Lottie’s mouth tightens. “No. She’s got her own problems.”
I sink into the chair.
My keys are still on the counter.
My truck keys.
“Derby gave me a way out,” I whisper. “And I’m using it to leave him.”
Lottie leans against the counter. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re using it because he meant it.”
I look up.
“He didn’t give you keys so you could only drive where his fear allowed,” she says. “He gave them because staying had to mean something. Leaving has to mean something too.”
The tears come then.
Quiet.
Steady.
Lottie doesn’t hug me.
I’m grateful.
If she hugs me, I might fall apart and never get back up.
“What happens when he comes for me?” I ask.
“Then you decide if you want him there.”
“What if Hot Mama won’t let him in?”
Lottie smiles for the first time.
It isn’t sweet.
“It’ll be good for Derby to meet a woman who can tell him no with more guns than he’s got.”
Despite everything, a tiny laugh slips out.
Then I look toward the hallway again.
August.
My son.
My reason.
My excuse.
My heart.
“Will he really be safe there?”
Lottie’s face sobers. “Yes.”
“With women I don’t know?”