AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No,” I say. “I didn’t know. But that’s still not a good enough reason to shoot him.” Once upon a time it might have been, but not anymore. Now he is more than President Lattimer. He is Bishop’s father.
“Yes, it is,” my father says. “It’s more than enough reason.”
“That’s not why you’re doing this,” President Lattimer says quietly, startling me. I’d almost forgotten he was capable of speech, all my attention centered on my father and the gun in his hand. “At least be honest, Justin.”
“For God’s sake, Matthew,” Erin cries. “Don’t make it worse. Don’t goad him.”
President Lattimer glances at Erin, something like an apology skating across his face. “This has never been about Westfall. Or the way I run it. Not for you, Justin. It’s always been about Grace.” The sound of my mother’s name seems to suck all the air out of the sky like a held breath, the gasping seconds before a bomb explodes.
“Don’t you dare say her name to me,” my father says. “You have no right.”
“I have every right,” President Lattimer says. “I loved her, same as you did.”
“You let her go! You killed her!” my father roars. His eyes are suddenly wild, the gun pressed so hard against President Lattimer’s temple that I can see the surrounding flesh turn white. Behind me, Erin moans.
It won’t do any good to disagree with my father about who caused my mother’s death. I already tried that once and it got me nowhere. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say instead, trying to keep my voice calm, willing the shaking in my hands to stay there and not travel up into my vocal cords. “It was over a long time ago. She’s gone, Dad. And she wouldn’t have wanted this.” I take a deep breath, my eyes meeting President Lattimer’s. “She loved him. More than anything.” More than any of us, I think, but manage not to say.
“Yes,” my father says. “She loved him, and he betrayed her. He broke her heart like it was nothing. Married someone else like it was nothing.”
“It was never nothing,” President Lattimer says. “Do you think it was easy for me? Watching her marry you, have your children? Do you think you’re telling me anything I haven’t told myself a thousand times? You think whatever you do to me will be any worse than the day I found her dead?” President Lattimer’s voice is so raw, so naked, that it makes me want to look away, like I’m witnessing some intimate moment between my mother and him.
Tears are running down my father’s face. The moisture makes his dark eyes glow. Snow is catching on his hair now, giving him a crown of white. He looks like a madman. He looks broken in a way I have no idea how to fix. He’s not pressing the gun as hard against President Lattimer’s temple now, but I’m not fooled. I know my father. I know how strong his hate burns.
“Doing this won’t change anything,” I say. “The Westfalls aren’t going to take over. That dream is gone, Dad. But we can leave here. Make a life outside Westfall. Start fresh.” This has been my secret hope since the moment I decided to return to Westfall. But now, saying the words out loud, they sound ridiculous, futile in the face of so much painful history.
My father shakes his head. “No. I’m never leaving.”
My heart sinks. “If you ever cared about me, Dad, even a little,” I say, “please let him go.”
“Of course I care about you, Ivy. Of course I do.” My father’s face crumples. “I love you. You’re my daughter. I wanted so much more for you, for all of us.”
They are the words I’ve needed to hear, to believe, for so long. But they are too late. They aren’t going to be enough, for either one of us. In my bones I already know there is no way to stop this, but I have to try anyway. “Then put the gun down, Dad. Killing him would only be vengeance, not justice.”
My father stares at me, and I fight to hold his eyes, but his gaze slides back to President Lattimer and our brief connection is lost. “Then vengeance is what he deserves,” my father says. He shoves President Lattimer forward, aims the gun at the back of his head.
President Lattimer looks at me, a faint smile on his lips. He doesn’t seem resigned to his fate, so much as at peace with it. “Your mother would be very proud of you, Ivy.” His eyes shift to Bishop, glow with love. “The same way I’m proud of you.”
“Dad,” Bishop’s voice breaks.
“I’m so grateful you and Ivy found each other,” President Lattimer says. “I know Grace would be, too.” He looks at Erin. “And I’m sorry you always had to live in her shadow. That wasn’t fair to you. I wasn’
t the husband I should have been.”
“It’s all right, Matthew,” Erin says, her words clotted with tears. “I know you loved me the best you could.”
“Turn around,” my father says.
“Don’t,” I say, but my voice is swallowed up by the wind, by the force of my father’s grief and rage.
“I always loved her,” President Lattimer says, turning to face my father. He keeps his head up, his voice strong.
“Not enough. Not as much as I did,” my father says and pulls the trigger. President Lattimer’s forehead explodes in a flash of blood and bone. One second he is a living, breathing man, a husband, a father, the keeper of my mother’s heart, and the next he is a lifeless body, already gone.
“No!” Bishop yells. I stagger up the steps, then stop when I see my father still has the gun in his hand. He’s swinging it in Bishop’s direction, and I try to move into his path but I’m too slow, my feet clumsy with shock, my hands slipping on the icy railing.
There’s a whistle through the air, a sound I know, but can’t place, my brain working at half its normal speed. A bolt hits my father in the throat, knocks him backward, blood already spouting from the wound. He slides down the front of the house, leaving a trail of dark gore against the brick.
It feels like I’m observing from outside my body, detached and numb, as I turn my head and see Caleb standing on the lawn, just lowering his crossbow. Ash is next to him, her face contorted with tears. I pivot away from them, watch as Erin slips through blood and snow to President Lattimer’s prone body. She presses her face into his chest, and her wails reverberate in the air, stabbing against my brain like knives. I would cover my ears but can’t find the strength to raise my arms. I look at Bishop, his shock-wide eyes and pale skin probably a mirror of my own. He collapses on the top step, his face buried in his hands.
