His face crumples.
I pull him into my arms. “Grown-up feelings are messy. But you are loved. Do you understand me? You are loved.”
He nods into my neck.
I don’t know if he believes me.
I hold him until he squirms.
Then evening comes.
Derby still doesn’t. But the call comes through Lottie first. Twila processed him. Whiskey worked something. Legend is furious, which is apparently useful. Derby is getting out.
My relief is so sharp I nearly double over.
Then dread follows.
Because he is coming home.
And I’m leaving in the morning.
Lottie watches my face. “You can change your mind.”
That is almost crueler than telling me I can’t.
“I know.”
“Good.”
I spend the next hour packing and unpacking the same small bag. Clothes for August. Clothes for me. My mother’s box. The bracelet. The photograph. The documents. Not much else. Lottie says to travel light. Hot Mama can provide the rest.
Hot Mama.
The name still sounds ridiculous.
The promise behind it doesn’t.
Janie sits with August while he watches cartoons in Derby’s bedroom. Lottie makes calls from the porch and lowers her voice whenever I step too close. Wildcat’s name comes up once. So does burner. So does no trackers. So does cash only.
I don’t ask.
I already know enough to understand this isn’t a trip.
It is an extraction.
Wildcat’s name comes up in a way that makes me think he knows how to make a phone disappear, not who is about to use it. That distinction feels important and useless at the same time.
The last light fades outside Derby’s windows.
My bag sits half-zipped beside the bed.
Derby’s house smells like coffee, rain, and him.
The dinosaur courthouse leans in the living room, waiting for a judge who doesn’t know he is about to be carried across the country before sunrise.
Lottie appears in the bedroom doorway. “He’s out.”
My heart stutters. “Derby?”