62

CASEY

As I drive away from him, I wipe my tears on my sleeve. The future looks bleak, but I push that to the back of my mind and try instead to see God. He was there—in that house in Dallas, in the bathroom where I bled, at a deer camp where an amputee did surgery on me.

He was there when I fell in love.

I try to revise the vision I have of my future, to see it with Dylan, when all of this is behind us. It’s faint, but it’s there. I will cling to it. Wherever I go, if I can talk to him, I can make it through.

I want to call my mom and rest her fears, tell her that I’m going to prove my case, that I need her to hang on and not fall apart.

But I don’t want to turn on the TV tonight and see her in a perp walk.

I turn on the radio, find a Dallas station that’s giving a news update.

       . . . Cole Whittington death. Police found the truck that allegedly ran Whittington off the road to his death. It was owned by Nate Trendall, the father of the little girl Whittington was accused of molesting. Child Protective Services has removed the seven-year-old from her home after an examination concluded that she was abused by Fred Mardeaux, a known drug dealer. Previous reports that fugitive Casey Cox was involved in Whittington’s death were false. We’ll have more on this story tonight at ten p.m.

My mouth stretches as relief overwhelms me. Ava’s safe. Her abuser is in jail, and so is her father. Maybe her mother will be next.

I whisper a prayer for that little girl to be okay, and for Cole’s wife and kids. I pray that everyone will know their father didn’t leave them on purpose.

Fresh sorrow overcomes me—making it hard to see the road. I fling both my phone and the battery into a field. My new one is still in the Walmart bag Dex brought me.

A few miles up the road, I pull over and blow my nose, wipe my face, and check my wig, finger-combing the bangs. I look in all directions, trying to figure out which way to go. Finally, I take a right and head for Oklahoma or Arkansas, or farther north.

I try to think like a new woman. One I don’t even know yet.