Kill Me If You Can

29

Sam found me with my head buried in my arms at the table.

“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” she said, rubbing slow circles on my back. “You don’t have to know what happened to your mom to know that God is taking good care of her.”

I shrugged her arm away. “I don’t think she even knew about Jesus. She’s probably rotting in hell.” How many times had Grandma Amble lamented the fact that she’d never brought my mother to church as a child?

“No, no.” Samantha’s lulling voice tried to draw me from the dregs of self-pity. “Your mom was a special lady. God loved her very much.” Sam came close and hugged me.

I brushed off her touch and stood. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted a time machine with the dial set for May 6, twenty-six years ago.

I threw down some money to pay for my coffee, stormed off to my Explorer, and headed north toward home. I wished I could believe what Samantha said about God taking care of my mother. I always liked to imagine Mom with the angels in heaven. But that was just a coping mechanism, my own protective denial.

I held back the tears. Unless, like Puppa said, I had smoke in my eyes. Was there a chance my mother had somehow accepted God’s love, even in an airborne Ford?

I slowed for the turn down my driveway. A rusty white Suburban was just pulling out. I stared at the driver, taking notes on the curly brown hair and handsome GQ face. Our eyes met as we drove past one another. I angled down the two-track, squinting to see his license plate as he headed toward Port Silvan.

HOT1. Easy enough to remember. Hopefully, the driver was a friend of Joel’s just checking in. But there was the chance he was one of Drake’s buddies. I stepped on the gas, afraid of what I’d find at home.

I slid to a stop, threw the car in park, and headed inside.

“Missy? Joel? Anybody here?”

Before I panicked at the silence, I looked out toward the lake. Relief flooded over me. They were building sand castles at the shore, the four of them. The guy in the Suburban could have been a tourist checking out the area. No need for alarm.

I packed a basket full of lunch goodies and joined the gang at the beach. We were still playing in the sand when Samantha showed up midafternoon. She came down to the water’s edge, ignoring my wave.

She gave the group a terse hello. “Can I talk to you a minute, Tish?” The tone of her voice made me want to run the opposite direction.

“Sure.”

We walked back toward the lodge in silence. Once out of sight of our friends, she lit into me.

“You are the most immature person I know. What are you thinking messing with my stuff just because we had a disagreement this morning? I don’t feel safe with you tampering in my bedroom behind my back. I’m sure Missy wouldn’t feel safe either after what you did. I won’t tell her this time, but please don’t ever do it again.”

My arms flapped and my fingers pointed as I tried to defend myself without words. Finally, my mouth kicked in. “What are you talking about? I haven’t gone in your room since I got the upstairs bathroom cleaned up three days ago. Believe me, your stuff is safe from me.” I had no use for lava lamps and butterfly wall art.

“Then how do you explain this?” She stomped to her room and threw open the door.

I cringed at the mess in my mother’s old room. Mom had always kept things so tidy. Now, there were clothes strewn in piles on the floor in front of the dresser. The bed was stripped and the blankets, sheets, and comforter scattered all over the tile.

I took a cautious step toward the bathroom. Powder covered every surface as if Sam had doused her whole body, then shook off like a dog.

“Geez, Sam. Maybe you should hire a housekeeper.” I tried diffusing the situation with a little humor.

“Very funny.” She crossed her arms. “You did it. You get to clean it up. And don’t ever come in here again, or I’m leaving.”

Her offer sounded too good to be true, but I refrained from saying so. “Look, Sam. You know I wouldn’t have done something like this. It’s my house. And my mother’s old room.”

She looked me over. “You seriously didn’t make this mess?”

I shook my head. “Why would I? It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Do you think Hannah might have done it?” Her voice took on an edge of unease.

Our eyes met. I could tell Hannah wasn’t really on her list of suspects. My mind refused to follow her path of reasoning. “Let’s talk to Missy before we jump to conclusions. Maybe Hannah got out of sight for a few minutes.”

“Look at this, Tish.” She pointed at a footprint made of powder just outside the bathroom door. “That looks like a man’s shoe. You don’t think Joel was in here?”

