kids, and in my mind’s eye I see a sequence of images of Melody taking her own to get measured for school uniforms, envision how her children would leave the store, stare up at the city around them, and spin in circles and smile with so much hope and happiness. Little Mary Tyler Moores, they would be. I drop my head to the steering wheel and bawl like a little kid who fell off a bike, all sloppy and wet and jerky. Looks like I may be a toddler after all.
When I eventually look up and gaze into the distance, as I face the looming future, I know I must finish this mission, complete this journey I’ve been traveling for most of my life. My family will never know where Melody is. The feds will never know where she is, and therefore Gardner will never know where she is. And the only thing left to do, the thing that will preclude any of them from trying to look for her, is what should’ve been done a long time ago.
I need to kill her.
THREE
I dry my face with the arm of my sweater and bottle my emotions, feel like I could burst at any second, as tightly pressured as a shaken soda. I drive away from the Greyhound bus terminal and realize I haven’t moved this casually in some time. It feels strange to linger, to drift; I hesitate drifting away, for these are my final moments of peace, the last minutes I’ll get to myself for some time.
I glide down the bus lane and watch for any familiar cars in the off chance my family figured out my plan. It takes a bit before I can clear my head enough to begin thinking practically; I must remind myself that although Melody has been released, she will not be free until I unfold the rest of my plan. I watch the buses pass and wonder if she’s on one, wonder where she’s going, fight not randomly following one in the way I followed the marshals to find her in Cape Charles.
As a bus disappears in front of a cloud of its own exhaust, I flip open my cell and call Gardner at home. It rings six times before he answers, and when he does he never says a word. I hear him open his front door, discernible by its squeaky hinges, hear the tap of the knocker as he closes it behind him. He takes loud footsteps down a sidewalk.
“Geez, what?” he whispers loudly.
“Bad time?” I ask. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your day.”
“Yes, it’s a bad time. Of course it’s a bad time. It’s Sunday aftern—”
“Randall, stop. You need to start recognizing sarcasm and ridicule.”
He mumbles something profane, then: “I am done with you. You understand? Done running around and getting you information like some administrative assistant.”
“Your addiction available? Put it on the phone. It has a far better sense of judgment.”
He presses his mouth against his phone, says, “What would you say if I told you I’m making new friends, that I might not need you and your washed-up father and your nutcase brothers anymore, that I went to a competitor and they were interested in my product.”
Poor Randall. He has no clue how useless he’s become, how expendable he now is, how he should be enjoying every last moment he has with his family. “Best of luck with that,” I say. “And let me give you a heads-up: My obvious indifference should concern you. Any chance you’re bright enough to finally realize I was your lifeline all these years?” I hear a car drive down his street.
“Any chance you realize another family might be interested in what I know about all of you?”
I wish he could see the contorted face of annoyance I’m making, wish he was within my grasp so I could toss him around a little for old time’s sake. “You know nothing, you cacasodo, but let me explain something: I kept you alive. Any other family’s gonna take what they need, then toss you in the waste bucket.”
“Yeah? We’ll see. I’ll just—”
“Look, I don’t really care, Gardner. In fact, I hope whatever family you plan on working with is patient when they finally free your wife and children of the burden you’ve cast upon them for all these years.” I take a deep breath and remove my glasses, wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “I need one final piece of information from