Ford Read online

  But there was that grace thing that people usually groped for when a loved one died. And yeah, she’d loved her mother, so maybe she should imagine her sitting on a cloud somewhere, dancing to Heart—It was nothing at all—and looking around to see if any of her former boyfriends had shown up in the stars.

  It seemed pretty far-fetched, and honestly, to Scarlett, grace felt very inconvenient to the victims, the ones left wrecked.

  After all, there should be some rules for grace. Who got it, for example, and how much. So maybe she’d have some compassion for her mother—she’d at least tried.

  But a person like Axel Montrose shouldn’t get even a smidgen.

  Not after he’d killed her mother.

  Of course he’d died in the crash, too, which Scarlett should probably feel bad about for Gunnar’s sake.

  Her half brother stood beside her dressed in a pair of dress pants and a T-shirt, the only clean things she could find for him. He wore his curly blond hair hippie style—long and tucked behind his ears—probably because her mother hadn’t bothered to cut it.

  Now the preacher was asking the motley crew surrounding her mother’s casket to join hands. Gunnar, his baseball coach, Craig Ferril, and his wife, Ellen, who happened to be Gunnar’s second grade teacher. The preacher’s wife, out of courtesy, and Scarlett. Axel’s parents were dead, as were her own grandparents. Scarlett hadn’t a care what the state did with Axel’s body, but her mother had deserved something.

  A simple casket, a grave dug in the Rockland, Idaho cemetery with a view of the pastureland and mountains to the north and west, the smell of manure drifting in the summer air, mixing with the scent of wild roses that grew like weeds near the church.

  Maybe someday Scarlett could afford a marker.

  Gunnar clutched Scarlett’s hand, his small and dirty in hers.

  He hadn’t spoken since she arrived four days ago. She’d fetched him from the police station where the highway patrolman had taken him after he’d found the little boy home, in Rockland, alone.

  The state patrol could hardly report the death of his parents to a seven-year-old boy, so Gunnar had given them his half-sister’s name. They tracked Scarlett down in San Diego the very day the rest of her life had started.

  The day she passed her entrance physical readiness test—her PRT—to become a Navy Rescue Swimmer.

  There Mom went again, destroying her future.

  Scarlett hated Rockland. A tiny spit of a town on the southern border of Idaho, a couple hours north of Salt Lake City. She’d only visited twice—the last time being just weeks ago with Ford Marshall, after their deployment to Bahrain ended. How her mother had ended up here with a former convict…maybe her dreams simply spiraled out, leaving her with nothing.

  Sadly, she’d been doing so well before Scarlett left on her deployment. Had a job at the local library. Had gotten her one-year pin.

  The crowd was reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Scarlett had learned it once while staying at a foster placement when she was about Gunnar’s age. And forgive us our trespasses…

  She’d called her mother the day she returned home, heard her mother’s slurred voice over the telephone, and knew she’d slid off the wagon. Again.

  And Axel had held her hand every slippery downward step.

  As we forgive those who trespass against us…

  The sun had climbed to its peak, hovering there as it churned sweat down her spine, across her forehead. The cemetery was located next to the Presbyterian church, in a patch of drying grass, the area gated as if it might protect the internees from escaping.

  Scarlett planned on packing up Gunnar the minute they returned to the tiny rental bungalow and flooring it back to San Diego as fast as her Ford Escape could go.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the preacher said now and picked up some dirt, leaving it on the arch of the coffin.

  Craig and Ellen did the same, probably more out of condolence for Gunnar than his mother, although who knew what life Sammy-Jo Hathaway had really lived.

  The only life Scarlett knew was the one she had fled nearly a decade ago, diving into the Navy for escape.

  Gunnar slipped his hand out of hers and walked away. Craig chased him in big strides.

  Scarlett turned to the preacher. “Thanks.”

  He had kind eyes, set off by his smooth arc of head. She placed him in his mid-seventies, especially by the polyester suit, the wide tie.

