He starts toward us, and Amelia catches him.
“Stay with me.”
“But it has a bow.”
I set the box on the kitchen table like it might bite. It’s light. Too light to be a bomb unless somebody got creative, and I have had enough creativity from religious assholes this week. It’s addressed. Delivered by the mailman. Fuck. Of course the prospects watching would let the mail come. There is writing on the top.
August Vale.
Amelia makes a sound.
Small.
Broken.
My vision goes red at the edges.
Derby, think.
I pull out my phone and call Wildcat.
He answers on the second ring. “Yeah?”
“Package on my porch. Addressed to August. Brown paper. White bow. No sender.”
His voice changes. “Don’t open it.”
“No shit.”
“I’m two minutes out.”
“Make it one.”
I hang up.
Amelia is holding August so tight he squirms.
“Mama?”
“It’s okay,” she says.
It ain’t.
We all know it.
The kid looks at the box with the awful hope children have when something bears their name.
“Maybe it’s a dinosaur,” he says.
Amelia closes her eyes.
I want to murder someone with my bare hands.
Wildcat arrives in less than two minutes with Oaks behind him, both moving fast and quiet. They check the box outside on the porch while I keep Amelia and August in the kitchen, away from the windows. August is confused now, getting scared because the adults are too still.
Finally, Wildcat comes back in holding the opened box.
His face says enough.