39 Addison

"You're a short, pathetic asshole and I'm embarrassed we're even related."

"Wow," Branch said. "Just wow. There are two sides to this, Addison. You really want to be pissed at me for taking care of your kids while you and Dean work through all your bullshit?"

"All our bullshit?" Addison said, stabbing her finger into Branch's skinny chest. "Dean kidnapped me and locked me up in some hellhole in Mississippi. I may have never gotten out of there thanks to you. All you did was facilitate his lies about me being a drunk and a pill popper. You put my children in danger. I know you and Dean are good butt buddies, with your stupid matching Land Rovers and your little bro getaways. But Dad taught us one thing, and you goddamn well know it."

Branch didn't say anything, but he knew the answer: family always came first. They were standing on the front stoop of his little colonial in Chickasaw Gardens, a house that neither he nor Libby could really afford. Addison knew her brother was in debt up to his eyeballs and had been cooking more than the ribs at Bluff City Barbecue. He'd been taking money out of the equity her dad had built up over the years just to pretend he was a big shot.

"You were out of control," Branch said. "I was doing what I thought was best."

Branch crossed his arms over his chest, eyes wide like a scared little bitch. Branch could never ever take criticism. Addison loved her late mother dearly, but she had committed the cardinal sin of many mothers of sons and made Branch grow up thinking he was truly special and unique. Branch Hassan was about the most average person she'd ever known. Medium size. Medium intellect. Never worked hard for anything or appreciated how hard their father had worked to give them a solid and stable life.

"People were killed in my home," she said. "In my fucking home, Branch. With my children there."

"I know," Branch said, looking her in the face. "Are you blaming me for that, too?"

"Forget it," Addison said, pushing past him and heading back into the house. "We're out of here. Kids. Kids! Pack up. Get your stuff. We're leaving. Your uncle can go fuck himself."

Preston was laid out on the couch watching ESPN GameDay with his twin cousins. Sara Caroline had run upstairs with her aunt Libby as soon as Addison confronted Branch about siding with a con artist and a killer over his own damn sister. What is the one family rule? Maybe he didn't even know anymore. Dean wasn't family. He wasn't anything. He was a goddamn sperm donor.

Preston didn't complain, already used to moving from house to house, and bounded up the steps to get his gym bag and video games. Sara Caroline was another story, looking down from the banister. "I'm not going," she said. "I'm fine here. With Aunt Libby."

Addison had pretty much reached her ultimate damn limit. All the wonderful, compassionate advice from Dr. Larry was sent to her mental incinerator. She walked halfway up the steps, leveled her finger at her daughter, and said, "I said, right fucking now."

Libby put her arm around Sara Caroline. "She's fine here, Addy," she said. "No trouble at all."

That's Libby, all smiles and manners while the world turns to shit. A Southern woman to her core who'd never talk about a problem straight on. Asking How'd you like your coffee? while the damn kitchen was on fire.

"Libby, thank you for finally getting your head out of your ass and telling Mr. Hayes where to find me," she said. "But when it comes to my own kids, you can politely fuck right off. I'm not staying another minute with people who stabbed me in the back for no good reason."

"Addy."

Addison waited with her keys in the foyer. Preston and Sara Caroline wandered down a few minutes later with their backpacks and duffel bags. Addison had slept hard on their couch until sunup and hadn't quite organized her thoughts when Branch had wandered in and offered to make breakfast, acting like absolutely nothing had happened and all was right in the world.

"Addison," Branch said, speaking to her now from the living room. He couldn't look her in the eyes. "I didn't know. How the hell could I have known?"

"They held me down, Branch," she said, wiping her eyes. "They strip-searched me and locked me in a room. Is that what you wanted? Was I such a threat with my chardonnay that you had to step in? Jesus. Fuck off, Branch. I can't even stand to look at your stupid face. Dad would be so fucking ashamed of you."

Addison slammed the heavy old front door so hard that she heard a picture fall off the wall, the glass shattering.

Preston was in the back seat. Sara Caroline in the passenger seat. Addison started the Escalade and backed out of the driveway, circling back and then out of Chickasaw Gardens.

"Great," Sara Caroline said. "Just awesome, Mom. Now we have no place to sleep."

"Maybe we can get a hotel," Preston said. "With a heated pool."

"No," Addison said, tired. So fucking tired. "We're going somewhere safe with an old family friend."

God love him. Alec Dawson had prepared for their arrival.

He'd bought Zapps chips, Tostitos, and Cokes for Preston and hummus, pita chips, and a little crudité platter for Sara Caroline. He said if they wanted dinner, they could order pizzas or go out (although none of them felt like going out). He'd put Sara Caroline up in Ellie's room and gave Preston a large guest bedroom downstairs. The room was unfurnished except for an inflatable mattress and a flat-screen television. Alec bragged to Preston that he got every single channel available including all the different ESPN and movie channels. "Just don't go all the way up into the five hundreds, some of those movies might be inappropriate," he said.