  “Would you and Gunnar like to come over for lemonade, maybe some cake?” The preacher’s wife, with her graying, fluffy hair, joined him.

  It felt comical—a little party after you bury the one person who might help you make sense of the tangles of your life. Except maybe it was a celebration.

  Gunnar wouldn’t have to grow up wondering where his next meal might come from. Or if one day, one of his mother’s boyfriends would suddenly turn his attentions on him. Although, in his case, Axel was his father, so probably Gunnar was safe. However, it was hard to know with a man like Axel. So yeah, maybe this was a celebration, as harsh as that sounded.

  “No. Gunnar and I need to get on the road.”

  “Oh?” Ellen had joined them. “Where are you going?”

  Ellen was pretty, trim, and young. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail and the kind of idealism in her hazel eyes suggested she’d moved to Rockland to save it.

  Aw, Scarlett was being too hard on her. Ellen had been kind. She’d shown up at the house with a tator tot casserole and offers to help.

  Yeah, Scarlett had turned cynical in the Navy. Or maybe that was from her childhood.

  It just felt too easy to suspect ulterior motives when you were used to no one caring.

  “Back to San Diego. Gunnar probably needs to get registered for school…” Although, even as Scarlett said it, she realized she hadn’t exactly thought out anything beyond, well…

  Beyond the desperate ache to rescue Gunnar. She’d already been struggling with the snarl of indecision over leaving her mother with Axel. Especially since she’d been the one footing the bill for their decrepit lifestyle.

  Now at least Gunnar would be safe.

  She’d just have to figure out how to juggle training and deployments and…

  The indecision must have shown on her face because Ellen frowned. “But aren’t you in the Navy? How are you going to—?”

  “I’ll figure it out, thanks.”

  Scarlett didn’t mean to snap, but she’d spent her entire life untangling the messes her mother made. Surviving.

  “We could take Gunnar—”

  “We don’t need any help.”

  That shut Ellen up, and now Scarlett felt like a jerk. “Thank you, though,” she added.

  Ellen’s mouth tightened, but she nodded, glancing over at the preacher and his wife.

  Scarlett left them there, catching up to Gunnar. He stood by her car, Craig’s hand on his shoulder.

  Gunnar glanced at her, and Craig stepped away. “We have practice tomorrow, for the summer league.”

  “We’ll be gone. Sorry,” she said and opened the door.

  Gunnar slid into the front seat.

  “Are you sure he should be sitting in front? Airbags—”

  She shut the door and ignored Craig, getting into the driver’s seat.

  Craig folded his arms over his chest, and Ellen came up next to him.

  “You okay, bud?” Scarlett asked as she pulled away.

  Gunnar looked out the window, his jaw tight.

  Her mother’s house looked about the same as when Scarlett left, although with fewer articles of Scarlett’s clothing in the yard. Yeah, that had been a fun moment—when Ford, who’d decided to camp out on the porch for a week after driving her up from San Diego, had caught Axel feeling Scarlett up. She might have been able to handle him herself, but Petty Officer First Class Ford Marshall was right there, of course. Axel and Ford had mixed it up enough for her and Ford to get thrown out of the house in the middle of the night.

  T
he thought of Ford swept an ache into her chest.

  If she ever wanted to admit that she needed him, it was now. Today.

  And no, she wasn’t in any danger, but maybe that was worse. Because she couldn’t figure out exactly why she needed him. She wasn’t weak—knew better than to count on a man—but Ford had been her friend.

  That’s it. Friends. She missed him.

  She shouldn’t have waited three days to call him about her mother’s death. But she’d been focused on the fourteen-hour drive to Salt Lake City, retrieving Gunnar from the state patrol office, securing them a hotel room, then returning the next day to deal with her mother’s remains and finally driving them home to Rockland.

  By the time she’d called him, Ford had already been spun up and out on some top-secret op. Her call went directly to voicemail.

  She didn’t leave a message because it just felt lame to leave “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but see, my mother died” on a voicemail.

