Chapter 40
Where had the traffic come from? Savannah passed a slow-driving truck and pulled quickly back into her lane to avoid a head-on
with a green sedan coming from the other direction. The oncoming car blared its horn indignantly and she waved apologetically.
Her pulse throbbed in her throat. Michael would know his only weapon now was taking Simon from them, and she couldn’t let
that happen. The police car was farther away and would never get there in time.
It was up to her to save her nephew.
Jess. Pain radiated from her chest, and she gripped the steering wheel with tight fingers. She’d lost her sister because of a feud
that had gone on way too long. If only Savannah had known of all these undercurrents and deep plots a year ago, even six months
ago, Jess might still be with her. Michael had used his daughter as a pawn and never really loved her. At least Jess was spared
that knowledge. She’d searched for a father’s love all her life and had found only deceit and a dark desire for revenge.
Savannah accelerated the final mile along the county road to Michael’s house.
The driveway was empty, and no one moved on the porch of the two-story home or in the yard.
Maybe she’d made it in time. Michael’s dogs barked and lunged as she approached, but they were chained in the yard.
She braked and threw the car into Park, then flung open her door and raced up the steps to the house.
She pressed the doorbell, then pounded on it with her fist. “Simon!” She darted to the window and peered past an opening in
the curtains and saw movement. She stepped back to the door and slammed her fist on it again. “Simon!”
The door opened, and Simon’s startled face came into view. “Aunt Savannah, what’s wrong?”
“We have to go. Right now!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the porch.
He hung back and resisted the forward momentum. “I can’t leave. Pawpaw texted me to be ready for a trip, and I’m not done
packing. What’s going on?”
“There’s no time to explain. We have to go right now, before Michael gets here.” He didn’t resist as she pulled him across
the porch and down the steps toward her car.
Too late. Michael’s big truck pulled into the drive behind her vehicle, trapping her car in its place. She glanced around
for a way of escape. They could try to run through the woods, but Michael knew this property and she didn’t.
He jumped out of the truck and charged at her with his fists clenched. Jimbo got out on the other side and fingered the gun
in his belt holster as he ran toward her too.
Michael reached for Simon, but Savannah stepped between them. “Don’t touch him! Isn’t it bad enough that you killed Jess?” She stepped forward and shoved him with both hands. “You are a monster!”
He reeled back at her unexpected attack but caught his balance and came back at her. “I didn’t want to hurt you out of respect
for Jess, Savannah, but you’ve caused enough trouble.” His fist looped up and grazed her chin.
She avoided the worst of the blow and went at him again. “Respect? You killed her! You don’t have an ounce of love in your
soul for anyone, not even your own daughter.” He wasn’t going to hurt Simon—she would give her life to save him. She leaped
at Michael and began battering him with her fists. “Simon, run!”
Michael’s hands came up in a defensive movement, and she intensified her attack. She spared a glance at Simon, but he stayed
frozen in place with his eyes wide. She redoubled her attack to keep Michael’s attention off Simon long enough for him to
flee. Her hands hurt, but she landed blow after blow on Michael’s torso and arms as he shielded his face.
Strong hands grabbed her from behind and forced her arms to her sides. She smelled cigar smoke and bourbon on her captor and
whipped around in place. She caught a glimpse of Jimbo’s enraged face. She fought to free her arms, but he was too strong.
Face red and lips twisted in a snarl, Michael straightened and marched toward her. “You’re a menace, Savannah. I should have
gotten rid of you long ago.”
She quit her futile fight. “You killed her,” she whispered. “How could you, Michael? How could you? She adored you.”
His eyes narrowed and she didn’t see his fist come up until pain exploded on the left side of her face and the world went dark.
Michael ignored his stinging knuckles. Jimbo continued to hold the unconscious Savannah like a rag doll, an uncertain expression
on his broad face. Michael picked up Savannah’s phone and key fob and hurled them into a patch of tall grass at the edge of
his lawn. “Leave her. And get out of here. You’ve got a better chance of escaping on your own. Go through the woods, stay
away from towns, and head for the border. If you make it to Reynosa, you’ll find help. Now go!”
Jimbo hesitated for a moment, then dropped Savannah’s limp form and loped off into the woods.
Simon still stood frozen, staring at his aunt. Michael stepped in front of Savannah. “Are you packed?”
Simon didn’t meet his gaze. “I-I’m not done.”
A siren wailed in the distance. Michael cursed under his breath. “There’s no time now. Get in the truck.”
Simon crouched by Savannah and touched her hand. “Aunt Savannah, wake up.” He sniffled when she didn’t answer.
Michael grabbed him by the collar and shoved him toward the Denali. “Get in the truck!”
Simon stumbled, caught his balance, and climbed into the passenger side of the cab as Michael jumped into the driver’s seat.
As soon as they were in, Michael threw the truck into Reverse and gunned the engine.
The tires squealed as he backed out of the driveway, then put the truck in Drive and roared down the road in the opposite direction of the sirens he’d heard.
