34 Sara Caroline

The thing about having your mother in rehab was it gave Sara Caroline more freedom than she'd ever had in her life. After her dad had picked up her and Preston from Aunt Libby's and brought them home, she'd barely seen him. She and Preston were living wild and free. The only adult in their life right now was some big dude named Mr. Chad, who'd drive them to school and then back home in his ridiculous black Hummer. So embarrassing! Dad called him a work friend, but she noticed that Mr. Chad did a lot more than just driving. He'd stay outside their house most nights, smoking cigarettes and walking around the pool and the fence line. Some other guy, who looked almost exactly like Mr. Chad, muscled and ugly with a bushy beard and hunting clothes, would sometimes replace him. She wasn't sure where her dad went during the day and most of the night, but he left her a credit card. She and Preston ordered takeout like fiends and stayed up late watching R rated movies (all four Fast Furious!) and a few Disney shows to even things out. She may be fourteen but still loved watching Kim Possible and the show with the Jonas brothers.

She got out the cereal in the morning and even made pancakes for Preston. She did the dishes, watched TV, and listened to her iPod while snooping around their big, empty house. Since the summer she'd really been into Katy Perry. She loved "Teenage Dream" and "California Gurls" and how Katy Perry seemed to just not give a shit and really loved life. She was completely outrageous with the blue hair and cherry cupcake bra. She was a hell of a lot better than that boring, sad-ass music her parents liked. The Dave Matthews Band? Please.

That afternoon, she was surprised to spot her dad's Land Rover in the line to pick her up at Hutch. He hadn't said a word about Mom since they'd visited her down in Mississippi. She had looked so weak and vulnerable, but Sara Caroline knew that was all part of the process. Her boyfriend Russell's mother had a friend who went to a rehab center in Vail after being addicted to sleeping pills. He said she came back completely clean but now was hooked on cigarettes and black coffee, talking about Jesus all the time.

She opened the rear hatch and tossed in her lacrosse gear and jumped up front in the passenger seat. He had some of his dad music playing loud, one of his favorites. Hootie and the Blowfish, "Hold My Hand." She looked back at the girls waiting in line as he drove off. She hoped like hell none of them had heard that corny-ass song.

"I'm sorry, but some stuff has come up," he said. "You need to tell your friend Russell he can't come over tonight."

"Why?"

She'd been planning a fun Friday night with Russell all week. They were going to watch Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. And if her luck held out, she'd send Preston upstairs to bed early and maybe they could make out a little. She'd been so used to having her freedom and running the house that she'd never thought anything would change. Did she want her mom back? Sure she did. But rehab took time. Right?

"Mr. Chad and Mr. Bob will be helping us out tonight," he said.

"Who's Mr. Bob?"

"The man who's been driving you to school all week."

"I thought that was Chad."

"I guess they are very similar," he said, cutting through traffic up to Poplar. A light rain starting to fall.

"I don't like either of them," she said. "They smell like cigarettes and crappy hamburgers."

"Life is hard and unfair, Sara Caroline," he said, eyes fixed on something far ahead. "My father told me that when I was about your age. And you need to know that now."

"Oh, I know."

"Do you?" he said, giving a short little laugh. "You and Preston grew up a lot different from me. You don't have to worry about anything."

"I worry all the time," she said, annoyed her father would say such a thing to her. Like she lived a charmed life or something. Her mother was a drunk and she was practically raising her little brother. "When is Mom coming home?"

"Not for a while," he said. "But I want to keep you both safe. And that may involve us leaving Memphis for a while. Is that okay?"

"Like vacation?"

"Sort of," he said. "There are bad people who'd like to see some harm come to me and my family. But I won't let that happen. That's why Mr. Bob and Mr. Chad have been around. They're the best of the best and have worked with me for a long time."

"Building things?" she asked. "Like, they do your construction projects?"

Her father didn't answer and took a hard turn onto Poplar, turning on his lights and the windshield wipers. His car stereo still going, rolling onto something new from his playlist. "Crash into Me." Such shitty, sad sack music.

"Was it hard?"

"What's that?" he said.

"Growing up."

"Yeah," he said. "I've been on my own since I was Preston's age."

"You never told me that."

"Your mother and I didn't want you to worry," he said. "But your mother has made a real mess of things lately. She's not fit to look after you and that's why it's best to leave for a little while. You've never really traveled abroad. I think it would be good for you to see other countries."

"Like in Europe?"

"Have you ever wanted to see the United Arab Emirates?" he said. "Dubai?"

"Not really."

"It's a very modern city," he said. "They have indoor surf pools and indoor snow skiing. I think you'd have a ball."

