Page 30 of Trapper Road

“Or at least as long as it takes for someone to google her,” I point out. It’s the sad reality of our hyperconnected world. It makes it nearly impossible to keep secrets.

“About that…” Sam hesitates, choosing his words. “She registered for the weekend as Lanta Cade, using my last name.”

“Oh.” I don’t know how I feel about that. I love that she feels close enough to Sam to borrow his last name, and I appreciate that she anticipated people figuring out who she was otherwise. It was pretty smart of her, actually. It makes her less of a target, but it makes me feel like she’s slipping away somehow.

I know it shouldn’t matter what name she chose. After all, we’ve had several different names over the years while we were on the run.

Of course, Sam knows me well so he anticipates what I’m thinking. “You don’t need to read any hidden meaning into it. She just didn’t want to spend all weekend answering questions about Melvin.”

“I know,” I grumble.

“She’s going to be okay. And don’t worry, after I dropped her off, I parked and walked around to check out the dorm she’s staying in and drove past the row house that’s hosting the party tonight. The dorm requires a swipe card to enter, and while I was watching, no one held the door for anyone they didn’t recognize. Plus, the college has a robust and visible campus security, and there are blue light phones all over the place.”

I appreciate that when it comes to our kids, he’s as paranoid about their safety as I am. He’s truly embraced his role as their dad.

As if to prove the point, he asks, “How’s Connor doing?”

“Hard to know,” I tell him truthfully. “Given the way he’s been acting, you’d never know anything happened. But at least we have a respite from the press for a bit. He doesn’t have to worry about reporters banging on the door and bombarding him with questions.”

“Has he said anything more about the shooting?”

“Not a word. I can’t decide if I should press the issue with him and make him talk about it or give him space and let him come to us when he’s ready.” I hate how lost I feel with my own son these days, like he’s becoming a stranger before my very eyes.

Sam thinks about this for a moment. “What’s your gut telling you?”

I let out a snort. “I wish I knew. My gut and I don’t seem to be on the best speaking terms lately, or else I would have known to put my foot down about Connor hanging out with Kevin.”

“You can’t blame yourself about Kevin,” he tells me. “None of us saw that coming.”

“I know.” I don’t sound convincing. The reality is that the signs were there: Connor’s change in attitude, his surliness. I just chalked it up to typical teenage growing pains. But there were other signs I missed, and that’s what truly eats at me. If he and Kevin had gone out shooting, he would have come home smelling like gunpowder. I should have noticed. If I had, I would have known immediately something was seriously wrong.

I should have been more vigilant. In the past, I would have been.

“If there’s one thing I remember from being a teen, it’s that if there’s something they really want, they’re going to find a way to get it. Connor’s a teen boy. He’s trying to figure out who he is and his place is in the world. If you’d put your foot down, it might have pushed him farther away.”

“It would have protected him.”

“You can’t protect them forever, Gwen. At some point they have to learn to protect themselves.”

“This from the man who just offered to tail his own daughter to a party.”

He laughs. “I didn’t say it was easy to let them go or that I was any good at it.”

That he feels the same primal instinct to protect our kids as I do makes me love him even more.

I let out a long sigh. “I don’t want them to grow up and have to face the world. At least, not the one that’s waiting for them. The one that’s already painted a target on their backs because of who their father was.”

“I know,” he says, voice soft and serious. “But it’s better than not growing up at all.”

It’s hard to tell whether he’s thinking about his sister Callie or Juliette or maybe even both. Sometimes I wonder if part of why I’m drawn to missing persons cases is out of atonement for Melvin’s crimes. He stole the futures of so many young girls, and every case I solve feels like I’ve earned back a little of the futures he took. Maybe not for the girls he killed, but for someone, somewhere, that has no one else to fight for them.

“He’s a strong kid, Gwen. He’ll get through this.”

He’s right. I just wonder if this is something that he should be able to get over so easily. It’s a reminder of how traumatic his life has already been.

“So what are your plans for the evening?” I ask him, shifting topics.

He sighs, and I hear something in the sound of it that puts me on edge. Something’s bothering him, I can tell.