"How inappropriate?" Preston asked. Excited.

"Keep to the cartoons, bud," Addison said.

Alec closed the door to the room and walked with Addison into the open living room of the somewhat empty McMansion. The fire was going again, a cozy contrast to the dark gray day outside. While Alec went out to the woodpile, Addison helped herself to a nice bottle of cab that Alec had bought for her. After all the bullshit she'd endured in her faux rehab and then finding her home shot to shit, she believed she deserved a drink.

She kicked off her running shoes, her ridiculous Louis Vuitton luggage still by the front door. The television was off and the room wonderfully silent. No more talking or the draining fear that she'd never see her kids again. No more threats and intimidations from Dean. Dean was stuck in whatever mess he'd made. He could have gotten their kids killed. She might've been locked away in that shithole for years. If it hadn't been for Porter Hayes, things could have gotten much worse.

Alec appeared and set down an armload of wood by the stone fireplace. He had on a black cashmere sweater and tan cords with a pair of worn-in hunting boots. It struck her that she'd never heard Dean ever mention duck hunting until he'd moved to Memphis with Addison. And then he became obsessed, later acting as if he'd been born in the marsh, shooting ducks with his father. All of it a lie, but she'd never called him on it. She thought he was inventing memories for a man that Dean had told her in his weaker moments that he hated. I hated my father. He was the most cruel man I've ever known.

"Is that wine okay?"

"Best wine I've ever had."

"You're kidding."

"After what I've been through, I would've settled for Boone's Farm."

Alec smiled and came over to the big L-shaped couch and took a seat by Addison. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in. God, he smelled good, like woodsmoke and old leather. Susan must've been as horrible as Addison had heard. The guy had gone grocery shopping for her kids. He had offered them his home. Last night, they'd been in a safe room with Russian killers coming to get her husband. Her husband. The thought of that cruel little shit made her face flush.

"Porter didn't want me to come over here," she said. "He wanted to put us up at a Radisson in Olive Branch."

"I can't imagine why you didn't take him up on that offer."

"Sounded great to Preston," she said. "He heard it had a pool."

"I'm glad y'all came over."

"I didn't know who else to call," she said. "My brother is a fucking dick."

"Yes," Alec said. "He is."

Alec leaned over and kissed Addison on the forehead. The thought that she had ever been intimate with Dean made her physically ill. Being with Alec made her feel less dirty somehow, less the absolute idiot she'd been for the last fifteen years of her life.

"Do you remember that time you pushed me down frat row in a shopping cart someone had stolen from the Big Star?" Addison asked.

"We'd stolen a bunch of crawfish from the Sig Ep house and you were tossing the tails at people like Mardi Gras beads."

"How did things get so fucking crazy?"

"We grew up."

"Did we?" Addison said. "Really? Maybe I'm older, but I feel the same. How the hell did I get mixed up with a guy like Dean? Or whatever the fuck his name really is."

Alec just smiled and looked at her empty glass. "More?"

She nodded. Alec got up, got the bottle, and refilled the glass. He walked over to the fire and stoked it a bit before standing up and looking at his phone. Alec turned to the bank of windows facing the rear of his property, which looked out on cleared space for a neighboring house that had never been built. "I'm afraid it's going to rain all night."

"I don't want to go anywhere," Addison said. "I want to sleep for a week."

"You're safe here," he said, taking a seat beside her. He reached his arm around her and pulled her in close. "You all are safe."

Alec had ordered pizzas and the kids had eaten at the dinner table as Addison lay on the couch. Michael Caine was on TV, tied to a chair and being forced to watch a psychedelic slide show. You will forget everything about the Ipcress File. You have forgotten your name. Between the rain, the fire, and the wine, she'd fallen asleep only to awake sometime later with most of the house dark. Her head was in Alec's lap and he was stroking her hair.

She shot upright.

"What time is it?"

"Almost ten," he said. "Ready for bed?"

She was wearing blue jeans and an old Disney World sweatshirt he'd let her borrow. She stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Her kids, being her kids, hadn't even thought about cleaning up the mess they'd made. Open boxes of pizza with not much left but the crust. She was so hungry, sleeping through most of the day, that she picked up a few stray crusts and two last pieces of pizza.

"I was thinking," she said.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he said. "It's cool. You can have my bedroom."

"You don't need to do that," she said. "I obviously can sleep fine on the couch."

Alec's hair was kind of tousled and wild. His smile so big and pleasant that she just reached out and hugged him, a slice of pepperoni in her right hand. When she looked up at Alec, he moved in and kissed her full on the mouth. But then his eyes shot up and he pulled away, Addison turning to find Sara Caroline in the hallway. "Okay," her daughter said, wandering off.