"I thought it was just like nightclubs and whores and stuff."

"There is a private school there," he said. "For American children. It's a great opportunity."

Sara Caroline couldn't breathe for a moment. School in Dubai? And leaving her mother in that awful place in Mississippi. She wanted to speak up, say something, but it was like the words wouldn't form in her mouth. She held on to the armrest as her father darted up and around cars faster than she'd ever seen him drive, fucking Dave Matthews Band blaring from the speakers.

"I won't leave Mom."

"You don't have a choice."

"You can't make me."

"Of course I can," he said "I'm your father."

"This is awful," she said. "Mom was right."

Her father quickly pulled off Poplar into a little neighborhood and slammed on the brakes, nearly throwing Sara Caroline into the windshield. But she caught herself against the dash, her pulse racing like a maniac. Her hair scattered across her face and she couldn't breathe for a moment. Just choking sounds in her throat.

"About what?" her father said. "What did Mom tell you?"

"She said you were a liar."

"What else did she say?"

"I don't know," she said. "That's it. You're going to be late to pick up Preston. Quit it. Just stop talking to me."

Her father reached out and grabbed her arm, nearly yanking her from the seat, and looked at her hard. "Don't lie to me."

"You're hurting me."

"What did your mother say about me?"

"Nothing," she said, pulling her arm away and staring straight ahead. She hated her father more at that moment than anything. "But you're being a fucking asshole and I hate your shitty music. Dave Matthews sucks balls."

Her father shook his head and let out a long breath, slamming the SUV back in drive and turning around in someone's driveway. It was a nice little house, one story, with picture windows framed by green shutters and rosebushes out front. It looked like a quiet, simple place to live without so much empty space and big closets and a dirty, dark basement that seemed to go on forever.

Her father turned onto Poplar and turned up the music. Dave Matthews wailed on.

Sara Caroline told Russell that tonight wasn't going to happen. Russell acted all gloomy and ridiculous about it, making it seem like it had something to do with that one time he tried to go up her shirt. He'd attempted to unlatch her bra and she'd slapped his face.

"Russell," she said. "Shut up and listen to me. My dad is going to make us leave Memphis..."

There was a knock on the door and her dad peered inside. "Dinner."

That was all he said. No apologies. Just "dinner." Like she was some kind of dog, and he was rattling the bowl down in the kitchen. Whatever. She pulled on a hoodie, tucked her head inside, and trudged down the great, dramatic staircase to their brand-new and finally finished kitchen—although in all honesty it looked the same as the old one—where she saw Chad and Bob sitting on opposite sides of the family table helping themselves to giant cartons of coleslaw and beans and an aluminum tray stacked with ribs. From the nearby sacks, she could see they'd stopped off at Granddad's Bluff City Barbecue for a free meal. Sara Caroline thought the gesture was gross and tacky considering Granddad's current condition.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sit down," her father said. "We eat as a family."

"A family?" she said, watching as Preston snatched a rib off the pile along with a mountain of white bread. "Whose family?"

"I already talked to Preston," he said. "I want both of you to pack tonight. We leave first thing in the morning. Don't bring anything along that you can live without. Okay? Two pieces of luggage. No more."

Preston beamed. "We're going on a trip, S.C.!"

"No shit," she said. "To the fucking desert."

The sound of Chad and Bob eating the ribs made her sick to her stomach, so much sucking, slurping, and smacking. One of the men—Chadbob—wiped his greasy beard on his forearm tattooed with We the People in cursive. Set alongside his chair was a very big, black gun.

The man followed her eyes and then continued to slurp the meat off the bone, taking a second to wink at Sara Caroline.

She cried herself to sleep and awoke to the sound of men yelling and glass breaking. Her dad was downstairs somewhere barking orders. She heard gunshots—a long, loud stream of shots—coming from outside. Like in her backyard. She jumped to her bare feet and ran into Preston's room. Her brother shivered on the floor with his hands over his ears. She grabbed him by his pajama top and pulled him into the closet. He whispered: "Dad says they've come for us."

"Who?"

"I don't know," he said. "He said for me to stay in my room."

"JesusfuckingChrist."

ChaCha ran in and began to lick Sara Caroline's face. She smoothed down his curly hair and hugged the dog close. "We have to go," Preston said.

"Go where?" she said. "You just said we have to stay."

"Did Dad tell you about the safe room?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Preston? People are shooting at our house."

"Come on," he said. "Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking," she said. "How can I panic when I already peed my pants?"

