopt him officially. In return, I paid for Megan’s, that’s the intern, I paid her medical bills, paid for her to finish school. For a while, it was like she was part of the family, dysfunctional though it may have been. But then when Stella died last year, Megan petitioned for shared custody of Dawson and won. She won!” He punctuated his exclamation with a quick burst in speed, which slowed quickly. “She won and Dawson had to go spend time with a woman he didn’t know in a one-bedroom hovel in the city. She had boyfriends in and out, and Dawson once told me in great detail about finding drugs in her room. So a few months ago when she went into the hospital for her third rehab, I moved here, to Broadlands.”
He scanned the scenery. It looked so perfect, the freshly plowed fields, the rich blue sky, the fluffy skirt of clouds that drifted along like there might never be rain again. When she looked at her home from Randy’s eyes, she could easily see why he thought of this place as a refuge—a town small enough to keep his secrets and big enough to provide business opportunities that could secure safety for him and his son.
There was a voice in her head at the time that said, That is kidnapping and What you did is illegal, but she tried to push those voices down, remembering how good he was with Dawson all the times she’d seen them together, how the boy was always nicely dressed and happy . . . He was such a happy boy. She wanted to believe Randy’s story of being a duped savior, one who lost his wife and his son, and who wanted to keep him safe.
So instead of throwing insults or accusations, she asked, “Well, what are you going to do now?”
They sped past the WELCOME TO BROADLANDS sign, going at nearly supersonic speed again. Instead of slowing through the town like was expected on these smaller country roads, he hit the gas and said, “I’m going to get him back.”
Amelia walked up the steps to the kitchen door, typed in the security code, and then unlocked the door while holding open the screen with her foot. They used to leave the side door unlocked like any good citizen of a small town, but with the recent vandalism and Sam, the blacklisted day worker, still showing up occasionally to beg for work . . . it was security systems and locked doors for the Saxtons.