“I could have died,” I say.

“Yes. You could have.”

I rise, and as I stand over him, he doesn’t seem so big anymore. He’s more pitiful than evil.

“You can’t protect me,” I say. “You never could. Safety is an illusion.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“There’s no getting out of this. I don’t even know what you did last night…where you…where she is. But Peter and Willow must be missing her. They must have called.”

“Peter called,” my father says. “I told him she left here angry, but I assumed she drove back home.” He looks up at me, fatigue wearing heavy on his face. “And you’re right, there may be no getting out of this one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

There’re things I want to ask him. I want to ask what he did with Cora, if she’s buried in the same place as Caleb. I want to know why Cora became who she became and if he had anything to do with it.

But my need to understand is overpowered by my burning desire to remove Max and me from this family forever. I don’t want to run from the law. I want to run from my name.

“I’m done with this family,” I say. “Forever.”

The squint, the perpetual squint, for once softens and his eyes widen, like a baby taking in the world for the first time. His pupils are dark, nearly charcoal. But there is an ounce of emotion in my father’s face. Maybe it’s a mirage induced by all the stress heaped on my system, but I think I see emotion.

Sadness.

A soft, poignant, painful sadness, one unable to hide behind his usual mask of resolve. The look of a man who’s fought for everything all his life, only to find death still ultimately comes. And comes hard.

“Is that really what you want, Rosie?”

I don’t hesitate with my answer. “So bad I can taste it.”

“Do you dream of disappearing?”

A strange question, but easy to answer. “Like I dream of selling a million books.”

“You can’t have both,” he says. “You can’t be a famous author and be off the grid.”

“I’m not selling a million books anytime soon.”

He stands, using obvious effort. Takes a step, leans into me. I don’t pull away. He kisses my forehead. Once. Then pulls back.

I think, just maybe, that’s the only kiss he’s ever given me.

“If that’s the case,” he says, “then I want you to run. Take your boy and run.”

“What?”

“I haven’t led the cleanest life, Rose. Obviously you know some substantial reasons why, others you don’t. But I always had a plan for us. A way to get out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You, me, Cora. A parachute cord set up for each of us.”

“What the hell is a parachute cord?”

“A phone number,” he says. “Actually, three phone numbers. One for each of us. Three different agents, each unrelated to the other.”