"Well," Addison said. "She already suspected it."

"This has to be a lot on her," Alec said.

"The Russian murder squad, the dead bodyguards, or us kissing?"

"There's two extra pizzas," he said. "Want me to heat one up?"

"Please."

"I have both a..."

"Don't care," she said, taking a seat on a barstool. "All pizza is good pizza."

Alec turned on the oven and stood opposite her, across the bar. He reached out and touched her hand. "You can stay as long as you like."

"Be careful of what you offer," she said. "You should see my gorgeous kitchen. I'd finally gotten it updated. Fifty thousand bucks. All marble counters. Walnut cabinets. Viking range."

"What are you going to do, Addison?" he said. "About Dean?"

Addison took a breath and watched as he slid a pizza box into the oven. She was so damn hungry, she would've settled for just the marinara-stained box.

"There's something I haven't told you."

Alec waited.

"When Dean called me, he said those Russians had kidnapped him," she said. "And that he'd call me later about wiring money to some account in the Bahamas. He said someone had stolen something very valuable from him and the Russians were holding him accountable."

"Okay."

"I had no idea what he was talking about until later," Addison said. "Porter Hayes found out Dean has been waiting for some container shipped in from Turkey to arrive in Memphis. It was filled with all kinds of antique rugs and lamps. I don't know why. But it was important enough that Dean said it could save his life."

"How'd you know what was in it?"

"Mr. Hayes found the people who'd looted it down at the port," she said. "He told me what he'd found. I had to pay some man named Miss Ricky three thousand dollars."

"Miss Ricky?"

"Yep," she said. "That's what he calls himself."

"And this stuff might save Dean's life?"

Addison shrugged. "Would you think I'm a heartless bitch if I said I honestly don't give a shit?" she said. "Dean nearly got my kids killed."

"I can't say I blame you."

"You know when something like this happens, you try to figure out the person you are and the person you want to be," Addison said. "I kept on thinking about who I was before I met Dean. Who was I as a kid and when you and I first met each other? What would I be like without Dean in my life? I'm pretty damn sure I've lost myself. I'm the woman Dean wanted me to be. Do you know that piece of shit luggage by the door cost three grand? I spend ungodly amounts every month on my hair, my nails, Botox. For what?"

"So, you're not going to give this stuff back to Dean?"

"Fuck 'im."

"Aren't you curious?" Alec said. "Don't you want to know why all these people are after him?"

"Mr. Hayes expected it to be a bunch of guns but it's only some rugs and crap," she said. "He said the rugs are really nice and there are some old pottery pieces."

"Looted from Afghanistan."

"Probably."

"I mean it's all so crazy," Alec said. "None of this would have happened if Dean hadn't fucked up somehow on this deal. Would you mind if I take a look at the stuff? I'm no expert, but we've both bought a lot of antiques over the years. Maybe we might notice something that Porter Hayes wouldn't recognize."

"I doubt it."

Alec walked over to the oven, deep in thought, and walked back with a hot box of pizza. He nearly burned his hands and slid it fast right in front of her. He blew on his fingers. "Where is it?"

"Mr. Hayes has it at some warehouse downtown," she said. "He rented a truck."

"Well, I'm game if you are."

"Tonight?" Addison asked. "No way."

"The curiosity is really killing me, Addy."

"Be careful of how you say that," she said. "Do you think the kids will be safe?"

"I don't think Dean is ever coming back," Alec said. "I hate to say it, even after all he put you through, but he's probably dead."

"Okay," she said. "You're right. Let's go. I'll call Porter to meet us there."

They didn't talk much on the way into downtown. The rain had come on heavy, hammering the windshield as they merged onto 240 from the expressway and went farther into Memphis, where Alec drove past Elmwood Cemetery. The streetlights shining down onto the thousands of headstones and mausoleums matching the depressing, cold night. "My dad will be buried there," she said. "He bought four plots a long time ago. He said it was the wisest investment he ever made."

"How close is he?"

"It's bad," Addison said. "I get to see him tomorrow."

"Cancer is ruthless," Alec said. "I'm so sorry, Addy."

"So how do you think you can help me with this crap I bought?"

"I learned a lot from Susan's spending sprees," he said. "Before she cleaned out pretty much everything I owned, I'd spent nearly a million bucks in antiques. I know a good and authentic rug. I'd like to believe I could spot a fake when I see one."

"But let's say these are the finest rugs ever made," she said. "Handwoven by fairies and kissed by the gods. That's not what Dean does. Dean sells guns and men. Right? Isn't that his entire business model?"

"Pretty much."

Addison watched as they continued past the cemetery, thinking about that wet, cold ground, peering across the headstones to maybe see into that far corner where her mother was buried and her father soon would be. A matching set of the Hassans. Preston and Sara Caroline would go through a parent in rehab, a parent possibly dead, and then the loss of a grandparent. Her father was the last of the family now that Branch was pretty much dead to her.

