Chapter 42
Now
Leaving Alabama was a violation of Mama’s parole.
If Mama were caught across state lines, she’d go back to prison, no exceptions.
We sped down the highway, the trees blurring by, tangled together in a backseat that was not built for two adults.
I pleaded with her, “Let us drop you somewhere—a McDonald’s, a Target, anywhere to kill time.
We can call you a car to take you back. You don’t have to do this. ”
“No.” She set her jaw. “He’s after my girls. My girls. He brought me here because he knew it would hurt y’all.” Mama shook her head. “I’m going to make sure he regrets that. I’m helping see this through.”
There was no changing her mind, so as Bunny gunned it, I gave Mama the condensed version of everything that lead us here, while Ruth frantically called Hattie-May’s house phone. It beeped over and over with a busy signal.
“Dammit. Phone’s off the hook,” Ruth said, immediately calling again. “I can’t believe we didn’t leave them with a cell.” Aunt Hattie only had the house phone, and Frances’s phone was at the bottom of the Tennessee River.
Bunny pressed harder on the gas, while I was seized by a feeling of dread that I was overlooking something that could cost us dearly.
When we crossed into Tennessee, I didn’t miss the look of worry that spread over Mama’s face. How she paled. How her breathing sped. She acted tough, but this wasn’t easy for her. Seeing her like this threw gasoline on the rage sparking inside me. I hated Burt like I’d never hated anyone before.
By the time we passed Ruth’s bones, I felt like I would combust. Like my anger would burn me up from the inside out, cooled only by the arctic pit of dread pooling in my stomach.
The house appeared in front of us.
Bunny jerked the wheel and punched the brake as we all rushed out of the car, our eyes pinned on the scene before us.
The flower pots tipped over in disarray. Frances gripped tightly by the upper arm, panting hard. Hattie-May, crumpled on the ground, unmoving. “Well look who it is, sweets.” Burt’s words were one big smirk. “The gang’s all here.”
“You asshole!” Ruth screamed, darting toward them, Bunny, Mama, and me following in her wake.
“Stop right there,” Burt ordered, his hand tightening around Frances’ arm. His fingers dug into my sister as he jerked her around to completely face us. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. If we didn’t do as he said, Frances would pay for it.
He’d enjoy it.
Burt’s brown hair was combed back from an angular face, with brows perfectly arched over bloodshot, honey-toned eyes.
People talked about how good-looking he was, but seeing him up close, I saw that it was all smoke and mirrors. Burt Anderson was a regular, cruel man with enough money and attitude to convince the public he was special.
Fuck him. I dared another step closer.
“I said stop.” He yanked my sister violently, emphasizing his words.
Burt took the porch steps down to the lawn, passing Hattie-May’s body as if it were nothing.
I stared at my great-aunt, praying for a gasp or a sudden rise and fall of her chest, but I saw nothing.
The idea of Aunt Hattie, a woman so warm, so giving, who’d loved and raised two generations of Robbins girls, now dying in the dirt and grass while we all stood by stoked the rage and fear churning through me.
I needed her to be okay. Needed everyone to be okay, but when I reached inside, rattled the internal door on its hinges, pressed my ear against its planks and begged for some clue, it was silent once again.
A sob escaped Ruth. She reared forward, toward Aunt Hattie.
“I said stay where you fucking are.” Burt’s grip slid from Frances’s arm to her throat. “We don’t want our baby bird to get hurt, do we?”
Bunny grabbed Ruth’s shoulder, urging her back as Mama and I froze, hands flying in front of us as if in surrender. For a moment, I was back in that meadow, watching my English teacher choke the life from my sister.
“What did you do to her?” Ruth’s voice wavered. “Why hurt Hattie-May? She’s an old woman.”
“She’ll be fine,” Burt said. “You all will, if you don’t try anything. I’m here for my wife and that’s all.” His eyes gleamed, tipping toward Mama’s panicked face. “How are you enjoying the reunion, mother-in-law? It everything you hoped for?”
Mama glared at Burt before her eyes again drifted toward Hattie, the woman still prone on the floor. I could feel Ruth, steady Ruth, trembling beside me, Bunny whispering to calm down. To think.
