She looks at me, her eyes set and her jaw rigid.

"Your idyllic life is rapidly getting ugly. Is Kayla really yours? Or some child you snatched off the street?"

Her hand swings out, but mine shoots up faster, and I grab her wrist when it is just inches from my face. Anger trembles through her arm. "Don't you ever bring Kayla into any of this!" she says in a low whisper that drips with threat. "Do you hear me? Because I would cut you down so fast you wouldn't know what happened. And that's if you were lucky. Kayla's where I draw the line. She's off limits."

I don't release her wrist. I stare into her face, reading every line, every flush of color, every rigid muscle ready to pop. She would tear me in two for Kayla. I dissect her face into a thousand planes and my eyes travel over each one. Nothing is hidden. She reads faces. And I'm learning that I do, too. I hope that, like her, most of the time I get it right. For now, I only see a mixture of fear, anger, and what I think is truth. Nothing more. My grip loosens. Have I just made a complete idiot of myself? My hand falls to my side. I step away, sitting down on a pew. She draws in a deep, slow breath, and we're both silent for a long while, trying to process this new distance between us. She sits down next to me.

"I understand," she finally says. "After what you've been through, it's hard for you to trust again. But you have to try. I am not the enemy, Locke."

My gut tells me she isn't. But I'm not sure I should trust even my own gut. I've been wrong about everyone. When does it stop? We both stare straight ahead. I am still the outsider. There are too many secrets. She hasn't really answered anything.

She sighs, like she has read my mind. "I established an anonymous educational trust in your name for your niece. It passed on to her children and her children's children. Call it a guilt gift. Call it whatever you want. It was nothing honorable. It couldn't make up for anything, but it was all I could do. I knew it was the kind of thing you would do if you could. That's why I kept track of them. There was nothing dark and sinister about it."

I should be feeling sorry that I wrongly suspected Jenna, but instead I'm thinking, I had a niece, and Jenna did for her what I couldn't. I had a niece, and I never knew her. She's long dead too. I missed everything about her. Her first birthday. The color of her hair. I don't even know what her name was. Would I have made a good uncle?

Something jumps into my throat unexpectedly and I fight to keep it from shaking loose. I draw my fingers into fists, trying to hold it in.

Jenna misreads my action and blurts out, "I can't tell you the rest. For now, it's better that you not know. You just have to trust me. But I promise you, Father Andre is not a hit man." She reaches out and wraps both of her hands around my balled-up fist. A truce. I relax my fingers in her hands.

I can do that. For now.

But I'm still watching my back around Father Andre.

Chapter 52

There's a strong rap at the door. "You ready?"

I take a last look at my face in the mirror. I've never had a beard, but after five days of not shaving, I have noticeable stubble.

Another rap.

I rub my hand over the bristles. Gatsbro was a fanatic about grooming. This never would have flown with him. I'm glad I don't have time to shave. Maybe I never will again. I pull a strand of hair forward so it bobs over my eye. He would hate that too.

"Locke!"

One thing about Allys, she saves all her patience for Kayla.

"Five minutes," I call. I sit on the bed to put my shoes and socks on--heavy old-fashioned shoes of laces and leather. Jenna gave them to me. My old ones reeked, she said, and when she washed them, they fell apart. They were never meant for cross-country chases, mud puddles, or washing machines--only for plush estates and genteel games of lawn bowling.

Jenna left this morning with Kayla to run an errand. She didn't tell me what it was. Before she left, she suggested I go out with Allys to where they have some workers laying irrigation pipe. "I could use the help, and some sunshine and physical labor will do you good," she said. With still no sign of Kara, or even Miesha or Dot, she saw how tightly I was strung. All I can think is that Gatsbro got them all. Maybe I should go back. Maybe that's what he's waiting for. He knows how close I am to Kara. Maybe he will just sit tight and wait for me to come to him. The not knowing stretches me thinner. Something isn't right.

I was staring out the window, turning these thoughts over and over again in my mind, when Jenna came over and squeezed my hand just before she left. We had a wordless moment, and it filled an empty part inside me. I felt the calmness of Jenna just like I did all those times when I sought her out in that endless black hellhole. She is not the enemy, I know that, but there are still too many secrets, and I can't shake the feeling that no matter where I go I will have to watch my back for the rest of my life.

"Okay, city boy, your pants better be on because I'm opening this door!" Allys bursts through the door. "What the hell are you doing? It's practically midday. This isn't a hotel. You're going to earn your keep. Now, put some giddy in your up, and let's go. I'll be out in the truck."

She is already out the door. I smile as I tighten my last lace. She reminds me of a neighbor we had when I was growing up. Miss Simpson. My dad used to say she was all bark and no bite. I haven't seen Allys bite yet, but I suspect she can. I step it up, smoothing out the top blanket on my bed, making sure it is neat so Allys won't think I'm expecting hotel service. I think of Miesha calling Kara and me spoiled children. I never made my bed at the estate and rarely thought about how my clothes were washed or reappeared in my closet, neat and ready to wear. At home, I had to do all those things. My mom used to make a joke out of it if I assumed too much. She would talk about our imaginary maid--Rosie has the day off, so if you want clean underwear, you better get cracking. I notice my coat, freshly washed and hanging on the back of the door. It is not cold or rainy, but I slip it on anyway. I like the idea of being prepared for anything, especially since I don't know exactly where Allys is taking me. Just before I walk out the door, I pull open the top dresser drawer to grab the pack that Miesha gave me. It's gone.