She made that short, small hum noise that I knew so well. Her eyes on me stayed kind. “You remind me of my own girl. Not that you look like her. But you’re so smart and pretty, and I think you have a sweet heart.” She swallowed audibly and blinked hard, clearly in the grip of some deep feeling. “You’re the woman I hoped she’d grow to be when I sent her off to college. Maybe that surprises you, that a woman like me would have a girl who went to college, but she did.”

“I did, too,” I said, soft, drawing another line between me and Lexie. She didn’t seem to hear me, though.

“Even when she was little, she was so booky and so smart. She applied for every scholarship you ever heard of, and she got a slew of them. So many people, her teachers, our pastor, they wrote letters like you wouldn’t believe on her behalf. Such a bright future, all those letters said.” Her gold-brown eyes were so tender and so sad, but her next words came out harder. “It didn’t work out that way. Not for her. Not like it did for you.”

She started to turn away, and I clutched at her hand with both of mine, almost tugging. “I did nothing to you.”

“I know. But the world ain’t fair, Mrs. Cabbat. I sent my girl off in good faith, and your husband and his friends ruint her. They stole away every bright future that my family might have had.” I had misread her softness. It wasn’t mercy. It was more like regret. As if her plan had already played out to the finish. I understood then, there was no changing her. Everything was over already, in her mind. Done. This was just us working out a last small detail. Trey or Robert.

I let go of her hand and stood, looking past her down into the lot. All I saw was the SUV, all doors closed, Trey in the driver’s seat. Surely Marshall was almost to Robert. I had to hold her attention a little longer. If he was right, if all went well, in five or six more minutes, maybe less, my son would be safe in his arms.

That word, haunting me again. It was too much hope and terror for two letters to hold. If.

21

Marshall ran, quick and quiet, angling up through the thin trees at the base of the hill. His heart was pounding, but not from the run. He had missed something. Something wasn’t right.

He could almost feel his wife moving with him through the trees. Betsy’s ghost, who just after her death had come to haunt him every shift. Reminding him, You have a kid. You have our kid. You have no backup. It was the reason he’d changed jobs.