Earth to Emily (27 page)

Greg stood, and by the pull on my arm, I knew it was him that held my hand. He let it go. “I knew he’d come for us.”

Collin had crouched by the unmoving figure. I watched him, in a sort of daze as I continued to hug Farrah.

“He’s got a pulse,” Collin said.

Collin rolled the man to the side, pulling his hands behind his back, and cuffed him. Then he took off his own jacket and shirt and ripped the shirt into strips. He started tying them around the man’s abdomen.

I released Farrah and stood. Jack had, meanwhile, pulled out the guy’s wallet and pawed through it. He shone a light on its contents. Farrah rose and nestled into Greg’s shoulder, clinging to him. Greg rubbed her back in circular motions.

Jack clutched my left hand. “Take a look at this.”

He pointed the illuminated wallet at me. A man’s Texas driver’s license. It was hard to see in the low light, but I read the name.

“Samson.” I said it as a statement of fact. He’d tried to pretend he was the good cop, but I was beginning to wonder if there even were any besides Collin.

Greg snorted. “Yeah, Officer Samson. We saw it all. That poor truck driver told him he was done hauling stolen shit for him, and Samson pulled out a gun and blew him away, right in front of us.”

Farrah said, “But you got him, Emily. You saved us.”

“It pains me to admit that not all my brethren are as principled or as good-looking as I am, but it’s actually pretty rare that we find a dirty cop, per se.” Collin looked up. “I think he’ll live, but we’ve got to get him out of here. Mickey, too.”

I’d almost killed a cop for the second time in a day. Zero for two was something to be thankful for. Jack squeezed my hand, and I smiled weakly.

The first thing I insisted on doing when we made it back to Amarillo Sunday afternoon was take Betsy her backpack. The poor girl missed her mama, and she deserved to get this treasure back as soon as possible, before Immigration showed up. I’d texted ahead to Wallace before we left the hospital in Alamogordo. We’d camped out there with Laura until we got a glimpse of a groggy Mickey postsurgery. The bullet missed everything vital, and the doctors dug it out and patched him up. They didn’t like his loss of blood, but, other than that, they gave him a good prognosis.

Mickey wasn’t the only victim of our escapades who was in the hospital. Brown was recovering down the hall. I’d heard his wounds were really fairly minor. Samson wasn’t as lucky. Somehow, I’d shot down through his gut, where the bullet plowed through his abdomen and out his groin. He was still in surgery when we left. Collin said the cops were renaming the surgical ward the “Annie Oakley Police Convalescence Center.” Everyone laughed but me. Shooting people was even worse than shooting antelope, it turned out, even when they deserved it.

Wallace was waiting for us when we pulled up to the hangar. He had on a huge black bomber jacket and a plaid scarf wound over and over around his neck, its fringed end fluttering by his shoulder. He looked top heavy on his long slim legs in his get-up, huddling inside the door away from the frigid temperatures and gusting wind. Watching him made me realize what a seasoned flier I had become, because we’d landed in that wind, and I hadn’t given it a second thought. I had a lot of other things on my mind, too. As we drew closer to him, I saw another man behind him, a shadow across his face. I craned for a better look but couldn’t get one.

We taxied in and Jack hustled out to pull the hangar door closed. I jumped out, too, and the temperature hit me like a sledgehammer. It was even colder than in Tularosa.

Wallace met me as my feet touched the ground. His words were tough, but his face was smiling. “I should kick your ass. I should get your adoption application rejected. I should refuse to do another thing to help you with Betsy.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re so huffy about.” I batted my eyes but kept them averted from his.

“Greg and Farrah. I’m supposed to believe they got to New Mexico on their own, happened upon Jack’s ranch, coincidentally hit it off with his cousins, and convinced them to take them in, all without you knowing about it until thirty-five seconds before you contacted me?”

“You left out the part about Samson tracking them there and trying to kill them.” I heaved out my purse and suitcase. Snowflake yipped at me from the backseat. “Hold on, girl. You’re next.” I set my bags beside the plane and launched into the explanation we had agreed upon with Greg and Farrah before we left the hospital. “I was as shocked as you were. It turns out they found Jack’s place in New Mexico from the business card I gave them, you know, when I saw them in the field outside Love’s?”

“I don’t follow.”

“The card gives his office address in Tularosa, and his name.”

“That’s pretty thin.”

I pretended he’d bought my answer. “What a blessing that they’re safe, and that they’ve found a family who wants them.”

Wallace pulled me to him and hugged me so tight I made a little “woof” noise. “What, are you out to save them all now, too?” He rocked me back and forth.

