The fault was hers, and hers alone.
“Dex isn’t right in the head. When this is over and he gets what he wants, he’ll kill us. I just—” She wiped away a few tears. “Please go. Tie a couple of sheets together. I could bear anything except the thought of you getting hurt. Please.”
“What if something happens to you?” he whispered back. “How am I supposed to go on?”
“Because I love you. I will always love you. And you think about that every single day.”
“Mum . . .” Tears pooled in his eyes.
“Please . . . Please, Trev.”
He nodded, and she hugged him, amazed at how much he’d grown, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat against her ear, as she pressed her head against his chest. She wanted to remember this moment, everything about him, in case it was the last time. Finally, she pushed away. “Hurry.”
63
Frank walked in just as she turned toward the sink. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Trevor doesn’t feel well. I told him to go take a nap.”
“Any more beer?”
“Sorry. I put it on the list for Dex.”
He grunted some response, then went back to the living room, this time taking a seat in Dex’s armchair to watch the show.
Allegra, grateful the curtains and blinds were closed, returned to the kitchen, rearranging the dishes in the cupboards, trying to make enough racket that it would cover any noise that Trevor might make climbing out the window.
Twenty minutes later, as she finished scrubbing the sink, she heard what sounded like a snore. She froze. When she heard it again, she turned off the water and stood there for several seconds. There it was again . . .
The third time she heard it, she looked to the back door. It opened to a small patio area and a square of grass, where Trevor used to play when he was little. She’d have to jump the fence to the neighbor’s yard and get out that way. Once she found Trevor, they could go for help.
She didn’t even know if she could actually get over the fence. Still, she had to try, and she started to edge her way toward the kitchen table. All she needed to do was get on the other side of it, open the door . . .
If Frank opened his eyes, he’d be able to see the back door from the armchair.
What if he was setting her up?
Grabbing a dish towel, she dried her hands, casually walking toward the living room to take a look.
Frank’s head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth open.
Seconds ticked by.
Slowly she started to back toward the kitchen table. She could do this. Three more steps.
Two.
One.
As Allegra reached for the handle, the front door burst open. She dropped her hand, looked over, saw Dex, carrying two bags of groceries. A look of suspicion clouded his face when he noticed her proximity to the back door.
“Where is he?” Dex demanded.
Frank woke with a start. “What the—?”
Allegra’s heart was thumping. Dex’s eyes bored into hers, and he stalked over to the table, dumped both bags down, one of them spilling onto its side. A yellow onion rolled out, across the dark wood tabletop and to the floor.
“Trevor!” Dex called.