Rebecca arrived forty minutes later.
She barely stopped her car before jumping out.
“Mom!”
Margaret looked up.
For one terrible second, there was no recognition.
Then her face brightened.
“Rebecca?”
Rebecca ran to her.
Mother and daughter embraced.
Luke turned away to give them privacy.
Even Bear looked toward the ground.
Rebecca held Margaret as if she were afraid she might disappear again.
“I've been looking everywhere.”
Margaret began crying.
“I was trying to go home.”
“I know.”
“Your father is waiting.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Luke expected her to correct Margaret.
She didn't.
Instead, she kissed her mother's forehead.
“Tell me about Dad.”
Margaret smiled.
“He'll be angry I'm late.”
“He was never angry with you.”
“Oh, yes, he was.”
“When?”
“The time I backed his truck into the mailbox.”
Rebecca laughed through her tears.
“You told me Dad did that.”
“I lied.”
For several minutes, mother and daughter laughed together.
Then Rebecca spoke privately with Luke.
He gave her the envelope.
She examined the documents.
“I didn't know she had these.”
“Frank did.”
Rebecca frowned.
“That's what scares me.”
A deputy arrived soon afterward.
Frank had escaped.
The cruiser lost him several miles away.
Rebecca explained everything she knew.
Frank Dillard had worked for Margaret and Thomas for almost eight years. After Thomas died, he continued maintaining the Fairview property.
When Margaret's memory began deteriorating, Rebecca discovered irregularities.
Cash withdrawals.
Checks Margaret didn't remember signing.
Repairs that apparently never occurred.
Frank denied stealing anything.
Rebecca fired him.
Two months later, she decided to sell the Fairview house because Margaret had moved into assisted living.
Frank repeatedly offered to buy it.
His offers were suspiciously low.
Rebecca refused.
“Why does he want the property?” Luke asked.
“I assumed because he thought he could flip it.”
The deputy examined the deed.
“Could be.”
Margaret suddenly interrupted.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She was staring at the document.
“Tom said never sell the north field.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Mom?”
“The north field.”
“What about it?”
Margaret became frustrated.
“I can't...”
She struck her forehead lightly.
“I hate this.”
Rebecca took her hands.
“Don't.”
“I know something.”
“Take your time.”
“Tom found something.”
Luke listened.
“What did he find?”
Margaret stared into the distance.
Then the memory disappeared.
“I don't know.”
That evening, Rebecca planned to take Margaret back to Tulsa.
But Margaret refused.
“I want to go home.”
“Mom—”
“My house.”
Rebecca tried explaining that the house was empty.
Margaret became increasingly upset.
Luke finally suggested something.
“Why don't we take her?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“To Fairview?”
“It's only thirty minutes.”
“Her car isn't drivable.”
“I've got a truck.”
Bear raised his hand.
“And six motorcycles.”
Rebecca stared at him.
Bear shrugged.
“Convoy.”
Against her better judgment, Rebecca laughed.
An hour later, they arrived at the Holloway property.
The house stood at the end of a long dirt road.
It was beautiful in a tired way.
White paint peeled from the wooden siding. Wild grass covered the yard. A red barn stood behind the house.
Margaret became silent.
When Luke helped her from the truck, she stared at the porch.
“Home.”
Rebecca watched her mother carefully.
Margaret walked toward the front door.
She touched the railing.
“Tom built this.”
Her fingers traced the wood.
“He was terrible at carpentry.”
Luke smiled.
“You said he could fix anything.”
“Machines.”
She looked offended.
“Wood was another matter.”
Inside, the house smelled dusty.
Furniture remained covered with white sheets.
Photographs lined the hallway.
Margaret and Thomas at their wedding.
Rebecca as a child.
Christmas mornings.
Birthdays.
Ordinary pieces of a life that had once filled every room.
Margaret stopped before one photograph.
Thomas Holloway stood beside a yellow 1968 Mustang.
“That car.”
Luke looked.
“Nice.”
“Tom loved it more than me.”
Rebecca smiled.
“He sold it when I started college.”
“No.”
Margaret shook her head.
“He hid it.”
Rebecca frowned.
“What?”
“In the barn.”
“Mom, the barn is empty.”
Margaret looked directly at her.
“No.”
There was unusual certainty in her voice.
“There's another door.”
Luke and Bear exchanged glances.
They walked toward the barn.
Inside, old tools and broken furniture covered the floor.
Luke examined the walls.
Nothing.
Then Bear noticed scrape marks beneath a shelving unit.
Together they moved it.
Behind the shelf was a narrow wooden door.
Rebecca stared.
“I've been coming here my entire life.”
Margaret smiled.
“Your father liked secrets.”
Luke opened the door.
Behind it was a small storage room.
And there, beneath a dusty tarp, was the Mustang.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Luke pulled the tarp away.
The car was immaculate.
On the windshield sat a yellow envelope.
Written across it were the words:
FOR MARGARET
Margaret's hands trembled.
Luke gave her the envelope.
Inside was a letter from Thomas.
It had been written five years earlier.
Before his death.
Before Margaret's dementia became severe.
She read aloud.
“My Maggie,
If you're reading this, then either you finally found my hiding place or I've run out of time to show you myself.”
Margaret stopped.
Tears fell onto the paper.
Rebecca took her hand.
Margaret continued.
“I know you've been worried about forgetting things. You keep pretending you're not, but after fifty-two years I know when you're afraid.”
Margaret's voice broke.
Luke looked away.
“You once asked me what happens if someday you forget me.
Here's my answer.
Nothing.
I'll remember enough for both of us.”
Margaret pressed the letter against her chest.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Luke noticed something beneath the driver's seat.
A metal box.
He pulled it out.
Inside were financial records.
Property surveys.
Photographs.
And another letter.
This one wasn't addressed to Margaret.
It was addressed to Rebecca.
Rebecca opened it.
As she read, her expression changed.
“What?”
Luke asked.
She handed him the paper.
Thomas had discovered something beneath the north field.
Not oil.
Not buried money.
Something more valuable in a different way.
A natural underground spring.
A bottling company had offered Thomas nearly two million dollars for water rights.
Thomas refused.