I pulled my head back. He had tears in his eyes, and so did I. “There’s so many of them. But two more are going to be okay.” I smiled, and the water in my eyes made him appear glisteny and angelic.

Jack put a hand on each of our shoulders. “Are we all set to go see Betsy?”

Wallace released me, then said, “Oh, my manners. Emily, Jack, this is Ethan. Ethan, Emily and Jack.”

The man who had stayed in the shadows stepped out of them now, hand extended to me to shake, then to Jack. I got my first good look at him. He had pitch-black skin, a shaved head, and was nearly Jack’s height, but Jack outweighed him by “a sack of feed,” in Phelps’s household terminology. Ethan was whippet thin.

“Nice to meet you.” I shook.

“Likewise.” Jack shook, too.

“I’ve heard a lot about you both. So glad to finally meet you,” he replied, his voice like cognac.

“Ethan’s a gate agent for Southwest.” Wallace turned to me and wagged a finger. “We’re dating, don’t make a fuss.”

“Who, me?” I winked at Ethan.

He laughed. “I met Nadine and Phil last night. Maybe all six of us can go out together soon.”

“That would be great,” I said. I put my hand up to shield my lips and said loudly, “Wallace, he’s so hot.”

Ethan laughed again, and Wallace beamed.

Jack let Snowflake out and clipped on her leash. Then he picked up a bag in each hand. I grabbed the kennel and collapsed it.

“Follow me,” Jack said.

Half an hour later, Wallace, Jack, and I stood at the dark brown door to the Hodges’ tan brick ranch house on the south side of Amarillo, while Snowflake and Ethan waited in the car, engine running, heater at its max. The snow had stopped, but you could hardly tell because the wind still whipped it through the air. The Hodges’ home had a shroud of white over its roof, treeless yard, and flower beds. Wallace rang the bell and we waited.

I heard footsteps in the house, and a man’s voice, loud and commanding. “Mary Alice. The door.”

It opened, and there stood the woman I’d last seen in the front seat of a paneled van on Christmas Eve.

“Hello, Mrs. Hodges,” Wallace said.

Her eyes landed briefly on each of us, and her face pinched. “You didn’t tell me she was coming.”

Wallace smiled. “I’m sure I did. She’s the one who found Betsy’s belongings in New Mexico. And she works for Jack, the attorney who is handling all of Betsy’s legal matters, pro bono. Jack, this is Mary Alice Hodges. Mary Alice, Jack Holden.”

Mary Alice gave a brief nod. Jack inclined his head slowly, then raised it. Watching him made me warmer, and proud.

Wallace stepped over the threshold. “May we? It’s far too cold to be outside.”

Mary Alice stepped aside for him, and Jack followed. I slipped in behind them. Trevon Hodges rose. I recognized the graying facial hair and round face. He was burly but less heavy than I’d imagined when I saw him bundled up outside the Hodges’ van.

“What’s this?” he asked, his tone like the serrated edge of a hunting knife.

Mary Alice wrung her hands. “Betsy’s CPS caseworker has brought some of her belongings. They were recovered in New Mexico, where she came from.” She gestured at Wallace, then Jack. “This is Betsy’s attorney.”

I stepped slightly forward. “And I’m his paralegal.” I held up the dirty pink backpack. “Is Betsy here?”

Trevon stared me in the eye. “The children are all busy with chores.”

Wallace cleared his throat. “I need to fill out an assessment after our visit. This will only take a minute, if you’d get her for us, please.”

Trevon glowered and returned to his seat.

“Betsy,” Mary Alice called. “To the living room, please.”

Running footsteps moved toward us, and then my little angel appeared, slowing to a walk as she entered the room. Her eyes sought Trevon first, in a way that hurt my heart. Then to Mary Alice, gauging her situation. The woman nodded her head sideways at Wallace.

Betsy turned to him. “Hello, Mr. Wallace.”

When she saw him, she caught sight of Jack and me. She gasped, and launched herself in my direction.

“Betsy,” Trevon thundered.

She stopped, looked at him. He shook his head, his face dark.

She said, “Yes, sir,” and curtsied to me. “Hi, Emily.”

I bridged the gap between us, holding out her backpack. “Hello, sweetie. Recognize this?”

“Oh,” she squealed and reached both hands out.

“What do you say?” Mary Alice asked.

Betsy grasped the backpack and hugged it to her body. “Thank you.”

