“And I wasn’t thinking about it, honestly.” My mother appealed to the both of us. “I didn’t think about it. I was so out of it. I just went where Jason told me to go.”
“That’s understandable,” I said, giving my momma a sympathetic smile.
Cletus stroked his beard, a habit he’d picked up recently that made him look very mad-scientist-like. “When did the police come get you, Diane? When did they come to the house?”
“Early in the morning. Then they asked that I come with them to the police station.”
“And so you did,” Cletus said unnecessarily, but it seemed like maybe he was talking to himself.
“Yes, I did. And I called my lawyer as soon as I made it to the station. Jason said not to talk until she was present. Genevieve told me to keep quiet and not answer any questions at all, so I didn’t.”
“You pretended to be overwhelmed?” Cletus said, his tone leading and a little sneaky, like he was trying to catch her in a lie.
“No.” She shook her head, her expression open. “That wasn’t me pretending. Even if I’d wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to speak that morning. I was so . . .”
“She was still in shock. She was in shock for days.” Mr. Repo’s hand came to her shoulder, squeezed.
“How do you know?” I snapped.
“Because I snuck in to check on her,” he answered evenly, like my tone had been congenial instead of surly. “I’d come in through her window at the back. And I’m glad I did because that surveillance van showed up two days after the murder.”
“They didn’t believe me, it seems. I didn’t kill him, but I guess I did lie.” My momma smiled like she thought this was funny, like we were talking about someone else who’d made a mistake and was now possibly going to go away for a murder she didn’t commit.
Cletus’s gaze fell on me, sympathetic yet firm, even though his words were for my mother. “Forgive my candor, but the story you told the police makes no sense. They know you’re lying. Your alibi is nonexistent. You have motive. They can’t confirm the prints on the door—the partial bloody handprint—is yours, but as soon as they do, they’ll issue a warrant.”
She covered her face with her hands again, breathing out.
He wasn’t finished. “No judge in his right mind is going to give her bail, not with the resources she has available and all the friends she has in this town. Breaking someone out of jail is so much harder than keeping them from it in the first place. Believe me, I know.”
Maybe Cletus thought I needed to hear the words in order to understand how truly trapped she was. To understand only one path remained to her unless we could prove, without a shadow of a doubt, someone else had killed my father.
She had to leave. Now. Before they arrested her and matched her print to the one on the car. We stood there in contemplative silence as the grim and certain burden of my mother’s situation pressed down on us.
Or maybe it only pressed down on me. A weight of frustration and helplessness and dumb, stupid acceptance.
This isn’t fair.
Whether or not my momma’s secret relationship with Mr. Repo had contributed, she’d seemed truly happy these last few months. Happy and content and busy. She hadn’t brought up my father in months. The wedding planning with Ashley, our shared mother-daughter time, the success of the Donner Dairy, the planned renovations at the lodge—my mother had been thriving.
And then my father shows up and ruins it all.
Where remorse at the uncharitable thought might have twisted in my stomach before, before these last weeks of worry and resentment, all I felt now was a stark gratitude that he was dead. My father had shown up that night intent on ruining the evening, but I’m certain he’d never planned to die.
And yet that’s what he’s always done. He shows up and ruins things, even in death.
I ground my teeth, irritated because I felt guilty for not feeling guilty, the constant emotional spin cycle where my father was concerned. I couldn’t seem to break free of it. When would I let go of him? Let go of the expectations he’d never lived up to and the regret I carried that I could’ve done more to help him be a better person.
“We have no choice,” Mr. Repo said, pulling me from my thoughts. He locked eyes with my momma. “We have to go. Tonight. It’s the only way.”
Cletus’s eyes were still on me, like he was waiting for me to say something, to agree. I didn’t meet his gaze, I couldn’t look at my momma. If I did, I’d cry. I didn’t want to cry.
So I looked at Mr. Repo and said around the rocks in my throat, “This sucks.”
His attention lifted to me. Despite all the attitude I’d thrown at the man up to now, he gave me a small smile. “It does. But I know how to run. I promise, I’ll keep her safe.”
Finally, Cletus did speak. “If anyone can avoid police detection, it’s him.” The words low, quiet, imploring, like they were meant only for my ears, a reassurance. But Cletus didn’t touch me. Maybe he knew doing so might make me lose it.
I glared at Mr. Repo even though this wasn’t really his fault. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to defend himself or my mother, didn’t give words of consolation or defend this impossible decision. The man had made his promise to keep her safe and, apparently, that was all he offered me. Features open yet resigned, he returned my glare with a patient stare.
“Jennifer.”
My name spoken from my mother’s lips automatically pulled my attention to her. She’d stood at some point and now faced me. Her eyes wide and rimmed with red, her lips trembling, her hands shaking, she looked terrified.
Abruptly, my nose and eyes stung with the tears I’d avoided until now, and I choked out, “Momma.”
She opened her arms. “Come here.”
So I did. She gathered me in a hug just as my face crumpled. Dammit. I’d been fooling myself, thinking we’d find another way, convincing myself that as soon as she spoke freely and we heard her side of the story, we’d be able to clear her name. I hate this.
“I don’t want to go to jail, baby.” Her throat sounded like it was full of rocks too. She cleared it, but her voice continued to shake. “But if you asked me to stay, I would. I would do anything for you and—and your brother. Anything. I’d go to jail if it meant keeping y’all safe, if you needed me to stay.” I felt the tremors in her body as she spoke.
I petted her hair to soothe her even as my tears flowed freely. “I hate this.”
“I do too.”
“You have to go, I know you do. But I don’t want you doing anything that you’ll regret,” I said around a sob. “I don’t want you to feel trapped.”
We held each other, swaying. I felt her tears on my neck, so I held her tighter and swallowed down the bitterness.
We’d come so far. This last year and a half, our relationship had altered so much. It had been difficult, but we’d done it. My mother was so different now from the domineering and demanding maternal presence of my past.
She’d listened to me. She’d gone to therapy. She’d worked on herself. She’d changed for me. She’d wanted to be better for me. She loved me. Now she was leaving me.