“If it had been Sam on the trail that night, he would’ve stepped in too,” I said. “He would’ve gone in with a clearer head than I did, and he would’ve tried to talk it out even though the guy was nuts. But he wouldn’t have hesitated.”
“I know. Sam’s a great guy.” The admission came grudgingly. I knew firsthand it wasn’t easy to forgive the person who had caused your child pain.
“That’s not it.” I knew I wasn’t explaining it so Red could understand, so I searched for a memory of Sam that would illustrate my point. I had dozens to pick from, but I chose the day I had realized I loved him. “A few months after Sam and I met, we came across this man and his son at a gas station. The boy must’ve been about eight, and his father pushed him, complained the boy was moving too slowly. Then he punched the boy in the back.
“I was weighing options—get the gas station attendant, call 911, step in. Though it was only a few seconds before I made the decision to call 911, Sam was already on the ground. He’d been knocked out. He’d stepped in and the father, who outweighed Sam by at least thirty pounds and was obviously more accustomed to using his fists, hadn’t much liked the interference.”
Remembering Sam like that brought fresh pain.
“By then, the gas station attendant had come out, the police had been called. I’m not sure what happened to that man, but Sam ended up with a nasty bruise. The first thing he said afterward, ‘Better me than the boy.’”
“You feel obligated to do right by Sam because he wouldn’t hesitate to do right by you?”
“Obligated isn’t the word I’d use. And there’s more to it. When Audrey needed a liver, Sam didn’t ask about the risks to him. Not once.” I touched Red’s arm for the first time. I needed him to hear what I was saying. “That’s not a jab at you. That’s just how it went down.
“Having lived through my teen years, you may think I can be reckless, and maybe I can be. But I think before I act. Sam doesn’t. He believes good people should prevent bad things from happening. Always. A moral obligation, he calls it. In his mind, that’s just the way things are.”
Red nodded in understanding. “You think this moral obligation may have gotten him hurt.”
“Yes.”
“I admire Sam, but I live by a different code, and it has a single imperative: keep you and the kids safe.”
“Like six years ago?”
Red’s face went ashen, and I instantly regretted my words. When I had imagined myself a pastry chef in middle school, my father had eaten pies made with too much sugar, cookies made with too little, and cakes either charred at the edge or swampy in the middle. Often both. I never did get the hang of it. My father had swallowed every bite. This was a man I should’ve been able to forgive.
He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “There’s more to that story, more that I couldn’t tell you then.”
This surprised me. “Tell me now.”
“Like I said, my main concern will always be keeping you safe, and distraction can be dangerous.”
“Go ahead—distract me.”
“It’s not important, not now.” He shook his head. “You and the kids can stay with me.”
“We can’t. And it is important. It’s more of a distraction not knowing what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I know you’re angry, but please—stay with me. Let me help.”
“You used a credit card, right? Checked in under your own name?” When Red nodded, I continued, “It’s not safe for us here, and isn’t that what you want most—our safety?”
The words had more bite than I intended.
“We can find another hotel,” he said.
“They’ll still keep records.”
“A seedy one where they don’t ask questions. Or we could go camping somewhere. I bet there are a lot of places to camp around here.”
As much as I wanted to lean on my father, I couldn’t.
“You don’t trust me,” he said.
“I do. As much as I’m able.” Trust had become a fragile commodity in the past couple of days.
He stepped closer, and I thought he might embrace me. But he only moved closer to whisper, as if his next words might be overheard by someone who intended my family harm. “Where are you going to go?”
I started to say I didn’t know, but then the idea hit me. “I can’t tell you that,” I said instead. “But thanks for coming. After I find Sam, I’d like to catch up and hear more about why you didn’t want to help save your granddaughter’s life.”
Red cringed, and I was immediately sorry. “Isn’t it enough to know I had a good reason?”
“Maybe,” I said. “If you’d offered that explanation six years ago.”
I gave my father a halfhearted hug and then went back inside the hotel room to gather my children.
33
My father followed us to the car. After the kids climbed in, he told me to be careful. He started to say more, but the slamming of the car door interrupted him.
Leo had climbed out again, his voice shaky, his eyes wide as he asked, “Mom, why do you have a gun?”
That was an easy question to answer: I didn’t.
I leaned into the car and saw the weapon resting on the passenger’s seat. Next to it, a Post-it, though not a number this time. A word, written in all caps, in red ink: TODAY.
“Mom?”
My mouth went dry, more at the note than the weapon. “It’s not mine.”
My father, who had been watching our exit from several feet away, started toward us. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I asked him to stop.
“Dad, get your stuff.”
The edge of his mouth lifted at what I’d called him, but he climbed the stairs to his room without question.
Leo eyed the gun. The fingers on his right hand twitched, and I laid my hand on his arm. “Don’t.”
He took a step back. “I wasn’t going to.”
I arched an eyebrow but said nothing. I understood his impulse—to touch it, to confirm it was real, because how could it possibly be?
By the time Leo had noticed the weapon, Audrey had already climbed into the back seat. Now, curiosity drew her to her knees.
“Sit,” I said, firmly. When she did, I turned to Leo. “Watch your sister.”
Neck still prickling, I dropped to my knees beside the driver’s-side door. Crawling, I swept my fingers along the metal, probing crevices and bumps alike. As I searched, Leo’s stare burned the top of my head, and Audrey’s voice came at me equally hot, “Mommy?”
She threw open the back door, and it was only reflex that kept it from smacking me in the jaw. I pushed the door closed.
“Just a sec, Peanut.”
Near the back bumper, I found what I’d been looking for: a small rectangle of magnetized metal. As easily as I discovered it, I worried there were other GPS trackers better hidden.
Had Carver placed it there that first night, before I realized Sam was missing? Maybe later at the hospital, while I had been awaiting Leo’s MRI results? Or perhaps it was Helen who had planted the tracker while I was distracted by the sight of my husband’s blood. I thought of all the places I’d been, all the people I’d seen, and all I knew for certain was someone had tracked me to Zoe’s to start that fire, then to the hotel to plant that gun.