She unzipped it, and when she saw what was inside, she looked up at me. I glanced quickly at Trevon and Mary Alice. The woman had moved over beside her husband’s chair and was looking down at him. His attention was on the silent TV, which flickered a news show. I put one finger to my lips, briefly, and Betsy gave a tiny nod. She set the pack on the floor and reached in with both hands, pulling out the picture of me with Thunder and the beautiful horse from Alan’s store. She swallowed and ran her hand over the horse’s mane. “Thunder. I missed him.”

“Yes.” We smiled at each other.

She dug her hands in again, and came out with worn brushes for her hair and her teeth, some scrunchies, and a tattered set of Barbie pj’s. Then she pulled hard on something from the bottom of the inside, and I heard a tearing sound.

My mouth fell open a little, and I looked at Jack. He shrugged his shoulders.

Betsy tossed aside a dirty pink panel rimmed with Velcro. Then she fished a plastic baggy from her backpack and handed it to me. “Mama said I could never lose my backpack, because of the paper inside.”

Paper? I took the gallon ziplock baggy from her. “What kind of paper?”

Betsy lifted her shoulders. “Something important, she said.”

I examined the ziplock. There was one sheet of paper inside. I pulled the edges of the bag apart and turned it upside down. The single piece of paper fell out. My Spanish minor at Texas Tech came in handy in moments like these.

I read the words aloud. “
Certificado de Nacimiento
.”

Wallace came to stand beside me. “What is it?”

I smiled so hard I thought my face would split. “It’s Betsy’s birth certificate.”

An hour later, I sat at my desk in the Williams & Associates offices and sealed the FedEx envelope containing Betsy’s filing packet for Special Immigrant Juvenile status and adjustment to permanent residency. Jack felt sure that once we had proof of filing, DHS would let her stay in foster care pending a decision. And USCIS would owe that decision to Betsy within six months, not much longer than it should take for me to get a yay or nay on my own status as a prospective adoptive parent. That was a long time, but it wasn’t forever. The wheels were turning now, and there was every reason to be hopeful.

“You’ll drop it in the morning?” Jack asked.

“I’ll be waiting when they open.”

He smiled at me, one side only, and retreated back down the hall to his office, Snowflake trotting behind him. I wiggled my mouse, and my screen woke up to the picture of Betsy. I was back on track to becoming her mother. Adoption. Parenthood. Heavy stuff. A lifetime commitment. Or it was supposed to be, anyway. I wondered for the umpteenth time why my father had chosen not to keep his commitment to me for the last decade. I still couldn’t make up my mind whether to call him back and find out. I picked up my phone and held it in my hand, staring at it, not dialing his number. Instead, I called Laura for an update on Mickey. He was resting well, and she said he had more nursemaids than he knew what to do with, in her and the teenagers formerly known to her as George and Frannie and now going by their real names of Greg and Farrah.

I ended the call and picked up a page I’d printed from the USCIS website on the Special Immigrant Juvenile status decision process. Almost instantaneously, I heard a knock at the door to the offices. Snowflake tore down the hall, yapping and spinning. Thinking it couldn’t be anyone other than Wallace coming to check on Betsy’s application, I kept reading my printout as I walked across the room. At the last second, I looked up and through the window.

Officer Burrows waved at me through the glass. I unlocked the door and opened it, but didn’t move aside. Snowflake lunged at his ankles, dodging, feinting, and sniffing.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.” His tone was one I’d never heard from him before. Friendly. Conciliatory.

“What are you doing here? My boss, Jack, is just down the hall.”

“Good. I came to thank the two of you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I have some things to tell you that I think will help you understand what’s going on.”

I stood aside to let him in and put my desk between us. He shifted back and forth beside the couch.

Jack’s heavy boots on tile gave away his approach before he appeared beside me. Snowflake ran a few laps around Jack then went back to inspecting Burrows.

“John Burrows.” The officer stuck out his hand.

Jack shook it. “Jack Holden. Thank us for what?”

“I moved from the Plainview PD here to work undercover for the last few months, trying to bust the smuggling operation. I couldn’t have wrapped it up so quickly without all that you guys did.”

My mouth dropped. “But I thought you were a rookie. That you were training with Samson.”

Snowflake jumped onto the couch and put her head on her paws.

He smiled. “So did he.”

“So you were investigating
him
?”

“Pretty much. Samson managed to do most of his dirty work when I wasn’t with him, but we’ve suspected he was involved for some time now. I was certain of it when he hacked and monitored your phone—”

“He
hacked
it?”

“Yeah.”

Jack folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels, a smug grin teasing up the left corner of his mouth.

No wonder Samson figured out I had the kids. And he had to have been the one who called Byron. Found the kids in New Mexico. The blood drained from my face. Got to Ivanka before I did. I put a hand to each cheek and shook my head. It hurt me to think that talking to me had led to a woman’s death.

