He blinked at her, considering.
“My mother is the beneficiary on that account,” she said when he didn’t answer. “If you kill me, it will go to her.”
That part wasn’t true; it wasn’t even possible. She’d tried to do that at the bank, and they’d told her that she’d need written consent from her husband. All assets transferred to the spouse in the event of her untimely demise. But maybe he didn’t know that.
He lifted his palms, offered an appeasing smile. “You’re overreacting, baby. Let’s talk this through.”
What was weird was, even in that moment she could almost believe that she was overreacting, that she was acting like a crazy person. He’d come after her with a gun and she’d effectively defended herself, and now she was wondering if she’d lost her mind. That’s how good he was. Or how weak she was. At this point who could tell?
Everything was in the car. She’d packed enough for all three of them. It had been sitting there for months. Stroller, portable crib, toys, clothes, diapers, wipes, even a breast pump. She backed her way there, holding the baby in one arm, the gun in her free hand. He trailed her slowly, talking to her softly.
“I love you, honey. Don’t do this. Look at me. I’m bleeding.” He started to cry. “Don’t take my children from me.”
“Don’t call the school. Don’t call the police,” she said. “And when I’m safe, I’ll get you access to that money.”
Inside her was a hurricane of terror and guilt, hatred and sorrow. But when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her face looked hard and cold. She didn’t even recognize herself.
Getting the baby into the car seat was tricky with one hand, but she did it. Mothers could do almost anything with one hand. Once the doors were locked, she stowed the gun under the front seat and backed down the driveway slowly, as if it were any other afternoon and she was off to get Cammy. She pressed the button on the visor to close the garage door. It came down, erasing the sight of her monster of a husband, who was no longer crying but smiling.
The baby shifted in her sleep, sighed. Paula wanted so badly to call her mother. It had been three days and three nights that they’d been traveling. She’d read on the Internet that you should avoid using credit cards and cell phones, because that was how the police tracked people. So she’d been using the cash she had stashed in the car. She’d been very careful-until tonight. Tonight she’d had to use her card to book the room in this hotel. It was much nicer than the dumps they’d been staying in, horrible motels off the highway. Last night she’d stayed up all night with the gun under her pillow, listened to people walking by, voices raised in the other rooms, a television blaring. The police probably weren’t looking for her. After all, she’d made her deal with Kevin. A deal she had no intention of keeping.
This hotel wouldn’t accept cash without a credit-card guarantee. She’d offered a cash deposit for incidentals. But they said it was their policy to allow check-in only with a card, even though she could pay in cash when she left. And she had to get a good night’s sleep. She was frayed and edgy with the kids. So she’d used her old card, one she hadn’t used in years. Maybe it wouldn’t show up until she checked out, though she’d seen them run it through a machine. And maybe no one was watching after all.
She fought a few more minutes and then picked up the phone to call her mother collect.
“Paula,” her mother said. “Honey, where are you?”
“We’re okay, Mom. Has he called you?”
“No,” she said. “He hasn’t. But a man named Jones Cooper has been leaving messages.”
She’d forgotten all about him. How had he gotten her parents’ phone number? Why was he looking for her? There was only one explanation: Her husband had seen his number on her cell phone records and called him. Now Jones Cooper was looking for her.
“Don’t tell him anything,” Paula said. “He’s a private detective.”
“He said he wanted to help you. Do you think Kevin hired him?”
“I don’t know.”
She was getting that panicky, confused feeling she’d had on and off for days. They’d been driving in circles; she probably wasn’t more than two hours from The Hollows. She had no idea where she was going to go or what she was going to do.
“Paula,” said her mother. Her voice was stern now. “You need to come home to us with those children. I’ve been making some calls. I found a lawyer, a good one who specializes in situations like this. He says you need to come home and file for divorce, get emergency temporary custody of the children, and file a complaint and a restraining order with the police. Let’s work this out the proper way.”
It sounded right, a good course of action. But she was so afraid.
“But what if he comes after us? Like that man in California. He came to the house during that Christmas party and killed all those people.”
Her mother was silent on the line for a minute. Then, “At least we’ll all be together. I can’t have you out there by yourself with Cameron and the baby. I’m sick with it. Let us help you and protect you. We’re your parents, for God’s sake. We have to be safer together than you are alone.”
Paula didn’t say anything. She wanted to go home. She needed to go home. The truth was, she wasn’t equipped to run with her kids, to stay in some shelter, hiding from her husband. She felt a wave of relief.
“Okay, Mom,” she said. “I’ll come home in the morning.”
She heard her mother release a long, relieved breath. “We’ll come get you right now. Where are you?”
“It’s okay. I need to get some sleep, and then, first thing, I’ll load up the kids and come home. Maybe you can make an appointment with that lawyer for tomorrow afternoon?”
“Are you sure?” her mother said. “We’ll get in the car right now.”
She looked at Cameron and Claire, sleeping so peacefully. They needed to rest, and so did she. She couldn’t stand the thought of waking them up.
“I’m sure.”
She told her mother where they were staying, so that her mother could call if she wanted to, if she got worried in the night. Then she hung up, feeling better, as if everything somehow was going to be all right. She got up and checked the locks on the door. Then she placed the desk chair under the knob. She kept the light on but got under the covers and closed her eyes. For the first time in three nights, she slept, the gun in the drawer beside her.
chapter thirty-one
Just when it seemed to Willow as if her life couldn’t get any worse, Mr. Ivy came to dinner. Really? Really? Was she really supposed to put up with this? Once upon a time, wouldn’t it have been socially unacceptable, morally wrong, for your mother to be dating? Widowed, divorced-why didn’t she just give up?
And to have it sprung on her like it was nothing. Oh, Willow? Did I tell you I invited Mr. Ivy to dinner?… What? When?… Um, tonight. And then Willow noticed that her mother was wearing a dress and not her usual leggings and big sweater. That her hair was down, not up in a bun. And she was wearing makeup! Oh, my God-do you like him?… I’m not a teenager, Willow. It’s just nice to have a friend… So he’s your friend… He’s not anything right now… Then why are you wearing perfume?
And now he was sitting across from Willow. Eating. Slowly, deliberately-as of course he would. He was probably chewing everything twenty bites, just the way every mother in the world told you to do. He was that kind of guy. At least he’d lost the argyle sweater. He wore a denim shirt that was halfway cool. His hair wasn’t completely dorky. Maybe this was his date look, not his principal look. Because it was a date. They didn’t talk about Willow or how she was doing in school. The conversation wasn’t focused on her, though they had tried to include her.