in all her years, I wouldn’t know, but I thought—at least, I hoped and prayed with all my heart—that even though she had Mary, she wouldn’t hurt her. And I definitely knew she wouldn’t keep her. But what I didn’t know was whether she had a partner or if she was working alone. And if she had a partner, then all bets were off. I had no idea what I was going headlong into.
I swiped at my cheeks, driving faster toward a destination she had texted me. Guilt plagued my insides. If I hadn’t come here to nanny for the Briskens, Mary would be at home, safe in Charles’s arms.
The realization that I’d put them—an innocent family—in this situation had me shaking uncontrollably.
Please. Please. Please let Mary be okay.
I rubbed at my brow, biting my lip as I pulled into the parking lot. Nothing would calm my nerves. I couldn’t count anything out, not when it came to Mary’s safety. Desperation made people do stupid things. I should know. I’d lived half my existence watching my mother wreck her life into pieces.
There was only one car in the parking lot of the high school, and before I knew it, I was gunning toward the vehicle, not sure of what awaited me.
Automatically, I took the make and model of the car, and when I slowed to approach, I memorized the license plate. Then, she stepped out of the car, and I swallowed hard as my breaths came out in shallow puffs. It was her, my mother. She looked different now. Her hair was dyed a dark brown, her white roots showing like she’d been too lazy to redo it—or more likely, she couldn’t afford it. Her green eyes—the one thing I’d inherited from her that I didn’t hate—met my gaze with a coolness that chilled me to the bone.
My eyes flickered from her to the car, searching for my girl and any sign that she was in there. I was about to jump my mother if she didn’t tell me when, suddenly, sweet Mary waved at me from inside the car, her face pushing up against the window in the backseat, her smile bright and shining like the sun, as though it were a perfect day.
I couldn’t even describe what it felt like, seeing her in that moment. Like my world had shattered and come back together in one swift second.
“Mary …” My word whooshed out in one big rush.
I waved at her and approached slowly, assessing the situation to see if my mother had a gun on her. She’d carried firearms before, and I knew better than to think that she wouldn’t have one on her now.
As though she could read my mind, my mother tipped her chin down and nodded. I followed her gaze to see a bulge in the front pocket of her worn jeans. My whole world bottomed out because, now, she had leverage.
Then, she nodded toward the car. “Get in, Becky.” Her voice was cheery, which didn’t match this disconnected look in her eye.
I debated on what I should do, but Mary was in the car.
“What do you want?” I snapped, slowly heading for the car.
I’d never felt so helpless. Living in foster care didn’t hold a candle to how helpless I felt in this moment. There was nothing I could do. There was only one choice I could make. If I wanted to keep Mary safe, I had to go with her.
“I’ll tell you once you get in the car,” she snapped, fake cheer all gone.
I shivered as I opened the backseat door of the car, and once inside, I pulled Mary into my lap. I crushed her into me, and she giggled as if she didn’t have a clue that everyone who loved her was searching the city. Her laughter was rich, a glorious sound, the best sound, like the symphony playing at the opera house, like the church bell ringing right before mass.
My lips pressed to the softness of her hair, and I shuddered against her, relief washing over me. Not full, total relief, but a fraction of it. I was with her, my Mary, my girl.
Because she is mine, and I’m never letting her out of my sight again.
“You missed me. I can tell.” She laughed, completely oblivious.
Tears outlined my eyes as I held her close. I didn’t want to show fear, to show relief that she was safe, to show her the desperation I felt, the need to get her away