“Wait—do you know anything about the missing dancer?”

He rubbed his lips together like they were chapped. “Yeah, someone reported it Friday. She turned up at a wedding chapel in Vegas.” He shook his head. “I met her a few days before that. Busted her for drug possession. She seemed like she was heading down a bad path. I hope the nuptials are a good sign, but somehow I don’t think so.”

“But at least she’s alive, that’s good. Better than Ivanka, or the dancer still missing from last summer.” I was relieved, especially for Nadine, who had been understandably concerned about the average life span of employees of the Polo Club, such as herself. I lowered my hands and made a rolling motion with one.

“Oh, she’s not missing.”

“What?”

“She’s dead. Wu killed her.”

“Who, whoa, whoa, back up. None of this is making sense.”

Burrows grinned. “Wu was Samson’s enforcer. Samson had Wu in his pocket because he knew Wu had ‘accidentally’ killed his dancer girlfriend, supposedly a rough-sex thing. He’s still working for Samson, or he was until we busted him this morning. Anyway, when Freeman threatened to rat Samson and Wu out, Wu tried to strong-arm him, and Freeman fought back. Wu and Samson slapped assault charges on him to discredit him.”

“Oh my God.”

“I’ll bet you’ll never guess who Samson’s little sister is, either.”

“I have no clue.”

“Mary Alice Hodges.”

“Oh my God,” I shouted. “That’s how she sicced you guys on me so fast.”

“Yep. And I had to go along with it, with all of it. Samson was always wary of me. The big stuff, like running the smuggling operation in Amarillo, murdering the guy at Love’s and then ‘Ivanka,’ framing your client to get his cooperation—those he did when I wasn’t around. I did my best to shadow him, but it was hard to do without tipping him off, especially once Emily started poking around.”

“Hey, I think I did some good.”

Burrows clapped me on the shoulder. “Without even getting yourself killed. You guys managed to bust this whole thing open from the other end.”

Jack put his arm around my shoulders. “That was all Emily.”

I looked at him, locking eyes at close range. This was the guy who hadn’t called the cops on my father, even when he suspected him of the robbery at Wrong Turn Ranch. He’d given him a first chance, and a second. Like he’d given me. The knot of tension inside me eased further.

“No, it took all of us to figure it out,” I said. My father, Alan, Greg, and Farrah. And Ivanka, may she rest in peace. Stella, Ava, Mickey, Collin. “And barely soon enough for Greg and Farrah.”

Jack tightened his grip on me, and I relaxed into him.

“So anyway, Samson will be charged when he’s coherent. When he’s well enough, he’s looking at the rest of his life in prison, where things aren’t very pleasant for cops.”

“Good. He deserves it.”

“I hope you don’t think all cops are like him and that guy in New Mexico, Brown, who’s already been charged, I understand. You’ve seen the bad side of things, but by and large, we’re good people.”

Jack added, “Doing a hard job.”

“You could have fooled me the last few times I’ve run into you,” I said, but I smiled.

“I was trying to keep you safe and protect the operation without blowing my cover. You’ll see the real John Burrows from here on out.”

“That’s good to hear.” I smiled, then frowned again quickly. “We’ve got to talk to Alan, Jack. This may change everything. Wu is dirty. He has no credibility.”

Jack said, “Yep. Might not happen overnight, but we’ll fix it.”

“I hope so.” To Burrows, I said, “So, are you going back to Plainview now?”

“Nope. I’m a full-fledged member of the APD.”

“Good. I feel a lot better with you around.”

Jack returned to his office while I chatted a little longer with Burrows. After he left, I stomped around the office, making as much noise as I could. Jack and I had gone straight from the airport to see Betsy and back to the office. I didn’t have my car, and I was counting on Jack for a ride home. He didn’t seem to notice my hints. After another fifteen minutes of waiting around, my stomach growled.

I leaned against Jack’s doorframe. “Are you planning on taking me home any time soon? If not, I can call my mother.”

He jumped to his feet. “Sorry. Clyde emailed me for a status report. He saw the news.”

“Clyde emails?”

Jack’s dimple did its thing. “He dictates them to Betty.”

I shook my head. “That woman is a saint.”

Jack grabbed his coat off the back of one of his conference table chairs. He stuck his hand in one of his pockets and rooted around. He nodded, then shrugged on the jacket. “Let’s go.”

The drive out to Heaven was a quiet one except for the wind whistling as it buffeted the Jeep back and forth. White powder blew in almost a straight line across the road, except during the deep gasps between gusts. The heater struggled to keep up with the cold outside. The interior was warmish, but the pockets of air near the windows stayed below freezing, and the side windows frosted over.

