Page 75 of The Last Straw

“But, Judy! You can’t mean this!” Farrell cried.

As she stood, their toddler was all big-eyed and teary at the shouting, sucking his thumb at a frantic pace and still riding her hip as she held him close.

“I do mean it! Now, you get your clothes and get out of here.”

“You can’t manage this place by yourself!” Farrell shouted.

“I’ll figure it out. But I won’t be shamed by your actions, and I won’t have my children shamed, either,” she cried.

“They’re my children, too!” Farrell yelled.

Judy took a step back. “You weren’t thinking about me or our babies when you left out of here to go take a woman’s life. Get out! Get out! I can’t take any more of this.”

Farrell was in shock. He packed without thought, throwing clothes in a bag, and then his razor and Bible in on top of it.

He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. He’d never seen hate on Judy’s face before, but he was seeing it now, and he knew it was over.

“I need to go tell the kids goodbye,” Farrell said.

She shook her head and waved him away.

“You will do no such thing. I’ll tell them what they need to hear, and when they’re older, they’ll all know the truth. Just get in the car and drive. I don’t want to know where you are, or where you go.”

“Are you gonna divorce me?” Farrell asked.

“In a heartbeat, and I’ll be changing our names,” Judy said.

He stormed out of the house, threw his bag in the car and headed out of the drive.

He glanced up once in the rearview mirror. His youngest daughter was standing on the porch, waving goodbye. He looked away and just kept driving.

Fourteen

After Charlie put Wyrick to bed, he went to his bedroom and sent a text to Millie, asking her to keep them updated on Rachel’s progress, then stripped and got in the shower. The need to remove the filth in which they’d found Rachel Dean was overwhelming. He washed and scrubbed at his skin until it was tingling before he finally got out.

Tragically, Rachel wouldn’t be able to wash away the memories of what had happened to her with soap and water. They had to find this man. He needed not to be walking free ever again.

By the time Charlie got down to the kitchen to make dinner, he was heartsick and tired to the bone. He didn’t know what Rachel Dean had endured, but it was remarkable how hard she’d fought back. Such a smart little thing—somehow getting a knife away from him, then thinking to put out the light to give herself a fighting chance.

He put potatoes in to bake, then started the grill. He’d promised Wyrick steak, and she was getting steak, even if it was after midnight before they ate.

The grill was still heating and the steaks were still marinating when he went back upstairs to check on her. He expected her to still be asleep, but the bed was empty and he could hear the shower running, so he hurried back downstairs, put the steaks on the grill and then sent her a text.

Your steak is grilling.

Within a few minutes she showed up in the kitchen in thick socks, leggings and a sweatshirt that hung halfway to her knees. Her face was bare, and the shadows under her eyes weren’t makeup this time; they were for real.

He glanced up, then pointed to a container of French onion dip and a bag of wavy potato chips.

“Hors d’oeuvres.”

“Such elegance. You really shouldn’t have,” she said, then plopped down at the table, swiped a chip through the dip and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Good.”

He relaxed. If she felt good enough to sling a little sarcasm, then she was getting back in her groove.

“I baked potatoes and I’m grilling rib eyes. Want a salad with yours?”

“I want some of Merlin’s tomatoes,” she said and pulled off her socks and grabbed a bowl.

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