Chapter 33
Savannah leaned against Hez’s solid bulk and tried to calm her racing pulse. The bailiff would bring Simon in any minute,
and they’d know their future. Hez released her hand and slipped his arm around her. The familiar scent of his sage soap was
a reminder of how seldom he lost a case. They would win this too.
She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “I thought it went really well.” Would Simon be allowed to sit with them, or would
he sit with Michael? She wanted to take Simon and go home to a new normal life.
“Scott did a good job.”
Hez’s lackluster response sent a shudder of warning prickles down her back. “You can’t think we’ll lose—not when it’s clear
Michael runs a crime family. The judge has to see the danger in letting the Willards be Simon’s main influence.”
A worry line between his blue eyes deepened. “It could go either way, babe. Morgan made some good points too. Let’s see what
happens.”
She bit her lip but didn’t argue as the bailiff entered with Simon in tow. The boy shot her a worried glance, then sidled toward Michael. The bailiff redirected him and had him sit in the jury box with the guardian.
Judge O’Keefe steepled his fingers. “This has been a challenging case. Let me get right to the decision. I accept the guardian’s
recommendations and am granting Michael Willard’s petition to adopt Simon. Simon, you still have a loving aunt and uncle,
but you have a new father. You are now Simon Willard.”
Simon whooped and leaped up to race to the front row. He flung his arms around his grandfather, who lifted him off his feet
in a bear hug. “I’m a real Willard now!”
“It’s the best day ever,” Michael crowed.
His triumphant grin slammed straight into Savannah’s chest, and her heart began to batter against her ribs. The sounds around
her grew muffled from the blood roaring in her ears. She couldn’t feel her body other than the vague sensation of Hez’s arm
holding her and the hot course of tears down her cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. How could they withstand one more devastating
blow? Michael had snatched away the last piece of her sister. He’d throw up a fatal obstacle to any influence they might have
on Simon’s life. It wouldn’t be long before his sweet spirit was perverted and he went down the path of the others in the
Willard family.
Her eyes filled. Would he be dead or in jail in ten years? She had to try to keep that from happening, but how?
Her nephew turned and smiled her way. He left Michael and came toward her with that same joyous expression. She couldn’t muster
up a smile to match his. She couldn’t cough up a single syllable past the pain lodged in her midsection.
Simon’s smile faltered. “You’ll always be part of my family, Aunt Savannah. I love you and I can still come visit, right?”
She nodded and finally swallowed the boulder in her throat. “Your room at the house will always be there, and you can visit
anytime.”
Shoulders back and a triumphant smile on his face, Michael came toward them like a conqueror. His arrogance and pride had
laid waste to the plans Jess had for her little boy, and hatred surged in Savannah’s chest. She tried to shove it away, but
it would take time to forgive him for the havoc he’d inflicted on their lives.
Michael’s smile widened, and he drew Simon against his side in a proprietary hold. “Now you know exactly how I felt, Savannah.
The pain of having someone you love ripped away forever is now yours. You shouldn’t have underestimated me.”
Simon’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open as he stared up at his grandpa. His appalled gaze darted back to Savannah,
and she saw the realization hit him that his grandpa was using him for revenge. He edged out of Michael’s embrace and stared
at the floor.
Hope stirred in Savannah’s heart. If Simon saw Michael for who he really was, maybe he’d guard his heart against Michael’s
manipulation.
Simon reached for Hez’s hand. “Do you still want me to be your best man, Uncle Hez?”
Hez pulled him into a man hug. “Of course I do. We’ll always be best buds.”
The glee in Michael’s face ebbed, and he grabbed Simon’s arm and drew him away from Hez. “Say goodbye, Simon. It’s time to
go home.”
Simon pulled his arm away. “Bye, Aunt Savannah. I’ll call you.” He hugged her, and she clung to him until Michael pulled him back with an impatient huff.
Hez clapped Simon on the shoulder. “I’ll call you about the wedding.”
Michael took Simon’s hand and led him toward the exit. Simon glanced back at Savannah with a forlorn expression before the
courtroom door swung shut with a finality that broke her heart.
Michael kissed the soft petals, then bent and placed a single perfect red rose on Marie’s grave. “We won. Our grandson is
a Willard. I promised our love would never die, and it hasn’t. The burned and hacked stump has grown a fresh shoot. He’ll
be a great man, maybe the greatest of us all. You’ll be proud of him.”