We pulled up to my mother’s house.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess. If the weather doesn’t get worse.”

Jack turned off the Jeep. “I want to pay my respects to Agatha.”

“It’s freezing. You don’t have to do that. I’ll pass the message.”

He grinned at me, and the left side of his face came alive, jumpstarting me with it. “I’ll race you inside,” he said.

I shook my head, but when he bolted out the door, I scrambled after him, laughing. I slipped and slid up the walkway in my ancient moon boots. I reached the porch first, but only because Jack stopped to grab my suitcase from the backseat before taking off for the house.

I knocked the snow off my feet. “I win.”

The door opened before I could turn the knob, revealing the figure behind it.

Johnny Phelps. My father.

***

I still couldn’t believe the couple sitting on the couch holding hands was my parents. They looked much the same as my child’s eye remembered them from last time they’d sat with me, although Dad had aged far more in fifteen years than my mother. His strong, broad frame had withered to half its size. He’d kept his hair, but it was nearly white. Deep furrows creased his face and age spots covered the backs of his hands. Still, he held his head high and his shoulders squared. His light blue eyes sparkled as he looked from Mother to where I sat on the hearth with Jack and back again, like he was surrounded by Cracker Jack prizes and couldn’t believe his luck.

Mother was trying to explain it all to me. “Your dad called me a few weeks ago. When he got out.”

“You knew he was ‘in’?”

“Yes.” She smiled at the man beside her. “About a year after he, um, took up residence there, he wrote to me. And to you.”

I jumped to my feet. “He wrote to me?”

“He did.”

My dad nodded. “Once a week ever since the second year.”

Mother smiled, but it was a shaky one. “I kept them for you, dear.”

My voice came out as a screech. “Why didn’t you give them to me before?”

She frowned. “Your father left us, he humiliated us, and his being in jail only made it worse. He was in jail because he
killed
someone. What would Rich have thought? His family? Your friends? Your employers? I didn’t want you hurt. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“More like your friends. Your church. Your employer.” I turned to my father. “And you were okay with that?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know. I thought you weren’t answering. I didn’t blame you.”

I paced back and forth in front of them. I whirled on my mother. “I was a grown woman. You deciding for me? That’s not okay. Not okay!”

She hung her head. “I understand that now. I’m sorry.”

Dad put his other hand over their clasped ones. He looked at me. “Sweet Pea, I was pretty angry at your mother, too. But I’ve thrown away a lot of my life, spent it apart from the ones I love. I don’t have time to be angry anymore. I forgave her, and she forgave me.”

I sank back to the hearth and put my head in my hands. Jack slipped an arm around my waist. I couldn’t wrap my head around this. The father who had deserted me really hadn’t. The mother who didn’t leave me had kept him from me, out of supposed misguided intentions, or, more likely, bitterness. And now they’d kissed and made up like the last decade didn’t matter? Maybe it didn’t to them, but it did to me.

I lifted my head, glaring at both of them. “So this”—I pointed at their clasped hands—“came about how and when?”

Dad lifted their hands. “Well, she started writing me back a few years ago. Then, when I got out, I called her. Asked if I could come see her.”

Mother beamed. “He got here Christmas.”

I made a growling noise. “And, just like that, you forgave him, after all these years angry at him, all those years keeping me angry at him, too?”

She cocked her head at me. “He’s my husband. Your father. I love him.”

They looked at each other like two teenagers. Mother giggled. She
giggled
.

My father touched their hands to his chest, one, two, three times. “And we won’t waste another second.”

“Amen.” She put her head on his shoulder.

I scraped my teeth over my bottom lip. “So I’m supposed to forget how you struggled, Mother? Or that I couldn’t understand why my father didn’t want to see me win Southwest Region Champs my senior year at Tech? Or give me away at my wedding?”

“Well, that didn’t work out so well, dear.”

I glared at my mother. “That’s not the point. The point is how do you propose we forget all of this?”

Her blue eyes made big
O
s. “We don’t. We just move forward.”

Dad stared at his knees or his feet or something on the floor away from my face. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Emily. For everything. I’ve got so many regrets.”

“Well, at least you’re sorry.”

“Emily—” Jack said.

I turned on him, reclaiming a bit of my earlier anger. “What about you, Jack? Are you sorry? Sorry for hiding things from me and lying to me?”

His face lost color. “Uh—”

I jumped to my feet again. “How come you all think I’m so fragile, that I can’t handle the truth?”