Then it’s time to move. I’m on my way downstairs when I notice my mother at the threshold of adoorway. She’s watching the men get ready through the window with a nervous expression.
“I don’t have time to talk right now, Mama,” I say coldly. “Duty calls.”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I breathe through my latent anger. “He had a strong hold on you,” I concede, giving her a way out. “Ican’t be surprised that it extended past his death.”
She flinches back at the statement, but she doesn’t say a word. Her face is as unreadable as ever.
Once I’m outside, the men file into the support vehicle. I’ll be driving alone in my black TitanWrangler.
“Remember,” I tell them before we disembark, “I want you to give me a mile’s berth. If I nee
