I don’t want to put down this scratched coffee cup from Sedona with its faded 80’s screenprint of cacti and mountains and leave this old house in its half-renovated state. I don’t want to walk out of these woods, tucked away beneath the ashes and birches and maples, hidden from the nightmare I came from.
But I have to, because I don’t belong here. I never even belonged at the last house I came from. My life is reduced to two bags filled with anything within arm’s reach, everything else sealed in the tomb of Bowen’s house where I’ll never again set foot.
“I need a car…” I ponder as Pony trots up the deck stairs and comes over to sniff my hand.
Add booking a rental car to the growing list of things I don’t want to think about right now. Bowen is hunting me, Colson tells me I have to leave the country for an undetermined period of time, and I don’t even know how I’m going to get to Jo’s.
Oh, God, I have to tell Jo about all this…
I let out an exasperated breath as I run my hand over the soft fur behind Pony’s ears. It’s a long drive, I’ll have time to figure it out.
“Here,” Colson sits down next to me and dangles a blue carabiner from his finger, “take it.”
There’s a black key fob hanging on the carabiner along with two black keys. I recognize them because they look older than any other ones I’ve seen.
I shake my head, “I can’t take your Bronco.”
“Why not?” he furrows his brow, “Look, I know it’s not the picture of luxury, but it’s still in good shape. It’ll get you there, I promise.”
“It’s not that,” I let out a weak laugh, “I can’t just take your car.”
“Yes, you can. Just hold on to it until you get something else.” Colson shoots me a side-eye, “Besides, I know you want to drive it. I’ve seen how you look at it.”
I return his side-eye, and I can’t even keep a straight face. He’s not wrong. I take the keys from him without any more argument.
You trust me, I take care of you, and you accept it.
“OK, fine,” I sigh, “so in the meantime, what are you going to do?”
Colson leans back, gazing off into the tree line, “Run over to Dallas and Alex’s place, take care of some things. You’re not the only one who has to have a long talk with their sister. Which reminds me,” he reaches into his jeans and produces a black phone, “Bowen can still find your phone without spyware. I already migrated all your data to this one.”
I stare at the phone, stunned. It’s the same kind as mine, only black and without a case. I hesitate, not taking it right away. The last time I accepted a vehicle and a new phone from a man, it didn’t go so well…
But, this time, it’s not a chain. He’s making you leave.
“When did you do this?” I chuckle, “When I was sleeping?”
“No,” he says dismissively, “while you were showering.”
“Speaking of phones…and sisters…” I trail off, turning the new phone over in my hands, “I did something last night,” I mutter dubiously.
“You mean more than you already did?” Colson snickers. “Like what?”
I open my texts and, a few seconds later, I hand him the phone, my thread with Hildy pulled up with a picture of Emily’s letter.
ME (8:43PM): (Attachment)
And then a few seconds later…
ME (8:45PM): Your brother is a goddamn serial killer. Did he show you all of Emily’s letter or are you covering that up, too? Bowen destroyed my book, assaulted me, threatened to have your husband rape me, locked me in the house, and then sent a fake resignation letter to my boss so NO ONE WOULD LOOK FOR ME. He has a box in the closet with this letter and Emily’s shirt with her rotten flesh stuck to it. You knew he gave me Emily’s ring and you DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. And you know what else was in the box? EVIE’S HAIR!! Bowen chopped off her braid and KEPT IT IN A FUCKING BOX IN HIS CLOSET!!!! You know how I know? Her stepbrother told me…HER STEPBROTHER COLSON!
ME (8:46PM): YOU’RE GOING TO PAY. ALL OF YOU ARE GOING TO PAY.
Colson studies the texts for a few more seconds and then slowly shifts his aquamarine eyes to me. A twinge of fear runs through my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent it. I never do anything impulsive, why am I starting now—with a life and death situation?
But then a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “So, you’re the reason everyone was losing their shit at Bowen’s house last night.”
“I was just…” I take a deep breath, trying to quell the adrenaline seeping into my muscles as they begin to tense, “done. I want to see him hurt—him and everyone else who’s let him get away with it.”
“Wow, little Honeybee,” Colson bites his lip and gives me a once-over, “you do sting when you get angry.”
After a few moments, my smile fades and my gaze drifts across the grass, replaced by melancholy. Colson leans back with a faint smile, running his hand across the small of my back, “What is it?”
I peer at him over my shoulder, studying him for a few seconds, “That one night at your house, four years ago now, you told me that I’d eventually tell you I love you.” I look him up and down, “Why don’t you say it to me?”
“I have said it to you,” he replies, sounding mildly surprised.
“Yeah, when you were tormenting me,” I laugh bitterly.
My sharp tone seems to entertain him. He reaches up and pulls me to him, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and nestling me against the side of his chest, “I love a lot of people in different ways. I love Dallas and Evie because they’re my sisters. I love my parents and Dan and Lena. I love Alex because he’s my brother now and because he loves Dallas. And I love Pony because he’s my ride or die. But there’s something that you don’t share with anyone else. When I say you’re my only, it’s because you’re the one who gets all of me and the one for whom I forsake all else.” He takes a long, slow breath, those blue eyes staring straight into my soul, “I love you because, by definition, there can only ever be…one…only.”
●●●
Six hours seems like a long time until you procrastinate for three of them. I finally call Jo at the Pennsylvania line and tell her I’m halfway to her house…and that my life is in shambles…and not to worry because I’ll only be staying with her and Omar until my stalker comes to fetch me.
Ultimately, I decide not tell her that last part. I haven’t totally lost it—yet.
Jo is surprisingly pragmatic about the whole thing, not the big sister on a rampage that I expect when she answers. Which is fortunate, because at this point, I prefer low-key disdain and loathing rather than outbursts and threats of violence. She’s always been more dramatic than me, but maybe this time she realizes I’ve had enough of that and need her to make lists, watch trash TV, and help me get my life in order so I can extract myself from the one I just fled. I need time to process, to think. And that’s also what a six-hour drive can offer.