He looked in the rearview mirror just before he turned a corner that would take him out of sight of the house. No cops in
view. They wouldn’t know which direction he’d gone or how far he’d gotten. That was a good start, but only a start. He’d need
to ditch the Denali as soon as possible. He’d only had the truck for six months and he loved it, but he had no choice. Maybe
he could steal something, or they might be able to hitch a ride with—
“Why did you hit Aunt Savannah?”
Michael glanced at Simon, who huddled against the door at the far edge of his seat. He watched Michael with alert, fearful
eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that. She was trying to take you away, and there was no time to argue.”
“Will she be okay?”
“Yes, she’ll wake up in a minute. She’ll be right as rain.”
“Where are we going?”
Michael forced a smile. “Oh, it’s a surprise! We’re going on a big adventure.” No need to give the boy details he might blurt
out at a truck stop.
“Are we running from the police?”
“You’re a sharp kid, Simon. Yes, we are. It’s a big misunderstanding, though. We’ll sort it out when we reach someplace safe.”
Simon hugged the door tighter, his face pale. “D-did you kill my mom?”
Michael grimaced. “I did not. I loved that girl with all my heart.”
“Aunt Savannah said you killed her.”
“She lied!”
Simon was silent for a moment. Then he seemed to reach a decision. He sat up straight. “Aunt Savannah doesn’t lie.”
“Well, she did this time.”
“Stop the truck. I want to get out.”
Michael ground his teeth. “No. And no more back talk. I need to think.”
Simon’s face flushed. “Let me out!”
Michael backhanded him. “Shut up!”
Simon grabbed for the wheel. “Stop the truck now!”
Michael shoved Simon away, then punched him in the face. The pain in his hand flared. “Get control of yourself, boy! Act like
a man! A Willard man!”
Simon retreated to the far side of the cab again, his lower lip bleeding. “I hate you! And I’m never going to be a Willard
man!” He opened the door.
Michael swore and slammed on the brakes. Fortunately, the road was deserted. He glared at Simon and the boy glared back, his
blue eyes filled with defiant hate. He’d lost the boy, maybe forever.
“Fine!” Michael reached over and shoved Simon out the open door, sending the boy sprawling on the roadside gravel.
Michael slammed the door and drove off. He resisted the urge to look in the mirror. Simon had rejected Michael, his name,
and his family. The boy was dead to him now.
Who was left alive?
Michael brooded on the question as he drove. Marie and Jess were both gone. There were lots of other Willards, but his line would die out with him. Simon had been his last hope for the future, the final green shoot.
He hadn’t felt like this since Marie died. He’d been a young man then, with his life ahead of him. Now he had nothing. He
was just an old man who’d spend the rest of his days alone, running from the law.
His thoughts wandered back to the day of her death, as they often did in black moments. He hadn’t spoken to her after she
drove away with Pierre and his henchman, but Michael saw her from time to time. She looked broken—slumped shoulders, unfocused
eyes, never a real smile unless it was for her girls. People said she was day-drinking and popping pills, and Michael didn’t
doubt it.
Then one stormy morning came the news he’d feared and expected: Marie was dead. The night before, she had driven off a sharp
curve near Magnolia Springs. Her car had plunged into Eslava Branch and she drowned. Toxicology reports found alcohol and
antidepressants in her blood, and the crash was ruled an accident.
The day after she died, he got an envelope from her. It contained a final handwritten poem:
I wander
Hemmed in and hopeless
In a gray and sunless land
The wind mutters
Among sharp, cold rocks
Whispering rumors of shame and judgment
The ferryman waits
By the river’s edge, silent and shrouded
His coin heavy in my pocket
Our oak tree beckons
From the far side of the river
Limbs swaying in an Elysian breeze
He had cried when he read it. He did more than cry—he came completely unstrung. He shouted and cursed and punched the wall
so hard he broke three bones in his hand. Then he drank until he passed out. Mama worried that he might “do something desperate,”
so she came over and took charge of him for a week.
Maybe he should have done something desperate. Maybe he should do it now.
He discovered that he had been driving toward Eslava Branch for the last several minutes. He gunned the engine and headed
for the curve that claimed Marie’s life. He accelerated into it and let the truck drift off the road between two houses. He
crashed through underbrush, startled several ducks into flight, and hit the water with an enormous spray and splash.
Water gushed through the vents, cool and relentless. It soaked his feet, his calves, his thighs, his belly, his chest. Dim
green-brown replaced the bright sunlight outside. He closed his eyes and pictured Marie waiting for him under the huge oak
where they’d first kissed, her hair blown by a heavenly breeze.
Something smashed through the door window. The last air bubbled out of the truck as strong hands reached in. They grabbed Michael and dragged him through the window frame and to the surface.
Michael choked and gasped as his rescuers pulled him to shore. He finally got a look at them as they dropped him on the muddy
bank: Hez Webster and Augusta Richards.
Richards went to retrieve handcuffs from a utility belt she’d left lying by the water. Hez leaned over Michael, face dripping.
“You’re not getting off that easy.”