Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
She inhales deeply and closes her eyes. “This is nice up here. I know Johnsonville’s a small city, but it always feels old and…dirty or something, you know?”
“I know it’s old and there isn’t much out there. Never thought it was dirty necessarily.”
“Not the good dirty.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Like, polluted dirty. From all the old factories that used to be out there. Water quality testing is what I do for a living, remember?”
“Ahh, right.” She never talks about her job all that much. “Why stay, then?”
She shrugs and stares straight ahead. “I can’t make Libby change schools when she’s so close to graduating. But once she’s done, I want to sell the house and just…I don’t know. Roam free?”
I’m extremely familiar with the desire to roam. “You should.”
She hums a disbelieving noise. Like it’s only a pipe dream.
“How’d you sleep last night? You know, after?”
She doesn’t move or say a word. She might have even stopped breathing.
“After I scared the shit out of you?” she asks.
“You didn’t scare me. I was worried about you.” I hesitate. Maybe this isn’t the best time or place to have this conversation. “I got the impression from Libby that you have nightmares a lot?”
She snorts out a soft noise of disagreement. “I used to. Not so much lately.”
“Can I ask what happened to your parents?” I search her face, seeking any sign she’s uncomfortable talking about it. Who am I kidding, there will never be a comfortable time to have this conversation.
Sadness tugs the corners of her mouth down and she sighs. “It’s a really unpleasant story.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I tip my head back, staring up at the deep blue sky. “But maybe talking about it in the bright light of day now, will keep the darkness away later.”
She slants a look at me. “Are you a biker or a poet?”
Prickly. She’s so, so prickly when I probe too close to her pain. It’s easy to recognize it because I’m the same fucking way.
I have no business prodding her for answers when I don’t want to share the darkest parts of my own past.
But the terror in her voice last night still follows me today. Maybe talking about it with someone unconnected to her past will help. I doubt she discusses it with Libby. She wouldn’t burden her sister with whatever demons chase her in her dreams.
She swallows hard as if she’s gathering her courage.
Such a brave woman.
“They were killed in a home invasion,” she answers in a voice devoid of emotion. “Two guys broke in. My dad shot one of them.” Her body turns to stone. Her eyes stare straight ahead, focused on a violent past, not the beauty of the valley below.
She takes a deep breath and continues, “I was out with friends. Deep into my ‘party girl’ phase.”
“Where was Libby?”
“Home in bed. Thank God they didn’t find her.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and gasps for air.
“Breathe, Emily.” I hug her to my side. “You’re okay. I’m right here.” Why’d I have to do this to her now? Here of all places.
“I got home and the front door was open.” She pulls away from me, her voice dropping into an emotionless monotone that chills my blood. “My dad was a cop. He never left anything unlocked.”
She clutches her stomach as if the memory brings a wave of physical pain. “I knew something was wrong right away. I walked in and…and…”
Jesus Christ, she found her parents’ bodies? “It’s okay, Emily. You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”
But it’s as if now that she’s opened this door to her past, she has no choice but to walk through it.
“Libby. Oh my God,” she whispers. “I was terrified they…they…hurt her too. Or took her. I couldn’t find her at first. Everything was so silent. I’d never felt a silence like that before. I searched the house, so afraid I’d run into the killers or find her, her b-body.” She squeezes her eyes shut again and a tear rolls down her cheek.
No matter how much her pain’s tearing me apart, there’s nothing I can do to erase those memories for her. It’s my question that pushed her into this dark place, so it’s my responsibility to help her through the pain.
“She’s safe now, Emily,” I remind her.
She nods but still seems caught up in the memory. “She wasn’t in my parents’ room, or her room. I crawled under her bed, her closet, the tub in the bathroom. No Libby,” she sobs, and I tighten my hold on her.
“It was cold that night. A breeze came from my room. I grabbed a gun from my dad’s closet and crept into my bedroom. The window and screen were wide open. I was so scared she fell out of the window or something. But when I looked outside, I didn’t see anything.”