Penn will be very angry. Please explain to him that while he thinks I have a choice in what I’m doing, I don’t. If we try to use the system to solve this problem, our family will suffer terribly. I have a plan to straighten all this out, and I believe it has a good chance of success. If I succeed, the charges over Viola’s death will be dropped and the matter of the state trooper taken care of. That’s the only outcome I’m willing to accept at this point. You’ll understand why later. Obviously there’s a lot I can’t tell you through this medium, but soon I’ll explain in person. You know me, my girl. I don’t always have the answers. But I’m asking you to trust that I know best in this case.
Tell Penn I’m counting on him to keep you and Annie safe. That’s far more important than him trying to get to the bottom of this mess, which would be pointless. I hope he can protect Caitlin, but that girl goes her own way, and you can’t tell her anything. That’s why she’s good at her work. I’ll get home as soon as I can. I love you, my darling.
Tom
Long before I finish the message, I’m shaking my head in disbelief.
“Do you feel any better?” Mom asks hesitantly.
“No. Mom, I told you what happened tonight . . . who died. A Natchez cop was murdered simply for guarding the Natchez Examiner. He died trying to protect Caitlin and me.”
“Surely you don’t blame your father for that?”
“Yes, I blame him. Because the death of Viola Turner set all this off, and all he’s willing to say about it is, ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing.’ People died because he made the decision to jump bail rather than remain in custody. And jumping bail led to Dad and Walt killing that state trooper.”
“You don’t really believe they did that?”
“I’m afraid I do. Out of self-defense, probably, but that won’t matter to anybody but us. The lead FBI agent in town would actually like to help Dad, but Dad’s making it very tough. It’s hard to help a man with a dead cop hanging around his neck.”
Mom draws her mouth into a tight frown. “I hate to hear you speaking against your father like this.”
“What do you expect? When Dad kept silent about Viola’s death, I told myself he was taking some kind of moral stand on euthanasia. When it looked like murder instead, Henry Sexton convinced me the Double Eagles had killed her. When Dad jumped bail, I told myself he had no choice—that we were dealing with a vendetta by the DA and a redneck sheriff, and there was a method to his madness. But now? People are dying every day, and Dad and Walt could be shot on sight at any moment. At the very least Dad should be calling Quentin Avery and trying to arrange a safe surrender. But he hasn’t. If you want to know the truth, I’m starting to believe that all my faith in Dad—all my life—has been misplaced. That I believed in a father who only existed in my head. And yours.”
Her eyes plead for understanding. “Penn, please don’t talk that way.”
“I’m sorry. But anybody looking at what he’s done since Monday would see the actions of a guilty man. I’m starting to think Shad Johnson is right: whatever Dad did in Viola’s house, he did it to keep something buried in the past. And if it’s so bad that he can’t tell us about it, then I’m afraid that once we discover what it is—if we ever do—it will change our view of him.”
I’ve never seen such sadness in my mother’s eyes. Very softly, she says, “It would kill your father to know you’ve lost faith in him like this.”
“He’s broken almost every rule he ever taught me. How many chances has he had to do the right thing?”
She closes her eyes and hugs herself. “None of us is the person that others think we are. Not you, and not me. I’m not the woman you think I am.”
“Yes, you are. I know nobody’s perfect, but this goes so far beyond normal human frailty that I can’t even make sense of it.”
“That doesn’t mean there is no sense to it.” Mom’s eyes open and fix me with adamantine conviction. “All I know is the man I married. I know what he’s capable of, and what he’s not.”
“No human being can say that with certainty. Not even about a spouse.”
My mother takes my hand and speaks across the gulf of a generation. “You and Sarah were married nine years before the cancer took her. I know you loved her. But nine years isn’t that long. I’ve been married to your father since 1952. Fifty-three years. I’ve earned the right to say that I know him as well as any human being can know another. And I know this—Tom Cage is going to do the right thing no matter what. He can’t do the wrong thing. It’s not in him.”
What would it take to shake such faith? This is like trying to knock down a granite wall by talking to it. My stomach burns with resentment from holding my tongue about so many things pertaining to my father. The right thing? I want to ask. Lincoln Turner believes that he’s Dad’s son by Viola Turner—and Dad probably believes it, too. This whole crazy nightmare may be happening because Lincoln Turner screwed up a mercy killing and Dad is covering for him. Risking all our lives because he can’t bear to watch an illegitimate son punished by the courts . . .
But I say none of that. Instead, I say, “I don’t think Dad would ever intentionally do something terrible. But he might deceive himself so badly that he wound up doing something that had terrible consequences. We’re all capable of that. And I’m not sure he could bear the idea that our image of him was going to be shattered, or even tarnished.”
My mother looks down into her lap, then takes the gin and tonic from my hand and takes two big swallows. “You’re right about that much. If Tom thought you’d begun to doubt everything he taught you as a boy . . . it would break his heart. So I want you to promise me something. If you do find him, please don’t try to browbeat the truth out of him, whatever it is. That will come in its own good time—if it’s meant to. Maybe even in a courtroom, if there’s no other way. Will you promise me that?”
I take the glass back from her and swallow some gin. “Yes,” I tell her, knowing it’s a lie. This is no time for truth. “But you’ve got to accept that you can’t help Dad by going along with his plans. His only chance now is a safe surrender into federal custody. If he contacts you again, please try to convince him of that.”
Her gaze falls away from me and settles in a dark corner of the room. “I could never have imagined things would go this far.”
“Of course not. How could you?”