defensively. “I won’t hurt her, son. Cammie won’t hurt her. None of us will. That’s not what I’m getting at. She was a child then. She had no idea what she was doing. When Charter had her, I’m sure they brainwashed her into believing she was doing the right thing. I don’t know if I can fault her for that, either. She’s an adult now, though. Clearly, the guilt eats at her. I’ve overheard her tell you several times she won’t do it again, she’d rather die than hurt someone else. That’s what I want you to think about. Think as long and hard as I did when Richard called me. If the time comes, are you willing to respect her decision, let it happen, if that is what she truly wants?”
I started to answer him, and he waved me off. “This is between you and her, not us. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. I’ve lived through enough death due to Charter and their fucking shot. I also lived through the loss of your mother, and I can tell you without a doubt, outliving someone you love is a pain unlike any other, and if she decides to let go, if you lose her, just know I’ll be there for you. Missing out on your childhood, watching you grow up from afar in order to keep you safe, that was as hard on me as losing your mother. I’m sure you’ve got mixed feelings, and sometime soon, when this is all over, we’ll sit down and talk about that. You’re here, you’re alive, I know I did the right thing, but I’d appreciate the opportunity to try and make up lost time with you. I want to be your father. And I’ll help you through this, no matter what happens.”
His eyes were shimmering with moisture when he finished.
I wasn’t sure if I should hug him, hate him, or tell him I forgive him. I could only nod.
“Go to her now, son. Stay with her as long as you can.”
I took a radio, two pairs of headphones, and a handgun with me, a 9mm Ruger.
19
For the next two hours, we let them surround us.
Dozens of them. White vans, white trucks, white cars, SUVs. Over the small radio sitting beside me on Stella’s cot, the reports came in at a steady clip. The vehicles lined Rankin Boulevard and Kenmawr Avenue on the opposite side of the tree line beyond the railroad tracks. They weren’t visible from Carrie Furnace, not even from those watching on the roof, but Dunk’s people saw them from the blinds perched high up in those trees. The vehicles parked, but nobody got out. Their numbers were estimated to be around one hundred and fifty based on the number of vehicles and possible occupancy, but that was only a guess.
Several boats docked in the Monongahela River at our backs, too. We had no way to know if they were part of Charter, but Dunk had people watch them, just the same. I heard his voice several times over the radio, but he didn’t make it down to the bunk room. I couldn’t fault him for that. He had his hands full.
Stella slept.
Not a relaxing sleep, but the kind filled with low moans and heavy sweats, the kind you wake from only to roll over and find yourself trapped deeper in the sticky mess that is a fever dream. She mumbled in that fitful state, mostly unintelligible. I did hear my name a few times, Oliver, too. At the sound of my name from her lips, I perked up, only to be disappointed again when I realized she was still asleep. I wanted to wake her, but I didn’t dare. Something told me whatever waited for her on the opposite side of the wall that is sleep was far worse than the torment her body raged on her now, and I had no intention of being the one to bring on whatever came next.
Cammie’s little girl, Darby, fluttered around. At first, I caught her little head poking around the corner of the doorway, her blonde curls framing her face and large blue eyes. She disappeared when she realized she had been spotted, only to return about twenty minutes later to watch again. An hour or so after that, she brought me a glass of water. When I thanked her for it, she smiled back, curtsied, and ran back toward the bunk room. Snacks followed—some crackers