"What's that address again?" Alec said, checking out the street signs.

Addison told him.

"Once you get this all settled, I think you and the kids deserve a vacation."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"Where's your favorite spot?"

"Dean used to take the family to Mustique," she said. "I really liked it there. But I don't think I'd like it anymore."

"Why's that?"

"I know how Dean paid for it," she said. "Blood money. Dirty deals. Everything I have feels gross. I don't want any of it anymore. I want to sell the house, give away my ridiculous jewelry, and I want Dean, if he's alive, to go to prison for the rest of his life."

"Damn, I'm sorry, Addison," Alec said. "This whole situation sucks."

"Why are you sorry?"

"It's all my fault," he said. "I could have warned you."

"You can pay me back with your keen eye for antiques," she said. "Or maybe you could use some fine rugs around your place. Not to hurt your feelings, but your house looks pretty sad. One cheap sofa and a dining room table. Just a bunch of TVs and a refrigerator for all your wine."

"Like I said, Susan didn't leave me with much."

"I'll make you a good deal," Addison said. "If you see something you like."

Alec laughed as two old brick warehouses came into view along Crump Boulevard. The security gate was rolled back and open. Porter had beaten them there, the lights already on inside one of the six-story towers.

Alec parked and they both got out. He opened his umbrella and covered Addison's head as they made their way to a loading dock and up inside the building. The first floor was a huge, open space with a U-Haul truck parked in the center of the concrete floor. It was quiet and cold in the building, the rain sweeping across the dock as they walked farther inside, industrial lights shining overhead. She called out to Porter but didn't hear anything. Their feet echoed off the brick walls as they got closer to the truck. The back of the truck was closed and padlocked.

"Mr. Hayes?" she said, calling out. "Porter?"

Four big white men with shaved heads walked around from behind the truck. They all had guns.

"Addison," a voice called from the open doors to the loading dock.

She turned. Goddamn, it was Dean. He was walking like an old man with his left hand cradled against his chest. A granite-faced man in a black cowboy hat and duster prodded him along with the end of a rifle. Dean looked dirty and disheveled. His dress shirt was covered in blood.

"Alec," she said, softly.

He didn't answer.

"Alec," she said again.

He didn't answer.

"What did you do?" she said.

Alec wouldn't look at her, turning away as Dean walked closer with the strange man in the cowboy hat. The man had a brushy mustache and very pale blue eyes. "You have good wife, Peter," the man said in a thick Russian accent. "She look like Camilla Sparv. You know this film Mackenna's Gold? So very good. Omar Sharif tries to kill Gregory Peck with tomahawk."

Dean looked over to Alec and nodded. Alec nodded back.

"I'm out," Alec said.

"You're out?" Addison said, launching into Alec with her fists. "You fucking asshole. All of you are fucking assholes."

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Addy," Alec said as she hit him with both her fists, pummeling his chest. "I have to look out for Ellie. The IRS has taken almost everything. I could go to jail."

Dean grabbed Addison by her waist and dragged her back. The Russian man reached into his duster and pulled out a very long silver pistol. Addison stopped fighting and froze in place. The man took the pistol, looking like a relic from the Old West, and pressed it to Alec's temple.

"Wait," Alec said. "We had a deal. You already transferred the money. I brought you Collinson's wife. We're done here."

"No," said the ugly Russian in the cowboy hat. "You are done here."

The Russian pulled the trigger and a big chunk of Alec's head blew off, gorgeous hair and all, and some of the blood and brains ended up in Addison's face and eyes. She dropped to the floor screaming, and Dean let her go. She began to sob, her ears full of the sound of gunshots, kneeling and screaming on the filthy warehouse floor.

When she thought she was hollowed out, the Russian cowboy walked up and looked down at her. "You are finished?"

Addison didn't answer and the Russian stepped over her to accept a pair of bolt cutters. He walked over to the U-Haul, snipped off the lock, and raised the cargo door.

Addison shook with cold fear, feeling as if she might choke. Flecks of Alec's blood and brains all over her. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

"Ole turkey buzzard flying high," the Russian cowboy sang. His men pulled out rolled-up rugs and tall golden urns. "Theme to Mackenna's Gold. So very good. It's like poetry. No?"

"You're crazy," Addison said, pushing up to her feet. Alec was dead and crumpled on the floor. He'd been so handsome, good, and decent. Right? That had happened. Or none of this had really happened. She was sleepwalking, watching something on television with Michael Caine watching a psychedelic screen. Entirely too much wine. You are not Addison McKellar. You have no name.

Dean leaned into her ear and said, "Shut your damn mouth for once, Addison, and maybe we'll get through this."