“Yeah, we’re freezing!” Oliver dodged his sister and came to an abrupt halt. He looked up at Don Hatcher. “Oh. Uh, hi.”
If I’d thought I’d been scared before, I’d been greatly mistaken. Great gulps of panic overtook every part of my body. My hands shook, my teeth chattered, my heart pounded, and the single breath I sucked in seared my lungs with horror.
“No!” To whom I was shrieking, I had no idea. To my children, as a shorthand way of telling them to run? To Don, as a begging plea? To the heavens above, as a prayer? “Don’t!” But whoever it was I’d called upon, he didn’t respond.
Don’s expression of surprise turned crafty and sly. “Perfect,” he said. The knife left Marina’s neck and she stumbled back, sending us both bumping against the kitchen range.
“Two for the price of one.” Don wrapped one arm around Jenna’s slender neck and the other arm around Oliver’s. “Just do what I say, kids, and no one will get hurt.”
It was a lie. The man had already killed twice. What were a few more bodies? All he had to do was stuff us in that white van, then find some rope and a few concrete blocks. There was plenty of deep water in Wisconsin for him to dump us. Pain flared raw in my chest, followed quickly by spasms of guilt. All this was my fault my fault my fault. . . .
“Now we’re going to be real quiet, right?” Don tightened his grip around the necks of my children. “Any noise and this is going to get cut off.” The knife’s point waved in front of Oliver’s pale nose.
Jenna’s eyes stretched wide. She opened her mouth.
And screamed.
The rage that had been building inside me—anger at Agnes’s murder, anger at the way money had ruined her life, anger at my entrapment in the basement, anger at the drips of blood on Marina’s neck—erupted as my daughter screamed. The sound electrified my body and catapulted me into action.
Jenna’s scream had made Don wince. The knife dropped away from Oliver. I hurled myself forward and grabbed Don’s wrist, digging with my nails into his skin and twisting with all the strength a mother could summon. “Drop it!” I yelled. “Drop it now!”
The knife clattered to the floor.
“Hiii-yah!”
There was a dull clunk, and Don sagged against me. I sidestepped his weight, and he sank to his knees. Another clunk, and he fell all the way to the floor. Marina stood over him, brandishing the cast-iron pan that lived on the range top.
Instantly, I dropped down, jamming my knees into the small of his back. I grabbed Don’s wrists, pulling them up behind him. “Marina,” I commanded, “sit on his legs. Oliver, get me the ball of string. It’s there on the floor. Jenna, open the tool drawer and get the duct tape. The wide silver tape. And a pair of scissors.”
In moments, Don Hatcher was bound and gagged. Oliver brought Marina her cell phone, and she dialed 911. While we waited on our lumpy and struggling sofa for the dispatcher to send cars and trucks and lights and sirens, Marina looked me up and down. “Wow, Beth. I didn’t know you had that in you.”
Smiling shakily, I held Jenna and Oliver close.
“I knew you’d save us,” Jenna said into my shoulder.
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “You promised.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, every night, when you kiss me good night. You say, ‘Sweet dreams, and may tomorrow be your Beth day forever.’ Your name is Beth. It’s like a promise, right?”
“That’s not what she says.” Jenna said. “It’s ‘May tomorrow be your best day ever.’ ”
“Oh.” Oliver drooped, then brightened. “Well, it’s like the same thing, isn’t it?”
Marina was beaming at me, and my arms were full of living, squiggling children. All was right with the world. “Yes,” I said, “it most certainly is.”
One Year Later
“Can everyone hear me?” Mack Vogel’s voice boomed out across the crowd. Our esteemed school superintendent tapped the microphone, and everyone flinched at the loud popping noise.
“We’re here today,” Mack said, “to open what Agnes Mephisto began so many months ago.”
I tried to listen but couldn’t quite manage to do so. The absurdly warm weather was too nice to spend listening to run-on sentences. Besides, somewhere in this mass of people was the man I’d recently started to call my boyfriend. Evan was joining Jenna and Oliver and me for a Saturday afternoon of cautious togetherness, and I was trying not to be nervous.
Joanna Vogel, a burbling infant in her arms, stood near me, alternately smiling at the baby and smiling at her husband. Debra O’Conner was almost unrecognizable as a natural brunette. She looked relaxed and content. The two of us had gravitated toward a monthly lunch date, and it was strange not to feel incompetent around her. Maybe someday I’d tell her so.
Julie Reed, the PTA’s vice president, held on to a small twin-sized stroller as her husband held the hands of two seven-year-olds. Two parents, four children—Mom and Dad would have to work on a zone defense instead of man-to-man. They looked tired already, and it wasn’t even noon.
Erica, representing the PTA, stood at Mack’s shoulder. Randy was sitting on a handy bench, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. Teachers and staff stood in clusters, and small children tugged on parents’ hands.
“If Agnes were here today,” Mack was intoning, “she’d be proud of what we’ve done in her memory.”
I smiled, thinking back to the day after Don Hatcher was arrested. I’d called a special meeting of the PTA committee and proposed an idea. Erica, Randy, and an extremely pregnant Julie readily agreed. The PTA as a whole leaped on the plan. Erica and I passed the idea up to Mack, Mack passed it to the school board, and the school board talked to the attorneys who guarded the Tarver Foundation. Bick Lewis welcomed the idea, and twelve months later, here we were, standing in the sun.
Mack hefted a pair of hedge clippers and held them at the ready. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Agnes Mephisto Memorial Ice Arena is officially open!”
He snipped the wide ribbon, and the red edges curled high, floating in the light breeze. A stampede of youngsters surged past, and Mack staggered back, bumped by bag after bag of skating equipment.
“I’d like to see him on skates,” said a voice in my head.
“Agnes?”
“What did you say, Mom?” Oliver asked. Two inches taller than he’d been a year ago, my son had left behind all his stuffed animals, a few of his poor study habits, and found a new best friend. Robert and his family had left Rynwood one snowy weekend, leaving behind an empty house and a garage full of bicycles.
I put one arm around him and another around Jenna. “Nothing, sweetheart.”
“It’s not bad,” Agnes said. “I gather Bick’s office chose the color scheme? You should have done it yourself.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
“Mom?” Jenna asked.
“Thank you, Beth. For everything.”
And Agnes was gone.
Jenna tugged on my sleeve. “Mom? Did you hear me? Mom? Hello, Earth to Mom. Can I get some goalie pads?”
My daughter, on the other hand, had not abandoned Bailey as a best friend. But two other girls were competing for Second Best Friend, and the expansion was welcome.
“Your dad bought new pads in August.” I frowned. “Did you lose them?”
“Not soccer goalie pads.” She rolled her eyes.“Hockey goalie pads.”
Hockey? It was okay if I wanted to play hockey, but my precious daughter? “Let me talk to your father about that.”
“Okay.” She grinned up at me. “Cool.”
Her smile made my heart almost burst with love. I pulled my children tight, wanting nothing more than to hold them forever and ever.