Sunday afternoon I don’t have to work, and I can’t decide where to spend my time. I haven’t watched Candace Price in a few days, so I go to her street. I don’t see her car where she usually parks it. She probably left earlier. I’m discouraged. I can’t find anything to link Candace and Keegan, so I’m probably in Dallas—dangerously close to Shreveport—for no reason at all. The TV station hasn’t yet reported what I took them Friday. I have a sinking feeling that they’ve tossed it onto a desk somewhere and covered it over with pageant queens and local events.
Curious, I use my phone and go to the news station’s website. My mood changes instantly when I see that the first story is the one I’ve given them. I click on the video that played at noon today when I wasn’t home. They report the Trendalls’ reputation, their history of lawsuits and accusations, and the fact that Child Protective Services has taken Cole’s kids into custody. The TV station has even done an interview with him, and they have a clip of him saying that these baseless accusations have deeply impacted his family and traumatized his own children, since they’ve been taken from him and not even placed with a family member.
I bang on the steering wheel and whisper, “Yes!” That’s something, even though they left out the part about the Trendalls giving Ava over to that man. Maybe they’re sitting on that until they have his full name and more evidence. I drive over to the Trendalls’ street, eager to see if they’re showing any reaction to the news.
Little Ava is playing outside by herself again, digging in the yard with a small shovel. I watch her from my place several houses down. A half hour or so later, I see Nate storm out to the white four-door pickup in the driveway. He throws the back door open and yells for her to get in. Her hands are covered with soil, but she runs to obey anyway. Then I see her mother staggering out. She walks like a drunk across the yard, trips in a hole her daughter has dug, and falls in the dirt. Even as far away as I am, I hear her cursing as she gets to her feet. She doesn’t go back in to clean up. She simply dusts herself off and gets into the truck’s passenger seat.
They back out of the driveway and head away from where I’m parked down the street. I start my car and follow. They turn right at the stop sign. When I reach the sign, I see that they’re three blocks away from me. I turn and try to catch up, keeping a couple of cars between us.
The truck veers off the road a couple of times, then quickly rights itself. I wonder if Nate, who’s driving, is drunk too. Has anyone made Ava buckle her seat belt?
After several miles of driving through town, they turn into a neighborhood. I follow, closer than I’d like, and when they pull into a driveway of a corner house with a chain-link fence that goes around the front and back yards, I drive past as if I have business down the road. As I pass, the man I saw the other day—the one Ava was terrified of—emerges from the house, and Tiffany gets out and slides open the back door. Ava doesn’t come right out, so Tiffany reaches in and jerks her out. Tiffany slams the back door, then turns back to the man and talks animatedly, arms flailing. She’s clearly angry, though I can’t hear what she’s saying.
The man takes hold of Ava and pulls her into the house. Tiffany and Nate back out of the driveway, leaving her there.
I feel sick again. I think of calling the police, but what could I say? That the Trendalls just left Ava with a man? What if he’s her uncle or her real father? What if I’m way overreacting?
I look for something to write on, but there’s only a copy of the pages I gave the TV reporter, still lying on my passenger seat. I turn it over and write down the name of the street. I can’t see the number of the man’s house, but I scribble the numbers of the houses on either side—233 Cattonelle Avenue and 237 Cattonelle. I want to stay at the house to keep an eye out for Ava, but she’s not where I can see her. I don’t know how to help her.
When the Trendalls are almost too far away, I decide to follow them instead. I get to the closest main street and see them several cars ahead of me.
I follow them across town to the TV station. They both go to the door like they’re on a mission. It’s locked, so they bang on the glass, but no one opens it. I can’t pull in, so I drive past, then go around the block. When I get back, I see that they still haven’t been let in, so they’re heading back to the truck.
I have to stop at a red light way too close to them, and I look the other direction so they won’t see me.
Suddenly my passenger door flies open. I scream as Nate comes across the seat, shifts my car into park, and yanks me out. “Who are you?” he demands.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream.
Tiffany jumps into my driver’s seat. “I told you she was following us!”
“What do you want?” he shouts, shaking me.
I twist and slip out of his grasp, but he knocks me to the pavement, and my chin and elbows scrape on the ground. I scramble back up, screaming as he throws me against the car, but it’s Sunday and no one comes.
“Who are you?” Nate demands. “What do you want?”
“Are you crazy?” I shout back. “I was just driving by!”
“She’s working for him!” Tiffany screams, jumping out of my car, waving papers. “Look what I found!”
She’s holding up the copy I had on my seat—the stuff I gave to the TV station, with the address of the house where they left Ava. He holds me by my hair as he skims it, then grabs my chin and bangs me back against my car again. “So it was you who gave them that.”
“Most of it’s public record,” I bite out. “They would have found out eventually.”
His breath smells of tooth decay and alcohol. “What business is this of yours?”
“I know Cole Whittington,” I say. “He’s a decent man. They took his kids and now he’s suicidal, and you’ve done it all for money! Meanwhile, you let that man molest your daughter!”
I bring up my knee and hit him hard, making him drop his arms and double over. Tiffany comes at me, but I shove her back, toppling her. I rush to my car and jump in. I slam the door and lock it, then screech away, leaving them behind.
I’m trembling so hard I can’t even hold the steering wheel, but I get far enough away that they won’t find me. When I get back to my house, I sit in the driveway for a while, until I can make my hands stop shaking. I must be crazy, I tell myself. I must be as insane as them.
What is wrong with me? My sister would absolutely die.
I get to my room without anyone seeing me. Then I jump into the shower and clean off the bloody scrapes on my chin, my knees, my elbows and hands.
I stand in the shower, trying to decide what to do next. I finally get out, shivering, and get dressed and climb into bed. I pull the covers over my head and try to think.
I’m so tired of evil winning. I try to form a plan, but my thoughts race from my problems to Cole’s . . . and then to Ava’s.
I pull myself back together, and I sit up and try to think. I could leave town, but I haven’t finished with Candace Price. I got sidetracked with the Trendalls, but I need to focus on Candace and her link to Keegan. Despite how things look, she has to be the link.
If I don’t, I’ll wind up on the run for the rest of my life. My sister is right.
I have to stick with the plan. The Trendalls don’t know where I live. They don’t even know my name. I got away from them before they had time to get back to their van and follow me. It’s okay. There’s no harm done.
By the time I hear Lydia and Caden coming home from wherever they’ve been, I’ve found some semblance of calm. I can do this. I have to. I’m not giving up this easily.
I go to the mirror. I look too much like myself. I quickly apply more eyeliner again before I get back into bed, in case Caden demands to talk to me.
Tomorrow I’ll start again.