A gust of wind tossed the old branches high overhead and thunder boomed in the distance. A storm had been brewing on that
day, but he and Marie hadn’t cared. After she finished the poem for Mama’s fiftieth birthday, Michael and Marie had kept meeting.
They discovered that they both liked bluesy jazz, good coffee, beachcombing after a storm, and walking in the woods.
Tongues started to wag, of course, so they had stayed out of the public eye to avoid any “misunderstandings.” It had all been innocent, at least from Marie’s perspective.
She was lonely and appreciated having a friend and sounding board for new poems. Michael enjoyed her company and—to his surprise—poetry.
And he could feel her defenses slowly coming down, like a stone wall undermined by the gentle stream flowing at its base—until it came down with a sudden crash.
The crash had come on a blustery spring day. They had met for a walk at a nature preserve east of Foley. Marie had left Savannah
with the nanny, saying she would spend the afternoon composing in the woods, which had been true enough. She and Michael walked
under the tupelos and live oaks as wind gusted in the trees, carrying the scent of coming rain. She made up verse, remade
it, and asked his opinion. He had loved it all, which alternately pleased and frustrated her.
She’d looked up at him, green eyes even more vibrant than usual thanks to the fresh emerald backdrop of the forest. “How can
I get better if you never tell me when I’m bad?”
He smiled. “If you’re ever bad, I’ll tell you.”
She quirked a smile. “You have no standards—which I both love and hate. Here, let me read you something really good.” She
reached into her purse and pulled out a book—she always had a book of poetry with her—and read to him. It had been E. E. Cummings,
mostly poems about spring. Michael still remembered some of them: “i thank You God for most this amazing,” “in Just-,” “And
this day it was Spring . . . us.” She started to read “‘I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart),’” but her voice
caught in her throat.
The storm hit then, sudden and fierce. Wind whipped through the trees, followed by a wall of falling water.
Michael pulled her against the gnarled bole of an ancient oak, out of the pelting rain.
She looked up from the circle of his arms, hair dripping and eyes wide.
Her breath had been shallow and uneven. She had been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He bent and pressed his lips against hers as the storm raged around them. She froze for an instant—and then responded with
electric intensity. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with a passion that stunned him.
Then the moment ended. She broke away from him and staggered back. She gasped and touched her lips as the rain streamed down
her face.
He held out his arms toward her. “I love you, Marie! Come away with me! Come away with me forever!”
She turned and ran.
He called her name, but she didn’t slow down. He ran after her. He reached the parking lot just as she roared away in the
fancy SUV Pierre had bought her. Michael climbed into his pickup and drove home through the downpour, convinced that his plan
had failed. Worse, he realized that he’d told the truth in the forest: He really did love Marie. And now he’d lost her forever.
But late that night, his phone had rung. “Did you mean it?” Marie asked without preamble.
“Mean what?”
“What you said today. Do you love me? Do you want me to come away with you forever?”
“Yes!”
She’d gone silent a moment before answering. “Then come get me now.”
He had run to his truck and raced across town, eager to reach her mansion before she changed her mind.
She walked out unsteadily, dragging a suitcase with one hand and carrying Savannah in the other.
She smelled of alcohol, but he hadn’t thought much of it.
She must have needed some liquid courage to make a decision that big.
The next six months had been the happiest of his life. Marie moved into his house with Savannah. Pierre had been gloriously
furious and humiliated. He first claimed that Michael kidnapped Marie and Savannah. When she denied it and filed for divorce,
he switched his story and said Michael had drugged Marie and was controlling her. Marie responded by giving obviously undrugged
solo interviews to local and national media. Michael had sat back and enjoyed the show.
Meanwhile, Michael and Marie’s love had deepened. They strolled his private forest, had long talks on his porch, and raced
around Mobile Bay in his boat. Her poems from this time were happier than any of her other works. She gave him one that she
never published:
I live in my lover’s love
It is a wide country, beautiful and secret
His laugh like sunlight dancing on water
His eyes the blue of skies where eagles roam
His heart strong as a mountain and gentle as a summer breeze
Our love rushing like a river at flood
Our love quiet as a winter sunrise
Our love delicate as the first flower of spring
My heart at home in its homeland
At last and forever
Michael traced the letters on her gravestone. “At last and forever.” If only that had been true.
An old black anger burned in his heart as he remembered what had come next. He comforted himself with the thought that his
revenge against Pierre was unfolding beautifully. And the final act was about to begin.
“Justice is coming.” A cold smile lifted his lips.