A creepy feeling crawled across my neck. I pictured the vehicle pulling out of my driveway. Unless the driver was one of Drake Belmont’s minions, there was only one other possible explanation. Could Mr. GQ be Sam’s ex-husband? “Ummm, there was a white Suburban leaving just as I was coming home. You don’t think . . .”

Sam drew in a sharp breath. Her face took on a look of panic. “Heaven forbid . . .”

“What? What are you thinking?” I grabbed her arm.

“Nothing. Never mind.” She gave a big, fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap and worry about this later. Sorry to bug you.”

She pushed me out the door and closed it with a bang.

I hovered. From beyond the door came the tones of a cell phone dialing. There was no napping going on in there. That probably meant my suspicions were right.

I stuck my ear to the pine. Sam’s voice came low and muffled. I strained to hear the details of her call, feeling only slightly guilty for eavesdropping after she’d falsely accused me of vandalism. Her voice moved back and forth between the bathroom and the dresser. My stomach churned up an extra dose of acid. Sam was generally pleasant and perky. It had been easy to forget she’d been the victim of violence. Now, the worst had happened. Her jerk of an ex barged in and resumed his crippling power over her—just when we needed to focus our attention on keeping Missy and her kids safe.

I shuffled to the kitchen, despondent at the turn of events. The stool and countertop provided moral support while I mulled the situation.

Sometime later, Joel came in to start supper.

“Where’s Samantha? I haven’t seen her all afternoon.”

Joel didn’t know I’d already had one exile in residence before I took on the latest family of refugees. I steeled myself for a strong reaction, then told him of the day’s incident and described the vehicle, right down to the boastful license plate.

His brows scrunched. “Papa B suspected as much.” He hammered some numbers into his cell phone. “I’ll call and get the owner’s name. That should solve our mystery.”

While he contacted the state police post, I finished cutting up the salad. Then, going to Sam’s room, I gave a hesitant tap on her door. “Hey, supper’s ready. Are you eating?”

“No.” The word held the defiance of a teenager.

“Come on, Sam. You can’t stay in there forever.”

Bumping. Thumping. Scraping. Slamming.

“Come and eat. You’ll feel better,” I said.

The door opened. Sam’s shirt hung out of her waistband. Her face was swollen. She looked like she’d been dragged behind a four-wheeler.

She gave a slurpy sniffle. “I can’t eat right now. I’m packing.”

I looked past her into the room. Boxes were strewn everywhere. The lava lamp was gone. So was the yellow rug. Even the comforter had disappeared.

Rage—and a good dose of fear—built in my chest. “What do you think you’re doing? If you leave now, it would be like letting your ex control you all over again. And remember, saving Melissa was your idea. You are not ditching me.”

She picked a sweatshirt off the floor, folded it, and tucked it in a box. She bent for a blouse.

I touched her shoulder, trying a gentler approach. “Come on, Sam. We’re all in this together. We can keep Missy safe, and you’ll be safe too. Like you said, it’s kind of like the Alamo here. Together to the end.”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a depressing thought.” She folded the garment and stowed it. “I’m sorry, Tish. I really am. I thought I’d have more time. But things just didn’t work out.”

I stood there, fists clenched, wanting to wring her neck. “You are not leaving me.” My muscles jerked in frustration. “I’m telling Joel.” I twirled and ran to the kitchen.

A door slammed behind me. The windows rattled from the vibration.

Joel followed me back to the bedroom and tapped on the door. “Sam. Open up,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice.

The door opened. He went in. The door closed.

I stared at its six wood panels, fuming over the injustice of being left out. I went to the kitchen. With no Joel in sight, Melissa and I dipped into the pot of vegetable soup on the stove. Side salads and fresh bread made the meal complete. Melissa cut up a hot dog with a side of straight veggies for Hannah. Andrew got his usual runny white entrée along with a taste of mashed carrots. I told Missy as much as I could about the intruder situation, using code I hoped Hannah couldn’t crack.

“Sounds like something Drake would do. Only milder,” Missy said. She spooned another helping toward Andrew’s waiting lips.

