“JESUS, Brandon, what the hell are you doing here?” Samantha asked when she turned around and saw her ex-husband.
He smiled. “I bet you thought I couldn’t find you.”
Sam said, “Are you out of your mind? Breaking out of jail?”
Brandon shook his head. “I didn’t break out. I was on a trip to see my mother in the—”
“I know,” she said. “Same difference.”
“She had a heart attack,” he said. “She’s in intensive care.”
“Shit, I never sent a card.”
Brandon sighed, took a step toward her.
“Don’t come near me,” she said. “Stay right there. If you get any closer, I’ll start screaming. I swear to God.”
He raised his hands defensively and took a step back. “Okay, okay. Don’t have a hissy.”
“A hissy? Really? After what your parents did? And your dumbass friend Ed?” She had reached for the empty pot that was sitting on the Coleman. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it would have to do. The one she really wanted was in the car, behind the tent.
What a smart idea that turned out to be.
“Do you have any idea the shit they pulled?” she asked him, her voice starting to rise.
Brandon glanced left and right. “You’re going to wake up all the other campers.”
“You think I care?”
“Look,” he said, “I know what they did. I heard all about it. The police came to interview me, in jail. They wanted to know what I’d had to do with it.”
Sam cocked her head to one side, waiting for an answer.
“Nothing,” he told her. “I had absolutely nothing to do with it. I had no idea what was going on.”
“Bullshit.”
He nodded understandingly. “I don’t blame you for saying that.”
The tent flap opened. Carl stuck his head out, saw his mother first, and said, “I thought I heard—”
His eyes landed on his father and he said, “Dad!”
“You stay in there!” Sam said to her son.
“I just wanted to see—”
“Hey, sport,” Brandon said, not moving. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” Carl said warily. “You’re supposed to be in jail.”
Brandon grinned. “Yeah, I know. I’m sort of playing hooky.”
That made Carl laugh. But the laughter was cut short when his mother said, “I told you to get in there and you pull that zipper down.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, drawing his head back in like a frightened turtle.
“Wait,” Brandon said. “There’s something I want to say, and I want Carl to hear it, too.”
All that was sticking out beyond the edge of the tent now was Carl’s nose, but his face remained visible.
“He can hear anything you have to stay with the tent zipped up,” Sam said.
Brandon looked at his ex-wife imploringly. “Please. Five minutes. It’s all I ask.”
Sam was weighing the request. Her eyes moved between Brandon and Carl. She was afraid for herself, and afraid for him, but Carl did not show any signs of fear. He looked like he wanted to hear what his father had to say.
“Five minutes,” Sam said.
Brandon nodded slowly, took a breath, as though getting ready to make a speech. “So, you need to know why I came here, why I tracked you down. I didn’t know I was going to get a chance like this. That kinda just happened. When they let me out to visit my mom—”
“I hope she dies,” Sam said.
Brandon wasn’t flustered. “I get that. Anyway, when they let me visit her in the hospital, I had a chance to get away, and I took it. Because I wanted to see you, and Carl. To talk to you. I mean, I figured any letters I wrote, you’d just throw them out. Anything I wanted to tell you, you’d never know. I figured it would be better if I could talk to you face-to-face.”
“You nearly killed that guy in the hospital.”
“No, I didn’t. I just choked him enough to make him pass out, is all. He’s fine.”
“Four minutes,” Sam said.
“So, once I slipped away, and, well, you know, stole a car, I started heading this way. Because I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
The word hung there for a few seconds.
“Sorry,” Sam repeated.
He nodded. “That sounds kinda short of the mark, I know. I don’t quite know what else to say. My mom, I know she’s crazy. She’s a nasty, vindictive . . . well, she’s a piece of work, no doubt about it. That’s what she is. And she’s mean enough and scary enough that she makes others go along with what she says. It’s not that big a surprise that she got Ed to do what she wanted. He’s just dumb. He was my friend, I admit it, but he hasn’t got the smarts of a beanbag. What’s scary is that she gets my dad to go along with so much of her crazy shit.”
He looked down, scraped his foot across the dirt. Carl’s entire head was out of the tent now.
“They told me all the stuff they did. Trying to grab Carl at school, then Ed coming to where you work and, well—”
“Trying to kill me,” Sam said.
“Yeah, that. I didn’t know, and if I did, I’d have done everything I could to stop it. And even if you believe me, even if you accept what I’m telling you, I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me. Not asking for anything like that. Fact is, if you’d never gotten mixed up with me, you’d never have gotten mixed up with my fucked-up family and friends. I’m the cause of all your troubles, when you get right down to it.”
He looked at his son.
“I’ve been just about the worst father in the world for you, for all the same reasons.” He chuckled weakly. “You didn’t pick so good when it came to dads.”
“You can’t really pick your dad,” Carl said.
“He’s trying to be funny,” his mother said.
“Oh,” Carl said. “I get it.”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking while I’ve been in jail,” Brandon said. “Sorting out the mistakes I made while I was still outside. How I expected everything to come to me without working hard for it. I get that now. When I get out—’cause, let’s face it, I’ll be going back in, and for probably a lot longer—I hope I’m gonna be a different kind of man. Someone who takes responsibility for things. Who doesn’t blame others.”
“One minute,” Sam said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Okeydoke,” Brandon said. “I’m going to leave now. I’m going to find the office and have them call the cops and I’ll sit and wait for them to come. I’ll never bother either of you again. If you ever want to get in touch”—and here he looked straight at Carl—“I’ll be most grateful to hear from you. I would like that a lot, to be honest. If you ever want me in your life, I’ll be there, but you gotta be the one that takes the first step. I’m not gonna push it.”
Brandon took a long breath.
“I’m sorry. I truly am. I did what I set out to do. Now I can go back to Boston.” He grinned. “I’m sure there’re plenty of cops happy to give me a lift.”
He bowed his head, turned, and started to walk away.
“Wait!” Carl shouted, and Brandon spun around.
Carl shot out of the tent, arms outstretched. His intention was clear. He wanted to give his father a hug good-bye. But in his rush to come out, his foot caught on a stretch of upturned canvas that ran across the bottom of the open tent flap.
He went flying. His arms went out to break his fall. He hit the ground hard and yelped in pain.
Brandon, instinctively, suddenly charged toward his son.
Sam, still standing there, wielding the pot by its handle, also started running toward Carl.
David brought the shotgun up to his shoulder and aimed.