“Why are you doing this?” I pleaded. That place inside me—that pit or flower or something else altogether—had been still all day. But now it was paying attention. Alert. Whispering, get ready.
“Let her go,” I said, my voice forced into calm. “We’re all here—I’m here—just like you wanted.”
Burt shook his head slowly, confusion striking across his face. He looked down at Frances, little more than a rag doll with wild eyes. “What the hell do you mean, like I wanted? You think I wanted you?” He laughed, understanding dawning across his face.
Burt leaned close to Frances and inhaled the space of her neck, below her jaw.
His voice was a low growl, but loud enough for all to hear.
“God, I love how your mind works.” He sighed.
“Took me a while to figure it out, but once I did… Your brain is such a turn-on, my little monster.” He paused, dropping a kiss lightly on her jaw.
“This”—he gestured around the yard—“was genius. If there was a chance you’d get away from me, I have to say, this was it.
But come on… Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it all out? ”
Figure what out? I shook my head. “Frances?” I asked. “What’s he talking about?”
Burt laughed again. “Oh, you don’t know, yet? Let me give you a hint: Your sister is no one’s baby bird.”
“Frances?”
Her voice came out in a rasp. “Don’t listen to him, Milly. It’s always a game. He’s playing with your head.”
Deep, chuckling laughter poured from my brother-in-law.
Hattie-May moaned.
She’s alive. The relief was almost crippling.
“Please,” Ruth said, her voice desperate, her body tilting toward her as Bunny gripped her back, her hand now laced with Mama’s. “Let me see about her.”
“No.” The single word erupted from Burt. He cleared his throat, inhaled, and said in a lower tone, “You can check on her after we’re gone.”
Sarge the Second stalked across the porch and curled up next to Aunt Hattie. She didn’t move.
My sister’s eyes rolled wildly. At her side, her fingers twitched with our signal.
“Let her go,” I said again. “Please. You can have anything you want. Why keep someone who doesn’t want to be with you?”
“That’s what it seems like, huh?” Burt’s hand moved from Frances’s throat, to her hair, and he tugged her closer.
“But your sister’s never leaving me.” His lips curled into a mean smile.
“We know each other’s secrets. And we’ve made a few together too.
Besides. She doesn’t want me to let her go, do you, monster?
Not really. You’re only bored, that’s all. ”
Frances blinked up at him, her bottom lip trembling.
A gurgling breath came from Hattie-May.
“Hang on, Aunt Hattie. Just hang on. It’s going to be okay.
” Ruth bent forward, hands on her knees, leaning as close as she could toward Hattie-May without taking a step.
I assessed the scene. Ruth desperate to get to Hattie.
Mama with venom in her eyes, flicking from Burt to her daughter.
And then Bunny, pulling Ruth’s shirt back, an unspoken order to stay still.
That’s when I saw it.
As the tail of Ruth’s shirt rode up. The sheath of a hunting knife fixed to the back of her belt. Of course.
Ruth always had a knife.
I tried to catch Bunny’s eye, but she was still whispering to Ruth, trying to calm her down.
We could rush him. With the knife we stand a chance.
There were four of us, me and Ruth and Bunny and Mama.
The leaves said my sister could die, and with the stakes that high, there was no room for mistake.
I breathed deep, forcing myself to focus.
To think. Could we pull it off? Mama seemed desperate and frail.
She was also a stranger, and I had no idea what to expect from her.
Bunny was tough as nails, but also skinny as a twig.
Ruth was so consumed with Hattie-May’s injuries I wasn’t sure she even saw the rest of us anymore.
Meanwhile, Burt’s slender fingers curled around my sister’s throat.
Burt loves a game, Frances had warned.
The ghost of a smile lingered on his face. He’s drawing things out, I realized. The bastard’s enjoying this.
If this was his game, that meant as chaotic as it seemed, he was prepared.
If I were to act, there’d be no room for error.
I caught eyes with Frances, dipping my chin. My own fingers curling to make the signal in response. To let her know I was going to do something.
Before my fingers even uncurled, Frances screamed.
She screamed, and she didn’t stop.