Sara Caroline and Preston, ChaCha hot on their heels, ran down the hall and the great staircase into the entryway, her father and Bob and Chad yelling about securing the house, locking down the perimeter. It all sounded like something from one of Granddad's old Westerns, saving the house from a tribe of wild Apache. None of it seemed real until there was more shooting and the windows cracked apart in the living room. ChaCha barked like crazy as her father screamed at her and Preston, telling them to go back upstairs and then Preston said something about the safe room. Her father said "go" and they ran to the cellar door and pulled it open to head down into the darkness. Just then Bob—or was it Chad?—made a giant oofing sound and pirouetted from behind the kitchen island, landing flat on his back, blood coming from his mouth.

She tackled her brother to the ground, lying flat across his back like she did when he misbehaved and she threatened to lick his cheek. Her heart was racing, and her ears felt like they were filled with cotton as the back of the kitchen—all that detail trim work and paint that her mom had gone on and on about—just shattered into a million pieces. Her father fell down beside her and reloaded a handgun. For a few seconds, she could hear absolutely nothing. That's when she noticed her feet were bleeding and smearing blood all over the newly sealed floors.

"It's the fucking Russians," her dad said.

Russians? What fucking Russians?she wanted to ask. But there wasn't time. They hurriedly stood up and Sara Caroline followed Preston and ChaCha down the creaky old steps and past the laundry room and into the doorway that separated the new from the creepy old space that smelled like decaying bricks and earth and where all great toys went to die. "What are you doing?" she said. "We need to help Dad."

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you."

And then he did, running past a cluttered stack of Barbie Dreamhouses and Thomas train tables, toward a far wall where a heavy metal shelf had been pulled out, revealing a half-open door, bright white light spilling from behind it. She was out of breath, wincing at the sharp pain of glass in her feet. More gunshots and heavy steps came from above. Inside, a row of monitors lined the wall. Open folders and stacks of different-colored money lay on top of a computer desk. "What in the hell is this?"

"Dad is a hero," Preston said.

"Dad is a liar."

"No, he's not," Preston said. "He's saving us."

She grabbed Preston by the shoulders and then pressed her hands against his red cheeks, sandwiching his sweaty little face. "No. You saved us, Preston," she said. "Dad nearly got us killed. Mom was right. Mom knew everything. Everything she said about him was true."

Preston walked back to the steel door, pulled the tool rack back in front of the doorway, and then shut the secured door behind them. She heard the hiss of a lock and the lights went dim for a moment. ChaCha made it his duty to sniff around all four corners of the safe room. "What did Mom say about him?"

"What is this place?"

"Dad calls it the safe room," he said. "But Mom said it's a fucking arsenal."

"Maybe it's both."

"I'm sorry I cussed," he said.

There was an odd quiet for a few moments and then more footsteps above them, sounding like an entire football team tramping on the floor above in game cleats. They heard one muffled shot—both of them clutching each other and recoiling with the sound. And then another. The men upstairs yelling, but not in English.

Preston started to cry. She hugged him tighter. ChaCha pushed his wet nose between them.

They stayed down there for what felt like forever until the footsteps and the heavy guttural talk stopped. The house had been fully silent for a good twenty minutes when she asked Preston to open the door.

"What if they're still here?"

"I want to check on Dad."

"He's dead, S.C.," he said. "You know he's dead."

"Stay here," she said. "Don't open the door for anyone else but me."

Sara Caroline walked back out into the cellar and then to the laundry room, listening for the smallest creak in the ceiling above her.

She silently moved up the steps and into the kitchen to find a complete mess. Mom's so-called dream kitchen full of holes, cabinets hanging loose by one hinge, and her beloved subway tile shattered behind the new stove. The man Bob or Chad—Sara Caroline didn't feel bad that she hadn't cared enough to learn his name—lay face down by the oven. A sign by the door read "God Bless This Family."

This was seriously fucked-up. What else could you say? Damn, her feet were really bleeding. Mom was going to be pissed.

"Dad?" Sara Caroline said, calling out. "Dad."

She found another body in the living room, half-hidden under their enormous flat-screen TV. Same military-style pants and same laced boots as her dad. She clutched her hand over her mouth and stooped down to pull the TV off him. A huge sigh escaped her when she saw it was the other one. Bob. Yes, it was Bob. Bob had the scar on his cheek. Or maybe they both had scars? Either way, it wasn't her father.

She had moved on to the library and the entry hall when she heard the sirens. From the open front door she saw the flashing blue lights of police cars lined up along sleepy Belvedere Avenue. Cops crouched behind the hoods, aiming guns up the hill to the McKellar house.

She took a hard swallow. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Her fucking house was destroyed and now the cops were coming to get her.

"S.C.," Preston said, yelling from the stairwell. "Can I come out now?"

"Hold on," she said. "Everything is fine. Just close your eyes and trust me."