Chapter 2
Mama’s house always made Michael Willard angry. He loved her and enjoyed visiting over a glass of sweet tea fortified with
old-school moonshine. But her home spiked his blood pressure every time he saw it. She deserved so much better than this.
From the outside Mama’s house appeared to be abandoned. She lived in a cracked-window, paint-peeling, ready-to-blow-over-in-a-strong-breeze
old bungalow outside Nova Cambridge with a weedy garden in back. From the inside it looked like a hoarder house, but Mama
was no hoarder. She was a keeper of memories.
The collapsing boxes stacked four high in every room held a priceless archive of documents chronicling the exploits of Joseph
Willard, founder of both the town of Nova Cambridge and Universitates Nova Cambridge Willardius, the original name of Tupelo
Grove University.
The magnificent Victorian furniture jammed into every free corner once graced the university president’s mansion.
The faded pictures stacked in the closets recorded the finding of the fabled Willard Treasure, groundbreakings for the university and town, and dozens of other key events, together with the proud, strong faces of Joseph Willard and the other men who made them possible.
Almost everything in the house was one of a kind. There were no other copies of the letters, pictures, journals, and so on
that Mama watched over. The Legares and their cronies had seen to that. They had erased Joseph Willard’s legacy and even wiped
his name from the university he’d founded. If a fire or hurricane ever hit Mama’s house, all proof of the Willard family’s
deeds would vanish.
Michael made his way through a maze of boxes to find his mother sitting in front of a dinky old TV. “Mama, you really ought
to let me move some of this stuff into a storage locker. It’ll be safer there and you’ll have a lot more space.”
She didn’t turn away from the grainy screen. “Hush, boy. I’m watching the news.”
Michael repressed a smile. He was sixty-four years old, president of a trucking company, and one of the most feared men in
Southern Alabama’s criminal world. And she still hushed him and called him “boy.” “Anything interesting?”
She gasped and pointed at the TV. “My great-grandbaby—your grandson—almost died today!”
“What?” He turned to the screen. It showed pictures of Hezekiah Webster and Simon Legare.
Simon’s resemblance to his mother was almost uncanny.
He looked exactly like a male version of Michael’s daughter, Jess Legare, at that age.
The anchor briefly described the incident and then handed off to a reporter interviewing a Coast Guard spokesman who warned viewers about the dangers of rip currents and letting children play unattended by the water.
Then the anchor started a new story about an accident that blocked two lanes of I-10 earlier in the day.
Mama scowled. “Our little boy isn’t safe with those two.”
Old regrets and new worry needled Michael. “No, he’s not.”
Mama switched off the TV and glared at Michael. “We need to get him out of there and bring him home to his real family.”
“I’m working on it. I’ve hired a lawyer, and I have some other irons in the fire.”
She gave a firm nod, causing her white curls to shake. “Good. We need to take care of family, especially after the time we’ve
had. So many dead, so many lost.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re the only one in your generation who’s not in a grave or a
cell. The little ones deserve a better future, especially Simon. He could be the leader of that generation.”
“I see the same promise in him, Mama. We’ll make a Willard out of him. Count on it.”
Her faded brown eyes grew vague, and she seemed to wander in the past for a moment. “Tell me, why isn’t he a Willard now?
Why wasn’t Jess a Willard? Why did she keep that name?”
Painful memories tried to surface, but Michael pushed them down. “She was biding her time, making connections. The Legare
name was better for that.”
“Yes, I suppose so. And Jess loved her sister.”
More ripples of agony in the dark waters of his past. “Half sister.” He changed the subject. “I talked to David’s lawyer today.
He thinks he’ll be able to plead David down to accessory to trafficking stolen goods and get him out for time served.”
Her face wrinkled into a smile. “Good, good. I’ll make shrimp and grits to celebrate when he gets out. Your brother always loses weight on jail food.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Your shrimp and grits is fantastic.”
“Deke loves it too.” Her brow furrowed. “But he’s not getting out soon, is he?”
Michael sighed. “No, he’s not. I talked to his lawyer too. The prosecution has a recording of him bragging to a jailhouse
snitch about calling the hit on Beckett Harrison. Between that and the other stuff they have on Deke, he’s probably getting
life without parole.”
“Oh.” She sagged back in her ratty armchair, looking very small and withered. “Poor boy. Poor, poor boy. That’ll be hard for
him. He always loved the outdoors so much. He is a talker, though. How’s he taking it?”
“Not well. It’s only just starting to sink in, I think. He’s feeling pretty down. He says he’s talking to the prison chaplain,
which helps some.”
Mama’s eyes were suddenly sharp. “Talking to the chaplain? Is that still Tim Kramer?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth set in a hard line. “Deke’s not thinking of doing anything stupid, is he?”
Kramer’s favorite verse was “The truth will set you free,” and he was a firm believer in the healing power of confession.
Prosecutors and cops loved him. “Don’t worry about Deke. He’ll never turn on family. He’s a Willard.”
