Sam says, “I can come along.”
I don’t expect that, and I’m left not quite knowing what to think about it. I scramble, because I don’t know what he’s thinking. “Don’t you have work?”
“Yeah, well, seems like my services are no longer required at the jobsite.”
I’m stunned. “Why?”
“At a guess? The Belldenes have put the word out they don’t want me working anywhere in this county.”
I feel a pulse of real, vicious anger toward everybody who had a hand in putting that bitter misery in his eyes. It’s there for only a moment, then quickly gone, and he’s smiling again.
“Bright side, that’s a lot less gas I burn. Downside . . . not sure what I’m going to do now.” His voice is even, his eyes steady. Whatever fury he has boiling in there, he’s not letting it out.
“Damn, I’m so sorry. This is all—” I gesture helplessly at the world. At myself. The whole package, bound up with a past I can’t control and can never shed. Scars and wounds and armor and agony.
I’m angry for him. A little angry at him, truthfully, that he didn’t tell me before we sat down here. But it’s why he was so noncommittal earlier. He wanted me to have reasons to leave this place that weren’t about him.
I make my tone lighter, my smile brighter. “In that case,” I say, “I don’t see any reason why you can’t join us for our epic road trip out to Louisiana.” And honestly, now that I’ve said it, I realize that I’m actually relieved. I don’t even know why for a moment; it hasn’t occurred to me until now that this case is leading me back to a place I desperately never wanted to go.
Back to the bayous. To a sweaty green hell like the place I faced down my ex-husband and my own personal nightmares. No, this isn’t anything like that, I tell myself sternly. This is me, going to help someone else. I’m in control.
That doesn’t stop my heart from racing, or my muscles from tensing. I’ve made strides in overcoming the trauma that I suffered after the night I was forced to kill Melvin. But that doesn’t mean it’s completely behind me either. I need to call my therapist, I think. And that’s probably a good impulse; I already booked Connor in for a session next week. I should make sure I get myself right too. Between the impending threat of the Belldenes and this foreboding trip . . . I can feel myself starting to spin out.
And Sam knows it, I think, because he says, “Louisiana. Where exactly—”
“Not there,” I tell him, shorthand that he understands perfectly. “But you know, same state. Similar area. So I . . . I appreciate your company.”
“And after that?”
I take a deep breath. “Kids? What do you think?”
They’re quiet, looking at each other, and then Connor slowly raises his hand. “I vote we move,” he says.
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here?”
That’s pretty definitive. I fix my gaze on Lanny, who crosses her arms. “Sure,” she says. “I guess. Not like I’ve got any social life here anyway. But not anyplace small, okay? Someplace interesting. Maybe somewhere with more than two fast food choices.”
“I’ll take that under consideration,” I tell her. Back to Sam. “You?”
“I know you hate giving up.”
“I do. I really, really do,” I reply. “But you know what I hate more? Watching the people I love get hurt. No home is worth that. Not to me.” I swallow hard, because the warmth in his gaze nearly undoes me. “What’s your vote, Sam?”
“I feel selfish voting given the circumstances. But . . .” He raises his hand. “Yeah. Move.”
“Okay,” I say. “We move. So say we all.” I feel a weirdly mixed wave of emotion. Frustration, yes; I put a real emotional stake in holding on here. Stillhouse Lake, for me, has become less of a refuge and more of a fortress, with enemies at the gates. But I feel relief too. It’s easy to get locked in, get tunnel vision, and feel utterly trapped by my own decisions. But I just proved to myself that we could change that future.
And it feels good. Terrifying, but good.
“You know it’ll take months to sell this place, if we intend to sell it,” Sam says. “The Belldenes going to be that patient, do you think?”
“I doubt it. They’ll make sure we get gone, one way or another.” I give him a smile, but I know it looks grim. “What do you want to bet they give us a lowball offer and strong-arm us to take it?”
“Seems likely,” he says. “They’ve got their fingers everywhere.”
“Well, we’ll worry about that later,” I say. “Meanwhile: road trip. Hey . . . since you’re currently available—”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Sam deadpans. “And before you ask, no. I don’t mind watching the kids while you interview the dad.”
“Mind reader.”
“One of my many talents.” Sam winks at Lanny as they both reach for the corn bread, and he beats her. “Gotta be fast, kid.”
We all have to be fast to outrun what’s circling around our calm little haven of a house.
Fast, and smart.
Lanny goes to bed early. She says she’s got a headache. I wonder, privately, if she’s really got a new girlfriend she’s sending messages to. I almost hope so; the breakup with her first love, Dahlia, nearly broke her. Rebound crushes are rarely healthy, but at least it’ll help repair her self-worth, and develop more armor for next time.
I worry, just a little, that she’s hiding something from me. But part of being a mom is knowing when to push and when not to. I decide not to this time. I’ve introduced enough chaos today.
And I pray it’s not a mistake.
8
LANNY
Vee’s back at midnight, of course. I’m nervous and scared and wishing I’d told Mom, but I still make sure my window’s off the alarm sensor when I go outside to take out the trash. Mom doesn’t notice. Nobody does. And that makes me feel pretty guilty.
When Vee shows up with her big duffel bag again, I slide that window up and get her inside, quickly. I’ve also greased it, so it doesn’t make a sound as it glides up and down. And Vee’s quiet coming in too. She’s even taken her boots off, so she’s in bare feet when she steps inside.
She gives me a vivid, wild smile, and I can’t help but smile back. Then she hugs me. Since she showered last night she smells pretty good, still, but there’s a hint of sweat and forest to her.
It kind of turns me on, to be honest.
Vee shuts the window, puts her duffel bag aside, and whispers, “So, how about that laundry?”
“Can’t tonight. Mom’s on high alert after what happened today.”
I expect her to ask what happened, but she doesn’t. She shrugs. “Okay, then. Can I borrow a cool shirt or something?”
“For what?”
“You didn’t hear? There’s a big-ass party tonight at Killing Rock! You’re goin’, right?”
“What? No!” I haven’t even heard about a party. Nobody has called me. Nobody texted me. And since Mom keeps us off social media, I didn’t even have that public heads-up. “Uh, I mean, I wasn’t invited.”