  As if she might be looking for sympathy.

  Which she wasn’t, thank you. She just needed an ear. Someone who understood because he’d met her mother—and Axel.

  Ford wouldn’t judge her for the things that might come out of her mouth.

  Scarlett reached across the seat and touched Gunnar’s knee. “It’ll be okay, buddy. Go, pack up the toys you want to take and grab your pillow. We need to hit the road.”

  Gunnar didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at her either as he got out and walked across the patchy, yellowing grass to the tiny green bungalow.

  She got out and followed him inside. Her mother possessed little of value. Scarlett had already boxed up the clothes for donation, and probably she’d just tell the church to dispense with the other belongings.

  Inside, she retrieved Gunnar’s clothes from the dryer, shoving them into a plastic bag. The kid didn’t have much, but at least now it was clean. She should probably find some pictures too. Maybe a memento, although if the kid was like her, he’d want to start clean.

  Except, Gunnar wasn’t her. Hadn’t spent his life on the road, following one boyfriend after another, always praying and hoping they might land someplace longer than six months.

  Or if they did, it wouldn’t cost her pieces of herself.

  This was the only home he knew. And she was about to uproot him.

  But she wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t going to abandon him.

  “Gunnar, let’s go.” She found him sitting in the middle of his room holding a baseball, running his thumb over the seam.

  Oh, Gun. She sat on his bed, then scooted to the floor. “You’ll like San Diego. It’s on the ocean, and you can learn to surf and swim and we’ll visit the zoo.”

  No response.

  “Did you know they have a professional baseball team there—the Padres. I could take you to a game…”

  He shrugged his shoulder.

  “Listen. I have a couple weeks of leave before I have to leave for training camp…”

  Oh wow. Because even as she said it, she heard herself.

  Training camp.

  There was no way she could be a Rescue Swimmer. Not and take care of Gunnar.

  She’d have to leave the military. Scarlett leaned back against the bed, scrubbing her hands down her face. Oh, she wanted to punch something.

  Gunnar threw the baseball, hard, into the plastered wall. The sound jerked her head up.

  The ball stuck there, mortared into the broken plaster.

  Outside, gravel crunched, and she walked over to the window, pulled aside the polyester curtain, and spotted the Ferrils’ Caravan.

  Now what?

  Hopefully they weren’t delivering another casserole. She walked outside and stood on the porch.

  A police car pulled up behind the Ferrils, and Scarlett stiffened.

  Ellen and Craig weren’t getting out. Instead, an older woman, heavy set, with dark hair climbed out of the cruiser.

  A female cop emerged from the driver’s side. She wore her long blonde hair tied back under her hat, had the gait of the law, expecting trouble.

  Oh, for crying in the sink, what mess did her mother leave behind?

  “Are you Scarlett Hathaway?” This from the heavy-set woman. She carried a manila folder, and something about the way she clutched it in her grip felt like it might be a paper grenade she was about to hurtle Scarlett’s direction.

  “What’s going on?” Scarlett asked.

  “I represent the State of Idaho, and we’re here to take custody of Gunnar Montrose.”

  For a second, the words simply bounced off her, incomprehensible.

  “What?”

  “I’m a social worker. Anita Benning.” She came up to the porch, holding out her hand. Scarlett didn’t take it.

  “Custody? No, that doesn’t make sense. I have custody of Gunnar.”

  The woman nodded, as if she were trying to be nice. “I’m sure this will all get sorted out, but we have no record of anyone listed as his next of kin—”

  “What? I’m his half sister. Ask them.” She pointed to the Ferrils, who still sat in the car, a couple of cowards.

  “They’re the ones who called and alerted us to the child’s situation.”

  She had half a mind to step off the porch and give them a reason to be afraid.

  Stay. Calm. She wasn’t her mother or Axel or even the person inside who was screaming.

  She knew how to put on the right face, find the right words.

  Thanks, Mom, for that, at least.