Savannah smiled at the astounding figures in TGU’s bank accounts and pulled up a list of long-overdue maintenance projects on her computer.
She’d been working on a plan for her vision of the future, and her goals didn’t seem out of reach now.
She’d even been able to fully fund the scholarships, including one for Hez’s favorite student, Ed Hernandez.
It seemed impossible that she’d attained the position of university president at only thirty-five years old.
The azaleas flowering on the other side of her office window were a sweet reminder that beauty and life still existed in the
midst of grief and change. It wasn’t just the turnaround in money that signaled new life for the university—applications for
next year had surged as well, and reporters were clamoring for interviews on what she had planned. With the influx of money,
the school’s college ranking would get a nice boost, and she intended to be prepared.
The first order of business was to finish Legare Hall, the half-built embarrassment her father had started two decades ago
but never had the money to complete. It loomed above Tupelo Pond, a mossy marble mess that every campus visitor drove past.
It was like the set for a horror movie—hardly the impression Savannah wanted to make on prospective students and professors.
The plans drafted by her father’s architect were impressive—and expensive—but she didn’t intend to use them.
Her father had wanted a majestic, Gothic-style building with a luxurious office suite for himself and a cavernous, mahogany-floored grand foyer he could use for entertaining.
The academic function of the building seemed to have been an afterthought.
An early version of the plans identified internal rooms as labs and classrooms, but later versions labeled them as a library or storage space—probably because cost had become an issue and shelves were cheaper to install than lab benches or desks.
The corner of one of Great-Grandfather Luc’s leather journals peeked out from under a stack of papers, and she pulled it free.
An initial glance through this one over a month ago had revealed notes about a hall he’d intended to build, but she hadn’t
studied it closely. She flipped through the pages, relishing the feel of the quality paper and the faint scent of fine leather.
Her fingers paused in the middle of the pages at the sketched floor plans and facade of a building. While it bore some resemblance
to the plans her father had sent over, the more historic lines and design of the grand hall appealed to her. The cost would
likely be lower, which would leave money for other upgrades.
The door opened and Hez, dressed in khaki slacks and a blue shirt, appeared in the doorway. “Got a minute?”
She closed the journal and eyed the two University Grounds beverages in his hands. “How’d you know I didn’t get my drink this
morning?” She stood and stepped to the side of the desk.
He entered and shut the door behind him. “I spotted you sprinting for the office after I dropped Simon off at school this
morning in my Uber ride. You had your bag and no coffee.” He set the drinks on her desk and pulled her into his arms. “I can’t
wait until we can wake up together again. I missed you this morning.”
Letting go of all other thoughts, she relaxed into his embrace and kissed him, relishing the tenderness encircling her.
When he finally released her, she opened her eyes and traced his strong jawline with her finger.
“That was a pretty impressive rescue for a thirty-seven-year-old guy.” He seemed to have fully recovered from the near-drowning incident, and his brain injury was healing well too.
Not being able to drive still chafed at him, though.
“You’re forgetting your iced mocha,” he said with a smile tugging his lips.
“You’re good at making me forget everything.”
He snagged a lock of her hair and wound it around his finger. “It’s my favorite thing to do.” His hand fell back to his side.
She chuckled and reached for her mocha. The bright taste of peppermint lingered on her tongue. “How did our boy seem this
morning?” Simon had been so subdued that Hez had taken him to his condo to play video games after church yesterday, and Hez
had kept him overnight.
“Still withdrawn. I encouraged him to study last night for his math test today, but he gazed off into space more than he did
at his textbook. I doubt he’ll pull that B back up to an A this semester.”
Worry tried to push out her morning euphoria, but she refused to let it spoil this moment. “Healing will take some time. He
misses his mother. So do I.” The last sentence lodged behind her lips.
“I know you do, and I’m here for you. We’ll both be there for him.” A frown settled on his forehead.
Was that worry lurking behind his smile? “What’s wrong?”
“I hate to spoil your morning, but we have a problem.”
The we clued her in on the direction of the issue.
“Is there an issue with the adoption proceedings? Jess appointed me as Simon’s guardian.
The court will surely listen to her wishes.
” Though Savannah had told herself that over and over, there had been so many hits in the past eight months that she kept waiting for the next shoe to fall.
He set his cup on the desk. “Brace yourself, babe. We always knew one person had a stronger claim to him than us.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “You found Erik Andersen?”
“Worse. He came out of hiding on his own and is armed with one of the top attorneys in the state. He’s filed a challenge to
our adoption petition.”
She set a hand to her neck and stepped back. “We can fight him, can’t we? I mean, he’s a criminal.”
“He hasn’t been convicted of anything yet.” Hez’s jaw hardened, and his frown deepened. “It’s going to be a battle.”
“We have to win,” she whispered. “I just lost Jess, and Simon needs us.” There was no way she’d let a lowlife like Erik Andersen
raise Simon. Her nephew needed and deserved parents who would love him and be good role models. He was the last piece of her
sister, and in her heart he was already their son. She couldn’t lose him now.