Chapter 22: The Last of Them

Jo's POV

I woke up alone, with the door open a crack and the sound of a man shouting on the lawn.

I knew the voice.

I put on Anson's shirt and walked to the front window without turning on a light.

Davis stood in Dot's front yard in the glow of his own headlights.

He had a pistol in his right hand, pointed at the grass.

Anson stood on the porch steps in his jeans, with both hands held out and open.

"Put it down, Davis."

"You ruined me!" Davis screamed.

His voice broke on the last word, high and wet.

"Dad called at midnight. He said I'm cut off, and it's all my fault!"

"That isn't my doing."

"It's all of you!" He swung the gun toward the cottage.

"Tilda's filing for divorce. Everyone I know has blocked me."

"I had everything, and you took it for a girl who couldn't even die right."

The words went through me.

I did not step back.

I walked to the front door and opened it.

Anson's head snapped around.

"Jo, no."

"It's all right."

I stepped out onto the porch in his shirt, barefoot.

I turned my left wrist out, plain in the porch light.

Davis stared at me.

The barrel of the gun wavered between us.

"Look at it," I said. "You're not going to hurt me, Davis."

"Don't."

"Your hand is shaking. You don't even know how to hold that."

"Shut up!"

"You couldn't look at me at your own wedding," I said. "You can't do this either."

He looked down at his own hand.

It was the only second he took his eyes off me.

A pair of headlights swung into the yard behind him.

A car door slammed.

"Davis Prescott!"

Dot came across the lawn at a dead run in her wide green coat.

A wooden rolling pin was raised over her head.

I have never seen anyone move so fast at sixty-three.

"Where in God's name did you get that?" Anson said faintly.

"I keep one in the car now," Dot panted, over her shoulder. "Since the wedding."

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