Her shriek rang out in the yard, echoing through the trees surrounding the Robbins home. Bunny, Mama, and Ruth all leaping in surprise.
Everyone but me.
“What the fuck, sweets!” Burt moved his hand to cover her gaping mouth.
And then he yelped, dropping his hold on my sister. “Damn it.”
Blood dripped over his palm. Frances smiled, crimson smeared over her lips and teeth.
Burt brought his hand across Frances’s cheek with a loud smack, sending her hurtling to the ground. He cocked his arm back to strike her again, and before I could move, a primal scream tore from Mama.
“Don’t you fucking touch her.” I could see it in her before she moved, her stance shifting, her face contorting. I wanted to yell at her, no. Wait. We have to get it exactly right.
But before I could stop her, Mama lunged at Burt, sprinting across the yard.
He grabbed her arm in a single motion and twisted it at a sickening angle until it popped like a chicken bone.
Mama screamed, her legs going limp as he pushed her away.
She stumbled to the ground, her arm hanging wrong.
She sucked in gasping breaths, gathering it close. Howling in pain.
“Mama!” Frances cried. Her husband’s blood was smeared over her mouth, taking me again to that evening in the meadow, when both our faces were flecked with scarlet.
Burt grabbed Frances’s long hair and hauled her back to her feet. “Where do you think you’re going?”
There would be no exactly right moment, I realized.
It was now or never, just like that night so long ago, when we’d been faced with another bad man.
I sprinted toward Aunt Ruth and pulled the knife from her belt right as she rushed toward Hattie-May’s side, dropping down next to her.
Bunny darted toward Mama and pulled her head into her lap, soothing as she checked over Mama’s arm.
It was chaos and cries, panting breaths and Burt laughing that horrible chuckling laugh, like a kid who enjoyed pulling wings off butterflies or burning ants with a magnifying glass.
I held the knife in the air. “Everyone, stop. Just. Fucking stop.”
Burt wiped his eyes, glee written across his face. “Oh my God. Really? How cute is this? Big sister has a knife.” He looked at Frances. “Don’t get too excited, sweets. I still don’t think your little plan is going to work. Do you truly she’s capable of—”
“Shut up,” I screamed, waving the hunting knife. My vision tunneled, and I blinked against the yellow spots. “Let her go. Now.”
“Okay, Milly.” Burt laughed. “Let’s see what you can do.” He dropped his hold on my sister pushing her away as he stepped toward me, smirking. God, he’s always smirking.
“You going to stab me? Cut my throat? Should I be afraid of you, because you’re a big bad murderer?” Burt looked around. “I’m supposed to believe a timid little bitch like you killed a man to protect my wife? My wife?” Burt shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think so.”
He looked once more at Frances. His lips curling into an oil-slick smile. “That’s why your little plan could never work. Your sister’s gutless. Not like you, sweets.”
Frances stood wide-eyed, watching everything unfold.
My heart pounded. I didn’t know what this was or what Burt was trying to pull. I looked past him, to where Ruth bent over Aunt Hattie, caressing her cheek. And at Mama silently heaving in pain, her arm held close while Bunny tore off her sweatshirt and worked at fashioning a sling.
“You know what?” Burt said.
My gaze snapped back to him.
“Maybe I’m not being fair to our Milly, here.” He walked toward me.
My grip on the knife tightened so much my hand trembled. I can do this. I can kill him. I’ve done it before.
I could feel my panic rise. My brain faltering as my palm sweated around the handle.
Before I understood what was happening, Burt struck.
He grabbed and squeezed my fisted hand. Pain shot up my arm.
“I’ll tell you what. You want to kill me?
” He scoffed. “Now’s your chance. Go on. Prove your sister right.”
He tenderly moved my arm, positioning the sharp edge of the knife to the fleshy part of his throat.
“Now,” he said, leaning into the blade. “All you have to do is push. There’s an artery.
A windpipe. All kinds of nasty stuff that keeps me upright.
If you’re the killer your sister claims you are, this should be easy for you.
” He released my hand. “Go ahead. Be the hero.”
I glared at him, then pressed the knife hard against his neck as that place behind the internal door whispered, do it now now, now.