I held back the tears. Unless, like Puppa said, I had smoke in my eyes. Was there a chance my mother had somehow accepted God’s love, even in an airborne Ford?

I slowed for the turn down my driveway. A rusty white Suburban was just pulling out. I stared at the driver, taking notes on the curly brown hair and handsome GQ face. Our eyes met as we drove past one another. I angled down the two-track, squinting to see his license plate as he headed toward Port Silvan.

HOT1. Easy enough to remember. Hopefully, the driver was a friend of Joel’s just checking in. But there was the chance he was one of Drake’s buddies. I stepped on the gas, afraid of what I’d find at home.

I slid to a stop, threw the car in park, and headed inside.

“Missy? Joel? Anybody here?”

Before I panicked at the silence, I looked out toward the lake. Relief flooded over me. They were building sand castles at the shore, the four of them. The guy in the Suburban could have been a tourist checking out the area. No need for alarm.

I packed a basket full of lunch goodies and joined the gang at the beach. We were still playing in the sand when Samantha showed up midafternoon. She came down to the water’s edge, ignoring my wave.

She gave the group a terse hello. “Can I talk to you a minute, Tish?” The tone of her voice made me want to run the opposite direction.

“Sure.”

We walked back toward the lodge in silence. Once out of sight of our friends, she lit into me.

“You are the most immature person I know. What are you thinking messing with my stuff just because we had a disagreement this morning? I don’t feel safe with you tampering in my bedroom behind my back. I’m sure Missy wouldn’t feel safe either after what you did. I won’t tell her this time, but please don’t ever do it again.”

My arms flapped and my fingers pointed as I tried to defend myself without words. Finally, my mouth kicked in. “What are you talking about? I haven’t gone in your room since I got the upstairs bathroom cleaned up three days ago. Believe me, your stuff is safe from me.” I had no use for lava lamps and butterfly wall art.

“Then how do you explain this?” She stomped to her room and threw open the door.

I cringed at the mess in my mother’s old room. Mom had always kept things so tidy. Now, there were clothes strewn in piles on the floor in front of the dresser. The bed was stripped and the blankets, sheets, and comforter scattered all over the tile.

I took a cautious step toward the bathroom. Powder covered every surface as if Sam had doused her whole body, then shook off like a dog.

“Geez, Sam. Maybe you should hire a housekeeper.” I tried diffusing the situation with a little humor.

“Very funny.” She crossed her arms. “You did it. You get to clean it up. And don’t ever come in here again, or I’m leaving.”

Her offer sounded too good to be true, but I refrained from saying so. “Look, Sam. You know I wouldn’t have done something like this. It’s my house. And my mother’s old room.”

She looked me over. “You seriously didn’t make this mess?”

I shook my head. “Why would I? It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Do you think Hannah might have done it?” Her voice took on an edge of unease.

Our eyes met. I could tell Hannah wasn’t really on her list of suspects. My mind refused to follow her path of reasoning. “Let’s talk to Missy before we jump to conclusions. Maybe Hannah got out of sight for a few minutes.”

“Look at this, Tish.” She pointed at a footprint made of powder just outside the bathroom door. “That looks like a man’s shoe. You don’t think Joel was in here?”

A creepy feeling crawled across my neck. I pictured the vehicle pulling out of my driveway. Unless the driver was one of Drake Belmont’s minions, there was only one other possible explanation. Could Mr. GQ be Sam’s ex-husband? “Ummm, there was a white Suburban leaving just as I was coming home. You don’t think . . .”

Sam drew in a sharp breath. Her face took on a look of panic. “Heaven forbid . . .”

“What? What are you thinking?” I grabbed her arm.

“Nothing. Never mind.” She gave a big, fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap and worry about this later. Sorry to bug you.”

She pushed me out the door and closed it with a bang.

I hovered. From beyond the door came the tones of a cell phone dialing. There was no napping going on in there. That probably meant my suspicions were right.

I stuck my ear to the pine. Sam’s voice came low and muffled. I strained to hear the details of her call, feeling only slightly guilty for eavesdropping after she’d falsely accused me of vandalism. Her voice moved back and forth between the bathroom and the dresser. My stomach churned up an extra dose of acid. Sam was generally pleasant and perky. It had been easy to forget she’d been the victim of violence. Now, the worst had happened. Her jerk of an ex barged in and resumed his crippling power over her—just when we needed to focus our attention on keeping Missy and her kids safe.