  Scarlett smiled. Schooled her voice. “The child’s name is Gunnar, and he’s my mother’s son. It’s true that Axel was not my father—thank God—but Gunnar does have family. Me.”

  “And you’re in the Navy?”

  “Petty Officer Second Class.”

  “Active duty?”

  Scarlett just looked at her. “Serving your country, keeping you safe every day, hoo-yah.”

  Okay maybe she didn’t need that part, because the woman’s eyes hardened.

  “Are you married, ma’am?”

  Scarlett drew in a breath. “I don’t need to be married to take care of a child.”

  “And when you’re deployed? Then where does he go?”

  I’m going to leave the Navy. The words nearly tipped her lips.

  Nearly.

  But somehow she couldn’t spit them out.

  Because if she freed them into the open, they might become real.

  Ten years of service, halfway to retirement. She’d had so much more ahead of her. Had worked her tail off to qualify for elite Rescue Swimmer training.

  It didn’t matter. She wasn’t abandoning Gunnar. “Listen, he needs family right now. And I can give him a home—”

  “This isn’t forever, Miss Hathaway.”

  “Petty Officer Second Class.” Scarlett didn’t know why suddenly that felt important.

  Benning gave her a look. “Yes. Agreed. And when you’ve figured out exactly how you’ll give Gunnar a stable home environment, then we’ll review your case. Until then, the state will care for him.”

  The state.

  She glanced at the Ferrils, still watching from the van.

  Oh.

  Gunnar had come out onto the steps, the door closing behind him.

  Scarlett turned, wanting with everything inside her to scoop him up, kick Benning in the teeth, and make a run for her Escape.

  But she’d been on the wide-eyed end of family drama too often. And with the cop standing behind Benning, this could get ugly.

  She crouched in front of Gunnar and drew in a shaky breath. “I think you need to live with the Ferrils for a little while, buddy, while I figure things out in San Diego. I promise, I won’t leave you. I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back to get you, and we’ll…visit the zoo and the ocean and go to a Padre’s game, just like I promised, okay?”

  Gunnar looked past her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Craig had gotten out of the car.

  She pulled her brother t
o herself, holding on, mostly for her sake because he didn’t move.

  But when she let him go, he met her eyes, his wettened.

  Oh, now he decided to cry? Her throat thickened.

  “Be good, bud. I love you.”

  She got up and moved around behind him. Benning reached out for his hand, but he ignored her and walked off the porch toward Craig.

  The betrayer tousled Gunnar’s hair and opened the Caravan door.

  “Wait—his clothes,” Scarlett said.

  “We have clothes for him,” Ellen said from her open window.

  Right. Of course. Scarlett bit back something nasty. “This isn’t over,” she said softly to Benning.

  The woman ignored her and returned to the cruiser.

  Scarlett stayed on the porch long after they left, watching the dust settle on the road.

  She finally walked inside to grab her gear, taking one more pass by Gunnar’s room.

  The baseball was still lodged in the wall. She walked in, pried it out, and carried it out to her car with her duffel bag.

  She set the baseball in the console between the seats.

  So much for grace. Apparently, Axel wasn’t the only one who’d struck out.

  She picked up her phone, considered her contacts for a long moment, then she pressed Send over Ford’s number.

  Stupid, silly, desperate, and frankly, she didn’t know why she was calling him.

  Maybe she just needed to hear his voice, help her figure this out.

  Once upon a time, she had his back.

  And he had hers.

  No man left behind.

  The call rang and rang and rang, finally dumping over into voicemail.

  Apparently, that team motto no longer applied to her.

  Still, she stayed on after the beep, hoping she might find words. But the air in her chest was leaving her, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  She hung up. Put her hand to her chest to feel her heart hard against it.

  When you’ve figured out exactly how you’ll give Gunnar a stable home environment, then we’ll review your case.

  Stable.

  Home.

  She hadn’t a clue how to give him something she’d never had herself.

  Scarlett put her car into drive and headed south, the sun falling behind her, leaving a trail of bruises against the sky.