Chapter 15
Kids carrying backpacks streamed from the school doors. Savannah parked in the pickup line and craned her neck through her
open window to watch for Simon. Ever since Michael had taken her nephew without permission, she’d made sure to pick him up
herself. The man had gone rogue, and there was no reining him in. Rules didn’t apply to him, and he made sure everyone knew
it. The problem was he was right—everyone fell in line with his demands, and she wasn’t sure how she and Hez could win this
battle.
She glanced at her watch, then fingered the double-decker bus key chain she’d found. Simon had some explaining to do. She
drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Where was Simon? He should be used to the new routine now. A flash of red caught
her eye, and she spotted her nephew step out from the back side of the school on her left. He glanced furtively around before
heading west at a brisk pace as if he had somewhere to go.
Why would he walk home when he knew she would be waiting? And even more importantly, why was he being so secretive? If he wanted to go to a friend’s house, all he had to do was ask. Had he arranged for Michael to pick him up somewhere else?
For the first time she felt uneasy at how obstinate the boy had been about obeying her and Hez. He was only ten, but he already
carried Michael’s penchant for doing what he wanted no matter what he was told. How did she and Hez keep a wandering boy safe
in today’s world?
She pulled out of the line of waiting cars and drove slowly along the street as she tried to keep him in sight. She spotted
his red shirt again and called to him through the open window. “Simon, over here!”
He glanced her way and frowned, then vanished through a row of shrubs. She gritted her teeth and parked at the curb, then
flung her door open and rushed after him. Branches scratched her bare arms and snagged her hair as she forced herself through
the shrubs. A heel broke on one of her pumps as she caught it in a crevice along the stone path. She took off her shoes and
tried to keep up the pace. The vegetation opened up and sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead.
A path led off toward an extension of Gum Swamp, but Simon had no reason to wander there when he was supposed to be in her
back seat. But he wasn’t on the main path either, so he had to have gone that way. She veered toward the swamp, and the scent
of pine trees mingled with the salty tang of brackish water. The sweet scent of wildflowers wafted her way.
She hadn’t gone more than ten feet from where the path ended and the swamp started when the mosquitoes began to buzz around her face.
Cold mud sucked at her bare feet and a snake slithered into the vegetation ahead of her.
She shuddered at the black and coral markings and slipped her pumps on again.
Her pace slowed with the uneven heels, but at least she had a bit of protection for her feet.
Something large splashed in the water off to her left, and she spotted a gator gliding through the black water. She paused
to shout Simon’s name. No answer. She checked for footprints and caught an occasional impression, but the boy had gotten good
at hiding his tracks since the first time she’d brought him here. The few marks he left led her out the other side of the
swamp, and she still didn’t know his purpose to be out here. Could he have doubled back into the water to try to lose her
again?
But after pausing to catch her bearings, she recognized the neighborhood. Erik lived only a block away. Her lungs tightened
at the realization of where her nephew had gone. He’d called his birth father a “git” after their first meeting, but here
he was again. The poor boy must be desperate for family. She exhaled an exasperated huff and vainly brushed at the mud on
her skirt. Even a dry cleaner wouldn’t make it wearable again.
She marched to Erik’s door and took in the black Denali in the driveway. It had to be Michael’s truck. She pressed the doorbell
with a muddy finger. The door opened after what felt like forever. “Where’s Simon?” she demanded. “Do you have him?”
Erik’s glower turned to a grin. “Did you lose that boy again? I’m sure the judge will be interested in hearing about that.”
He turned and called for Simon.
Simon’s eyes widened when he stepped beside his dad. “Aunt Savannah, you look like you were wrestling Boo Radley. You’ll track
mud all over Dad’s clean floor.”
In spite of his joke, Savannah thought his blue eyes held concern. At least she tried to tell herself he cared that she’d braved gators and coral snakes to find him. “I’m glad you’re okay, but you knew I was waiting for you. Now we’ll both have to traipse back to where I parked the car.”
Erik’s smile fell away. “Simon and I have things to discuss—privately. I want what’s best for him, and with the way you keep
losing him, I don’t think his future is safe in your hands. I’ll bring him to your cottage when we’re finished talking.”
The door shut in Savannah’s face before she could respond. She reached for her phone, then pulled back her hand. He was Simon’s
father, and calling 911 would get her nowhere.
Michael stood over Marie’s grave, which lay in a well-tended corner of the overgrown Legare cemetery. The first rays of dawn
rimmed the horizon, but the moon still glowed overhead. Michael held a book of Marie’s poems, but he didn’t need it. He knew
them all by heart. He recited one:
I lost the Moon
My young eyes knew it well
Silver and magic
But someone slipped a rock in the Moon’s place
Airless and dead
My grown eyes know it well
I lost the Moon
Those were the first words he’d heard Marie speak—her musical voice weighed down with the sadness of lost dreams. Much later she’d confided that the “rock” in the middle of the poem referred to the giant diamond on her finger.
That hadn’t been a surprise—Michael knew all about her marital problems before he set foot in her poetry reading. They were the reason he went.
After Pierre stole the money from the malpractice settlement for the deaths of Winona and her son, Michael had vowed revenge.
And what better way to get it than by stealing Pierre’s wife?
The whole town knew Marie was Pierre’s greatest conquest and prized possession. She was the gorgeous daughter of an old New
Orleans society family, and he set his sights on her the moment she arrived on campus to pursue a master of fine arts in poetry.
He wooed her, playing the suave and sensitive scion of the local aristocracy. She fell for his act and he had her on his arm
at every party or fundraiser thereafter, showing her off to professors and alumni.
Then Marie got pregnant and no longer fit into her elegant evening gowns. Pierre’s eye began to rove. Rumors circulated. A
local newspaper ran a story about him billing the university for escorts in New Orleans. Pierre claimed it was a misunderstanding
and the bill was for a “concierge service” while he was entertaining a wealthy donor.
After Savannah’s birth, Marie had published a volume of poetry—and Michael had decided to attend her first reading. He sat
on a folding metal chair in the back of a drafty classroom with a creaky floor. A dozen or so people attended—mostly pale-skinned
artistic types who appeared to be fellow students. Pierre wasn’t there.
Winning Marie’s heart had looked easy that night—but Michael hadn’t counted on losing his own in the process. He still didn’t have it back over three decades later.
He knelt beside Marie’s grave, feeling the dew-wet grass through the knees of his work jeans. He laid a single red rose against
the white marble headstone. “I also lost the Moon.” His gaze traveled to Jess’s grave, and he recalled Marie’s name for her.
“And our Morning Star.”
He glimpsed the statuary group over Ella Webster’s little grave. It depicted Simon as part of the Webster family. “But I won’t
lose him. That’s a promise. I’m going to court tomorrow and I’ll get him for us.” He caressed the cool stone, tracing Marie’s
engraved name with a calloused finger. “I’ll protect him like I should have protected you. No matter what the cost.”
Michael pushed himself to his feet. Savannah came up here frequently, and he didn’t want to run into her. He started toward
the exit but paused as he passed Jess’s grave. “Why did you give him to Savannah? The boy is a Willard—you knew that as well
as me. Why put him in the hands of a Legare? Were you still mad about how I raised you? I had to make you strong. You knew
that too. Why did you do it, girl?”
The only answer was the cooing of a dove in one of the trees dotting the hilltop graveyard.
Whatever Jess’s reasoning, she was wrong. She made a mistake, and it was up to him to fix it. He strode down the hill, determined
to claim his grandson.