46

She was only a kid. She couldn’t be blamed for media propaganda. But when Violet’s eyes met his, Clay couldn’t hold her gaze. However irrational or despicable it was, he wished his daughter had never met her.

Khloe turned back to Clay and hooked her thumbs in her back pockets. “I’m not exaggerating.”

“Go wait in the Jeep.” Whatever he was about to say to Violet, Khloe didn’t need to hear it. Or interrupt it.

“Dad, I—”

“Khloe. Go.”

She didn’t flounce off with flourish, didn’t stomp. She walked outside, arms wrapped around herself. I’m not choosing her, baby. Her glance back never landed on Violet.

The moment Khloe disappeared past the doorframe, Violet knelt on the floor and righted the duffel bag. She stuffed clothes inside, then the Bible. What was she doing with one of those, if she’d made it her mission to send people to re-education?

He was only going to talk to Violet, not bring her along. But now that she crouched in front of him, piling what might now be everything she owned into one bag, he couldn’t cast her aside.

“Violet, we’re going home. All of us can go home, and …”

And what? Violet had spit on everything Clay and Natalia had ever tried to give her. A voice at his core whispered forgiveness, but it sounded distant and untouchable, part of God’s standard, not his. How had he followed to his own detriment for ten years? Let’s try a compromise, God. You show me how forgiving this girl will benefit me and mine. Then I’ll bend to Your rules.

Violet zipped the duffel and stood up. “I can’t. My mom found the Bible, called the con-cops.”

So that was an emergency stash of clothes in the bag. Parental alarm zipped through him despite everything. But wait. “I made a deal with the Constabulary. It included you.”

She passed the duffel from one hand to the other. “A deal? How?”

“You’ll have a clean slate with them from here on out, as long as you don’t commit any further crimes.”

“But why would they go along with that?”

A question he would never answer. Ever. “Listen, Violet, if you can’t go home, then we’ve got to come up with somewhere you can go.”

He should take her in. Had to.

“I don’t think Chuck and Belinda will throw me out.”

Great, but she sounded unsure. “We should … I don’t know, ask them.”

“Not now. Uncle Clay, I want you to go. Really, I do. Khloe might run away or something if I come.”

“She’ll come around.”

“Not anytime soon, and I don’t blame her. Look what I did.”

He was trying not to see it right now, and she shoved it into his face anyway. He steeled his jaw against the grimace.

A smile’s ghost drifted over Violet’s face. “Thanks.”

“For …?”

“For trying to want me anyway.”

Oh. He cracked his knuckles against the palm of his other hand. “Violet …”

“No, really. It’s okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see you guys again, and it’ll be better. And I feel almost like … like God wants me here for some reason. Maybe I can do something right.”

Good girl. She always had been. A better person already, at seventeen, than Clay had been so far in his life and maybe ever would be. Not everyone could be noble, but the ones that pulled it off … He crossed the room and wrapped her up in one last hug.

She stiffened at first, then dropped the bag and hugged him. A shudder, a quick sob, and then she stepped back.

“I understand,” she whispered. “I hope Aunt Natalia comes back, and I understand. They’re your real family, you have to put them first.”

“You were our family too.” The betrayal wouldn’t hit so hard otherwise.

“You did a lot for me, and I’ll always love you guys.” Violet dug into the pocket of her shorts. “Listen, if Khloe can ever … get past it. If she ever misses me. Would you give this to her?”

The silver charm bracelet. Clay took it, held onto it for a moment, warm and light in his hand. He shoved it into the pocket of his shirt.

Violet’s eyes filled. “Um. I hope I see you again.”

“Me, too,” Clay said, too muddy inside to know if he meant it or not. He gave her a last quick hug and ducked outside into the rain. He jogged to the Jeep and climbed behind the wheel.

Khloe sat with her knees up, shoes on the seat, breathing steam onto the passenger window. Clay left the silence alone while he backed down the gravel driveway, while he navigated back to the highway.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“She was my best friend.” She hid her face against her knees and cried.

Clay pulled over to the shoulder and parked. “Khloe, do you want me to go back?”

“I want you to fix it. So that she never texted the con-cops. So that I never had to be so scared and wet and cold in the rain, and alone and scared.”

He rubbed her back and felt again the mortal wound of fatherhood, the inability to make everything go away.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He rubbed her back. “I’m sorry you were scared.”

“I hate her, Dad.”

For Khloe’s sobs, he could hate Violet too. Still so muddy inside, but at least one part of him felt that clearly. He tried to bury it. He pulled his phone from his pocket. For the last three miles, he’d squashed this desire. It wasn’t time. Not yet. Natalia had said so. But he couldn’t hold himself in any longer.

“Khloe, here. Call your mother.”

She took the phone and cradled it in her hands, as if it were a rare diamond—better, an unlimited credit card. A smile tugged his mouth.

“But what about the con-cops? What if they hear us talking? What if—”

“I took care of it.”

“You did?” Her teary eyes lifted to his, and in them he was a strong rescuer, worthy of trust. Every grubby thing he’d done this week was washed spotless. “How?”

“However I had to, and that’s what matters. The Constabulary won’t ever bother us again. We’re free.”

Khloe had already dialed. “Mom, it’s me. I’m okay, and I’m with Dad, and he fixed everything.”

Natalia’s voice burst over the line, a repetition that sounded like their daughter’s name.

The distance was going to kill him. He thrust his right hand toward Khloe. “Let me have the phone.”

She offered it to him without hesitation, without a whine. This week had changed them all.

“Clay?” Natalia’s voice quavered over the line. “You fixed everything?”

Her voice mended all his gaping holes. He didn’t need to run, didn’t want to, even when the feelings surged into his throat. “We’re coming to you, Nat. Where are you?”

But she didn’t tell him. She simply wept into the phone. His hand flexed on the steering wheel. She wanted them to come, didn’t she? She wanted him?

“I’m in Rochester. Downtown. I went to the doll store where—” Sobs kept interrupting her words. “Where we took her for her tenth birthday. I was trying not to … but I can’t … Clay, please. I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know how to keep us, but … but I want us.”

His face was wet. Khloe was staring at him.

“Daddy? Are you … um … crying?”

He wiped his face on his arm. Not in front of Khloe. “Nat, I’m coming. We’re coming.”