He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. “Do you know why?” He’s regretted he never lifted a finger to help Lily. She needed him, even relied on him, and he walked away.
Charlotte sets aside the ruler and photos. “I wouldn’t possibly know what he wants with her after all this time,” she says in a low voice.
“Do you remember what you told me the day after Lily ran?”
“That I worried he’d harm her?”
He shakes his head. “You said Dad knows things. What kind of things, Mom?” He’s always wondered if it had to do with the St. John case. Charlotte once told him she suspected his dad may have had more involvement than he let on. She covers her mouth and looks away. The skin on the back of his neck tingles. “That reporter a while back, Dad said he was asking after Lily. He asked about the St. John murder, too.”
A tear unspools over her cheek. The skin underneath shimmers. Lucas drops to his knees and takes her hand. The gesture feels foreign to him. It’s been years since he tried to comfort her, or sought reassurance from her, or anyone, for that matter. But his mom has put up with so much from Dwight. “Does Dad have something to do with that? Did he murder Benton? You told me once you thought he did.”
Charlotte looks troubled. She stares at his big hand, trembling. “Lily overheard your father and I arguing about what to do with her. You know he wanted her to abort. He started going off about money again. His campaigns came up and then, I don’t know how, he brought up the St. John murder. Everything he hated about our marriage came gushing out. It was the worst argument we ever had. I thought he was going to strike me, he was blinded by rage. I’m not sure he meant it—good Lord, I hope he wasn’t serious—but he told me he’d kill Lily like Benton if she didn’t get rid of the baby.”
Lucas sees red. “But did he kill St. John?” If he could hang Benton’s murder over Dwight’s head, he could get rid of his father for good. Let the authorities lock him up. He’d get a taste of the medicine Lucas was forced to swallow in his cell. Life isn’t glorious behind bars.
“I don’t know. He went out for a walk the night Benton died,” she cries, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t take the risk he’d harm Lily. I told her to run away to a place he’d never find her, somewhere he’d never look. But Wes, that poor boy. He came over when your sister was packing and your father went nuts.”
“Dad knows she overheard you arguing?”
“He isn’t sure how much. He’s always wondered. And he’s always worried she’ll talk.”
Dwight probably thought she had talked when that small-time reporter came sniffing out of the blue, asking about Lily and her time with the Seaside Cove High swim team.
Their eyes meet. For a man whose image is everything, Dwight would want to tie up loose ends. Lucas fears Lily might be one of those ends.
He lets go of Charlotte’s hand and stands up. He guzzles the rest of his beer. “Let me see,” he asks of the photos.
She stands up from the table and gives him the pictures. She goes to the counter and pulls a tissue from the box by the house phone, dabs her eyes.
He flips through the photos. His junior year photo, the last class picture he took because he was in juvie during senior portraits. The next photo is their family portrait, the one that must have flipped his nephew. Dwight stands proudly on the right, Olivia on the left and his mom seated in front. The last picture is of Lily playing on the beach looking cute in her green one-piece with the ruffle skirt. She couldn’t be older than six. He thinks how vibrant she was at that age; then he thinks how lonely and frightened she must have been when she left them. His throat burns with remorse like it’s been scalded with coffee.
He quickly flips back to the family portrait. “Do you remember what I promised you the day after Lily ran?”
Charlotte wipes her nose and looks at him curiously.
“I said I’d get him to leave for good. Look at us. Look what we’ve become. Our family is a mess. His campaigns have drained your finances. You’ve mortgaged the house several times over. At this rate, you’ll be making payments long past retirement. His drive to save his reputation, to bury whatever he’s done, will only hurt you. Let me bring him around to leaving us. If you want to divorce him, and I think you should, I’ll convince him to sign the paperwork. You’ll finally be rid of him. Lily can come home.”
“It’s too much, Lucas.” She shakes her head. “I can’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
“No. I won’t risk him hurting you, too.”
He looks at the tile flooring. “He can’t hurt me more than he already has.”
Charlotte’s face falls. She rests a hand against his hard cheek. “I tried to talk him into hiring a better lawyer for you.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you when you were . . . when you . . .” She presses the crumpled tissue against her lips.
When he was arrested for armed robbery. He finishes the thought for her. His cellmates ensured his six-month stay was no vacation. He carries the emotional scars to this day.
“Where’s Dad staying?” he asks, anxious to get on the road, to put an end to Charlotte’s misery.
“I can’t tell you. I won’t be responsible for whatever it is you plan on doing.” Her false lashes brush her cheeks and a drop of moisture hangs on the tips like a desperate man who’s run out of options. He lets go and he’s gone.
“Don’t tell me.” He smiles sadly and reaches for a small memo pad and pen. He puts them in her hands. “Write it down,” he says, barely audible.
“Lucas.” Her gaze lowers to the items in her hands. Her lower lip trembles and hands shake. But he doesn’t have to ask her twice. She opens the pad to a blank sheet and scribbles the hotel name and city. She rips off the paper, folds it twice, and puts it in Lucas’s palm. She closes his fingers around it. “Be careful.”
Lucas kisses her forehead and heads for the front door.
She follows him. “When will you be back?”
“Don’t know.”
“You will be back.”
“Sure, Mom.” He gives her a gentle smile and softly closes the door. He waits for her to flip the lock. He’s been telling her she needs to keep the door locked when she’s home alone. Dwight’s security cameras are shit. They can’t prevent someone from walking in.
The bolt flips. Nice to know she’s finally listening to him.
CHAPTER 21
As soon as she arrives home, Olivia prints off two dozen of the panel templates she uses for her own illustration work, gathers a fresh supply of drafting lead, and calls Josh into her studio. Renewed hope and a fresh sense of urgency has her setting him up at her drafting table, and like a penciller translating a graphic novel script into visual form, she instructs Josh to illustrate what he’s been through, how he got here, and maybe, just maybe, what happened to Lily. The least she wants to know is where and when Lily drops out of his story. His script is in his head. But a picture is worth a thousand words. With luck, through his artwork she can extract the thousands he hasn’t been able to vocalize.