Keep Her Safe(140)

“You are going to be in handcuffs, soon.”

“Am I not already?” He pauses, his eyes glossy—from emotion or bourbon, I can’t tell. “They wired you, didn’t they?”

“Right here.” I tap the sunglasses that sit atop my head. The tiny device is attached to the arm.

He nods, more to himself. “I’m not going to prison, Noah.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to avoid it. You can’t argue your way out of this one.” My voice sounds hollow as I reach for the door.

“She was right. She said this would ruin all of us.” He smiles sadly at me. “Take care of your aunt for me, and your cousins.”

I steel my jaw. “I will, but I won’t do it on your behalf. We’ll all be just fine without you.” I pull the office door shut behind me and walk woodenly toward the foyer, in a fog.

Aunt Judy suddenly appears in my path. Her mouth is moving but my mind isn’t fully grasping anything. “Noah, are you okay?” I think she says.

This time I do hug her, wrapping my arms around her tiny body, wishing I could protect her from all that’s to come.

“It’ll get better, I promise,” she murmurs, squeezing me tight. She thinks this is about my mother. And it is, in a way.

But we will be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.

A gunshot blasts behind us.





CHAPTER 63


Grace

“You’re sure she’s coming?” My mom tucks strands of her freshly cut and styled hair behind her ear. The blonde highlights make her look younger.

I sigh, my gaze on the path that winds through the cactus garden at Desert Oaks. “Yes, for the third time.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Betsy in the two months since we found her, it’s that she wants family as much as we do. Neither of them has been patient about waiting, but both agreed it was the best choice, for my mother’s recovery.

She waves at one of her friends who passes by—Coral, I think—and then fumbles with the sleeves of her cardigan, pulling them down to cover the needle marks still visible along her forearms. She’s dressed far too warmly for June in Tucson, even in the shade. “You’re sure I look fine?”

“You look great, Mom.” She’s put on at least ten pounds. Her gums are no longer puffy, her eyes no longer hollow. She’s beginning to look like the woman she once was.

Cyclops comes around the bend first, trotting on his leash with his head held high, like some prized poodle. Next to him is Betsy, in a lemon-yellow dress that reminds me of the fifties—prim and proper, and representing everything that her past is not. I’ve noticed Betsy’s wardrobe is full of modest, feminine clothing.

Tears begin to roll down my mom’s cheeks as she sees her little sister for the first time in fifteen years. A sister she had convinced herself for so long was likely dead. Betsy, also, struggles to keep her emotions in check. They have much to catch up on, and many years to make up for.

But my eyes are for the guy walking alongside Betsy, standing tall and strong, allowing the joy in the moment to touch his features, even when I know he hides a mountain of sorrow beneath that smile.

The past two months have been nothing short of triumphant for my dad’s case. Between the video of that night from Isaac, Silas’s recorded confession, and whatever they’ve pulled from the wiretaps on the phone surveillance, Kristian is feeling confident that they’ll have enough to put away not only Mantis and Stapley but Canning, too, despite the old chief’s venomous denials. That bronze statue of Canning? Austin’s decided it has no place anywhere in this city. It’s sitting in some warehouse, likely waiting to be destroyed.

But on the other side of the coin are the ugly facts that have surfaced. The painful revelations about his mother and uncle that keep Noah restless at night, things that he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life.

I know what that feels like, and yet I don’t. I was so young when I lost my father. It’s easier to move on with life when you don’t quite realize all that you’ve lost. And, while my mother and Nan may have cocooned me in lies for years, they also served as buffers to hard truths.

But Noah has no buffer. There is no one protecting him from the pain tied to this scandal. We’ve been hiding out in Betsy’s house for weeks, avoiding reporters who press him for the story about how his uncle murdered his mother. That story will come out in due time and, when it does, they’ll learn exactly to what lengths Jackie Marshall went in her climb to become chief.

That truth hounds him; I can see the pain in his eyes, in the way he carries the weight upon those broad shoulders.

And yet, still, he is here for me, for my mother, for Betsy. Smiling wide. Genuinely happy for us. Maybe he’s here to right his mother’s wrongs, or maybe it’s because he has nowhere else to go. All I do know is that since the moment that gunshot sounded, he could have made so many different choices. He could have not asked questions; he could have decided that the potentially dark secrets were better left buried. He could have never come to find me, to save my mom. He could have simply continued on with his life, coping over time with the pain of his mother’s “suicide,” with his Uncle Silas as his closest family member. But he chose differently. And for that, I will be his buffer. I will stand by his side, in the hard weeks and months, and years, to come. I will challenge anyone who dares claim that he is anything but a good, honest man.