“How are you holding up, anyway?” I asked her.

“It’s hard. I miss my life. My things. My house. You’re very kind to let us stay here.”

“I wish we had done it sooner. It seems foolish now that you had to suffer all those months when you could have been taking steps to get your life together.”

“I know. But I guess I just wasn’t ready. I’m ready now, believe me.”

“Good.” We sat in silence as the kids finished their meals.

With a final bite of her hot dog bun, Hannah wiggled off the stool and put her plate in the trash. She skipped to the diaper bag by the door and reached in. A Dr. Seuss book appeared. She settled on the tile beneath the window and began to read aloud.

Missy held a cloth under warm water and cleaned up Andrew’s pudgy cheeks. “Joel offered to drive me to Escanaba for my checkup this week. While we’re in town, I’m going to see an attorney.”

She bit her lip and gave Hannah a sidelong glance.

The girl was absorbed in her book. “. . . but the Grinch was very, very bad. He didn’t like the little Who people and he wanted to make them go away . . .” She made up words for the pictures.

Missy turned back to me. “I’m going to file.”

I nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Her voice cracked. “Do you think so? God hates divorce. It says so right in the Bible.”

“I can only believe that a loving God hates what Drake has done to you even worse than He hates divorce.”

She sighed. “I struggle so much with that. Sometimes I feel like God’s providing me the way out, like what you and your grandfather have done for me. Other times, I feel like the biggest sinner on the planet, like I’m quitting on the thing God commanded me to see through to the end. ’Til death do us part.”

Behind us, Hannah turned another page. “. . . And the mean Grinch tied up his dog to the sled and went down to steal everything from the Who people . . . all their good stuff . . .”

My chin jutted out in Melissa’s defense. I kept my voice to a harsh whisper. “Well, if Drake had anything to do with it, you’d be dead and he’d be the one raising those kids. I can’t see God wanting that to happen. So just take this opportunity and quit trying to jump back into the pit He just pulled you from.”

“I wish it was that simple,” Melissa said.

I tapped my fingers on the counter. I knew where she was coming from. Self-condemnation was a tempting place to rest. It was certainly easier than coming up with a new approach to life, setting new goals, and trying to be the awesome individual God made you to be. I’d lingered in the guilt pit for years. It gave me a great excuse to check out of life and just exist. Thankfully, God made me face my sin head-on and admit the part I’d had in creating the situation. After that, I grew up a little. I quit worrying so much about what everyone else thought and started doing what was right for my life. Of course, there were casualties . . . like my relationship with Brad.

At the very thought of his name, my throat constricted and my eyes teared up. I missed his voice. And his smile. And his hand holding mine . . .

“Tish? Are you all right?” Missy touched my arm.

I wiped my eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. What a long, crazy day.”

“I know what you mean.”

She got up from her stool and wrapped her arms around me. Her chin rested in my hair. I clung to her for dear life, my elbows pressing against her firm belly with its little baby tucked inside. I started to cry. She cried with me.

We were still blubbering together about our own personal woes when Joel stepped into the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder toward Sam’s room as if he wasn’t sure which was worse: the sobbing woman he’d just left, or the two bawling females yet to face.

Melissa dropped her arms and grabbed for paper toweling. I used the hem of my T-shirt.

“How’d it go in there?” I asked.

“So-so. It’s confirmed that her ex-husband was driving the vehicle you ID’d, Tish. Needless to say, she’s pretty freaked out and ready to run.”

I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he put up a hand and kept talking.

“Don’t worry, I convinced her to stay,” Joel said, a hint of triumph in his voice. “There’s no reason we can’t keep her safe along with Melissa. Especially since we’ve got extra help on the way.”

“Oh? Who’s that?” I asked.

“Samantha’s brother is coming for a visit. He’s a police officer downstate somewhere. I guess he was tied up with some big trial, but now that it’s over he can take time off.”

I sucked in an agonizing breath. No. Not Brad. I’d worked hard to free my mind of him. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t see him. One word, one smile, one touch . . . and I’d be back at the beginning of wretched heartache.