Page 46 of Hideaway Whirlwind
POLICE SEIZE $75K CASH, COCAINE, METHAMPHETAMINE IN RV SEARCH. At the bottom of the article is a link to another: 9 ARRESTED IN RESTAURANT AND DRY CLEANER MONEY LAUNDERING SCHEME. Though none of the names of those arrested so far are given, my guess is that Priscilla is somewhere on that list.Fucking bravo.
And down the rabbit hole I go, my stomach unknotting itself. Saving the best for last, I click the link that redirects to an uncensored video streaming online, taken by helicopter. Priscilla’s boss led the police on a thirty-two-minute-long high-speed chase in a stolen red SUV. Who picks the flashiest color to make their getaway in? The idiot lost control and slammed into a concrete road construction barrier. He and two skinny men I recognize—ones who were in and out of the restaurant most often—were gunned down when they exchanged fire with the police after crawling out of the smoky wreckage, turning the pavement crimson…my new favorite color.
I’m two for two.
Priscilla had every right to be paranoid about how much Iknew about the organization she peddled drugs for, as small as it had been compared to some of the other busts in Las Vegas. If she had known I was the one who anonymously mailed in evidence that I had smuggled out during my escape from the cult, which ultimately led to the raid on the compound, a week long standoff, and the explosion shortly thereafter, she would have killed me long before I had the chance to use the phone at the second motel to call in an anonymous tip while securing the extra blankets. It had been a calculated risk, since it could have led to the police finding us if we were reported. And, man, did it pay off.
“What’s got you smiling so big?” Goldie asks when she walks into the living room, flushed from her excitement and mini-workout, taking a seat on the recliner with Rowan at her breast.
“Just happy to have power back,” I respond, closing out the incognito window, shutting the laptop, and setting it down on the coffee table. I lift my can of ginger ale, taken from the twelve-pack Elliott left on the front porch last night, and tip it toward her. “Cheers to a new life,” I say before popping the tab and downing the sweet, sweet taste of justice.
* * *
I spend the next day making phone calls with the old phone Goldie gave me that she never traded in and helped me activate. The first call is to Goldie’s OBGYN, Dr. Patel, whom I’m most nervous about since I haven’t been able to get prenatal care past my initial checkup at a discreet, low-cost clinic, what with Priscilla having tracked my every move. The elementary school had a pipe burst in its ceiling, so it won’t be open for another week or so, but I’m at least ableto get Dustin and Sydney registered online, and Goldie has agreed to watch all three while I, hopefully, land a job and start working.
Goldie has received a fair number of calls herself. After the last one, she tells me, “That was Layla. They’re having a ‘Welcome to Texas’ get-together after dinner tonight to introduce you to everyone.”
I look up from battering the chicken thighs that Goldie is frying for dinner, fluffy homemade biscuits warming in the oven. “Who is ‘everyone’?”
“The Granny’s Girls—Dolly, Violet, Faye, and Layla, of course—and their families.” She jumps back from the stove when the oil hisses and pops in the pan, stinging her wrist. “Trust me, you’ll love them.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, chewing my bottom lip until I can bring myself to ask in a lower voice so the kids won’t overhear, “Will Elliott be there?”
Goldie transfers the cooked chicken to a plate lined with paper towels and motions for me to hand over the next batch, since Davis can eat a whole chicken by himself and still be hungry, much like Elliott. “Honestly,” she says, “it’d probably be better for the kids if he isn’t invited. Might be confusing.”
She tips her head to the side, where Lily and Kendall are playing with a plastic pony set on the living room floor, while Sydney and Dustin watch a kids’ superhero cartoon on the TV mounted on a huge wooden entertainment center opposite the couch. I’ve never seen Sydney more depressed, hardly speaking to me. Dustin, on the other hand, is a raging bull most of the time, wanting to seePapaand the dogs. It worries me how affected they are after spending such little time with Elliott. How affected I stillam, too.
“I see your point,” I say, though I’m not sure if I agree with it.
I’m worried I’m doing more harm than good at this point by preventing them from seeing Elliott. It’s not like we’re never going to see him again, anyway, living in a town as small as this one. We’re going to bump into him often enough, even if he does eventually stop stalking us. And even if the kids do grow up to forget their attachment to him, I doubt I ever will.
Once the second batch of chicken is cooked through, Goldie says, “I’ll call Russell. I’m sure he’ll understand why you don’t want to see Elliott.”
“No, that’s not…” I sigh, since she’s already walking away with her phone out, and I wash my hands so I can start setting the table with the garlic green beans and buttery mashed potatoes. “Dinner’s ready,” I say to the kids, waving them over.
Sydney slides off the couch without looking at me, wearing one of Elliott’s flannels that hangs down to her feet. She intentionally lets the chair legs drag across the floor loudly when she pulls it away from the table. Dustin, however, only turns his head and stares right at me. My mouth goes dry, taken aback and unnerved by how much of his biological father I see in his angry expression.
“Whoa there, buddy,” Davis says to Dustin, coming out of his bedroom with Rowan after their late nap—the last he’ll have once the warehouse reopens tomorrow. He and the other employees will have to work overtime to make up for the missed week of deliveries. “Don’t give your mama that look.”
Though Davis’s tone had been genial, Dustin reacts by flying off the couch, clenching his fists, and screaming, “You’re not Papa! You can’t tell me what to do!”
“Dustin!” I’m shocked by his outburst, and when I get within a foot of him, intending to pull him into a hug, hoping this time he’ll open up so we can talk through his big feelings, he races around the arm of the couch. With his cheeks turning bright red, holding back tears, he sprints out the front door, the floodlights immediately flicking on. “Dustin!” I yell again, my voice shrill with worry as he speeds toward the road. There are no sidewalks this far from town for him to safely travel, and it’s terrifying what could happen if a vehicle were to come around the bend and not see him until it’s too late. “Baby, stop—oh fuck.”
“Papa!” Sydney screams from behind and jumps off the porch, hurtling past me, her bare feet slapping the driveway’s pavement. She throws herself into Elliott’s outstretched arms, the same as Dustin had when Elliott came barreling out of his hiding place in the trees.
My hackles go up like Storm’s as I watch, dazed, when Elliott rises from his crouch with the kids propped on his arms, having captured me as much as he has my children.
Goldie leans against the door frame with her phone held to her ear. “Hey, Russell? We have a problem.” A pause, then, “You already knew he was here, didn’t you?” she asks, annoyed, shaking her hair out of her face. She turns back into the house when Davis steps out onto the porch and hands Rowan to her, crossing his arms at his chest.
“Knew that fucker had to be hiding out here somewhere,” Davis says with a chuckle.
I cut a scowl at Davis, thankful he broke me out of my stupor. “There’s nothing funny about this,” I say, watching from the corner of my eye as Elliott begins his approach.
Elliott’s brow darkens when Dustin turns and pointsaccusingly at Davis.
“I know that,” Davis says, the grin wiped off his face, but not for long. “But just so you know, I’d’ve done the same if Goldie tried to leave with Lily.”
“Bunch of stalker freaks,” I grumble, inching backward and up the porch steps as Elliott advances, though every muscle in my body wants to go to him and beg him to take us back to the cabin. Goldie was wrong. It’s me who is confused, not the kids.
