Page 17 of Rust and Bloom

"Nope. I always drove if I wanted to go somewhere. Or ended up on someone else's jet."

I won't ask who that someone else was, but it don't matter. Marcus is past tense now. Regardless if he's still breathin'.

"Well, he told me to take you away this weekend and I figured, since Colt and Destiny, and Marigold⁠—"

I don't even get to finish because she squeals. "We're goin' to Jackson!"

"We're goin' to Jackson. It's time we got a good look at that baby and worked it all out so you're not wanderin' around this big empty house all by yourself all day."

We pull ourselves back together and then Savannah goes upstairs to pack, while I call the number Cash gave me and have a very uneventful conversation with a pilot about the trip.

When I join her upstairs, Savannah is inside her closet deliberatin' on what clothes to bring. She informs me, "Each vacation day requires three changes of clothes, plus pajamas."

"Is that so?" I start stuffin’ some jeans and t-shirts in my backpack, but Savannah tuts at me, taking them away and folding them neatly before placing them into her suitcase.

"That is so."

"Well, I'm outta luck then. I only have three pairs of jeans to my name here. I'm gonna have to double up."

"Nonsense," she chuckles. "You will just buy new clothes."

"What hotel do you want to stay at? I didn't make plans because I figured you'd know what was what. I haven't ever been to Jackson."

“Oh, we're not stayin' at a hotel, Legion. We've got a house there."

"I figured ya'll did, but isn't Colt stayin' in the house? I don't think he's gonna want us bargin' in on him."

"No, he's stayin' in someone's carriage house, he said. So we've got the place. Let me call right now and make sure it's been dusted recently. They typically do clean it weekly in the summer, just in case we want to pop in."

"You have a staff there?"

"Caretakers. You have to have caretakers in Jackson, Legion."

She says that like it's the most normal thing in the world. And a few months ago, that might've bothered me a little. But not anymore.

She spends a few minutes chatting with someone called Wayne about the house as she looks over her closet, while I sit in the chair by the fireplace and watch.

I don't know what this day is.

I don't understand it.

I don't know who the man is wearin' these clothes. Wearin' boots that had to be paid for in cash. With hair that looks like a shampoo ad for men and a beard so finely trimmed it looks like it's been chiseled.

But I can't say that I hate it.

All that anger I had when Cash started spoilin' Mercy. Givin' her ponies and a new bedroom in this house. His offer to send her to a proper school with real teachers who had high expectations. Those feelings about the money are gone now.

And I know what Diesel would say. He'd say that I was changin'. That I was allowin' myself to be bought.

And maybe there's some truth to that.

But the Ashbys aren't who I thought they were and sometimes you just gotta take a fuckin' side.

Badlands had my loyalty and Brick fucked me. Not only did he send me to prison for no reason at all, he was part of the most vile thing imaginable.

I mean, I get it. Runnin' guns and drugs is bad. Yes. It is.

But runnin' people?