Saw the red and white van pull up, sirens wailing, and the men rush inside. Saw Ray’s car, too, music blaring and two girls inside, heard T curse at him, order him to go and don’t come back. Saw the stretcher with Memaw loaded into the ambulance and T get in someone’s face, tell them he’d better fix his Maw or he’d pay good and well.
And then it was quiet again, and the lights were gone and T’s car was gone and all he could hear, all around him, was the chirp of the katydids and the hum of the mosquitoes.
He felt at his cheeks, surprised to realize they were bone dry.
Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he darted into the house, grabbed his backpack and his Bible, cleared the pantry out of every pop-top can and cereal bar he could get his hands on. He got his bike from around back, pedaled silently around the front, stopping an instant to kiss his fingers and touch them gently to the faded wooden cross at the center of Mama’s memory garden.
He used the payphone outside Mr. Allen’s store to call the hospital, not sure whether he could believe what they told him: She was alive, in intensive care, but alive. For now.
Memaw. The tears came then, just for a moment.
But then he shut them down. He had to move, had to go, get somewhere safe, somewhere T wouldn’t find him.
He knew T’d meant what he said. He’d kill him for sure, wouldn’t even think twice about it. Just to make a point, ’cause he said he would. He’d seen the look on T’s face as they knelt before Memaw. He couldn’t ever go back. Couldn’t even go to Rev or Marla, orMiss Becca, or CJ. No one was safe—they’d get hurt if they helped him. He knew it.
Think, Devon. Think. His mouth was like cotton, his heart like a hundred racecars barreling through.
Where could he go? Where was safe?
It came to him like an answered prayer. And before he could think it through, change his mind, question it, he adjusted his backpack, put his hands on the bars, and pedaled off into the night.
CHAPTER 31
Rebecca
At home the next morning, Rebecca waited until ten to call Marla about Devon, just in case the preacher’s wife slept late on her one weekend day off. But she’d barely missed her.
“She headed out not five minutes ago with three other ladies, bound for a women’s retreat,” Rev Bryant said when Rebecca rang the parsonage. “She’ll be back Sunday night.”
She sighed. “Thanks, Rev.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Rebecca hesitated; he sounded genuine. “Well, it’s probably nothing, but … I guess I’m a little worried about Devon. Marla thought he might be home sick with that virus going around. I was thinking I’d drive over to his house, maybe bring him some chicken soup.”
“You let him know I asked about him, tell him I’ll stop by after church tomorrow if he’s not there.”
“Will do.” She paused, wanting to say more, not sure exactly how to say it. I’m worried about more than Devon being sick. But the words wouldn’t come.
“You need me to come with you? Or one of the ladies from theCare Committee? I’m heading out the door to Columbia for class, but I can meet you there if you need help.”
“No, no—I’ll be fine. But thanks.”
“All right, then.” He sounded doubtful. “Hope to see you Sunday, too. You’re always welcome.”
She hung up and wandered downstairs, found Granny making a grocery list in the kitchen.
“Feel like taking a ride?”
Twenty minutes later, they were driving west on Aberville Road toward James Watkins. The day was beautiful, no rain in sight yet, and a tall container of homemade chicken noodle soup, courtesy of Smathers Grocery, rested on the floorboard at Granny’s feet.
Granny reached over, patted her leg. “I’m sure he’s fine, sweet girl.”
Rebecca cut her eyes at Granny. “I’m probably going to embarrass him, showing up at his house like this.”
“Pfff, nonsense. It’s being neighborly.”
“Well, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with that.”