I shuffled to the kitchen, despondent at the turn of events. The stool and countertop provided moral support while I mulled the situation.

Sometime later, Joel came in to start supper.

“Where’s Samantha? I haven’t seen her all afternoon.”

Joel didn’t know I’d already had one exile in residence before I took on the latest family of refugees. I steeled myself for a strong reaction, then told him of the day’s incident and described the vehicle, right down to the boastful license plate.

His brows scrunched. “Papa B suspected as much.” He hammered some numbers into his cell phone. “I’ll call and get the owner’s name. That should solve our mystery.”

While he contacted the state police post, I finished cutting up the salad. Then, going to Sam’s room, I gave a hesitant tap on her door. “Hey, supper’s ready. Are you eating?”

“No.” The word held the defiance of a teenager.

“Come on, Sam. You can’t stay in there forever.”

Bumping. Thumping. Scraping. Slamming.

“Come and eat. You’ll feel better,” I said.

The door opened. Sam’s shirt hung out of her waistband. Her face was swollen. She looked like she’d been dragged behind a four-wheeler.

She gave a slurpy sniffle. “I can’t eat right now. I’m packing.”

I looked past her into the room. Boxes were strewn everywhere. The lava lamp was gone. So was the yellow rug. Even the comforter had disappeared.

Rage—and a good dose of fear—built in my chest. “What do you think you’re doing? If you leave now, it would be like letting your ex control you all over again. And remember, saving Melissa was your idea. You are not ditching me.”

She picked a sweatshirt off the floor, folded it, and tucked it in a box. She bent for a blouse.

I touched her shoulder, trying a gentler approach. “Come on, Sam. We’re all in this together. We can keep Missy safe, and you’ll be safe too. Like you said, it’s kind of like the Alamo here. Together to the end.”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a depressing thought.” She folded the garment and stowed it. “I’m sorry, Tish. I really am. I thought I’d have more time. But things just didn’t work out.”

I stood there, fists clenched, wanting to wring her neck. “You are not leaving me.” My muscles jerked in frustration. “I’m telling Joel.” I twirled and ran to the kitchen.

A door slammed behind me. The windows rattled from the vibration.

Joel followed me back to the bedroom and tapped on the door. “Sam. Open up,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice.

The door opened. He went in. The door closed.

I stared at its six wood panels, fuming over the injustice of being left out. I went to the kitchen. With no Joel in sight, Melissa and I dipped into the pot of vegetable soup on the stove. Side salads and fresh bread made the meal complete. Melissa cut up a hot dog with a side of straight veggies for Hannah. Andrew got his usual runny white entrée along with a taste of mashed carrots. I told Missy as much as I could about the intruder situation, using code I hoped Hannah couldn’t crack.

“Sounds like something Drake would do. Only milder,” Missy said. She spooned another helping toward Andrew’s waiting lips.

“How are you holding up, anyway?” I asked her.

“It’s hard. I miss my life. My things. My house. You’re very kind to let us stay here.”

“I wish we had done it sooner. It seems foolish now that you had to suffer all those months when you could have been taking steps to get your life together.”

“I know. But I guess I just wasn’t ready. I’m ready now, believe me.”

“Good.” We sat in silence as the kids finished their meals.

With a final bite of her hot dog bun, Hannah wiggled off the stool and put her plate in the trash. She skipped to the diaper bag by the door and reached in. A Dr. Seuss book appeared. She settled on the tile beneath the window and began to read aloud.

Missy held a cloth under warm water and cleaned up Andrew’s pudgy cheeks. “Joel offered to drive me to Escanaba for my checkup this week. While we’re in town, I’m going to see an attorney.”

She bit her lip and gave Hannah a sidelong glance.

The girl was absorbed in her book. “. . . but the Grinch was very, very bad. He didn’t like the little Who people and he wanted to make them go away . . .” She made up words for the pictures.

Missy turned back to me. “I’m going to file.”

I nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Her voice cracked. “Do you think so? God hates divorce. It says so right in the Bible.”

“I can only believe that a loving God hates what Drake has done to you even worse than He hates divorce.”