Page 13 of Ardently Yours

I shoot her a quelling look. Rochelle needs to be careful or she’ll end up on his radar next to me.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a whole lot of vindictive pleasure in his own power.

“Sounds like you’re asking me to take you for a ride too.” He doesn’t even try to hide the innuendo in his words. “You one of the Rhodes girls? Your daddy drives truck, if I recall. Too many points on his license would be a real problem for a man like that.”

Oh, you asshole.Rochelle’s father drives a big rig for a superstore distribution center in Clearfield County. Too many points on his license could mean losing his job.

If Rochelle weren’t here, I’d have accepted the ticket and prayed the man got tired of following me around. It’s too late for that now.

He’s been a creep to me ever since I tried to report Polford’s assault when I was a kid. When Polford’s wife reported him missing a few weeks ago, the sheriff’s behavior got a hundred times worse. Dad said he pulled him over two days ago.

“I don’t need a lawyer from this county. I have one from New York City on retainer.” Not true. I don’t even know if he’s the right kind of lawyer, but Mr. McRae did say he’d help me, and he may be able to make the sheriff back off. “I can afford him because I have life insurance money from Steve.”

Sheriff Marsh rolls his eyes. “You got a bridge to sell me too?”

I take Mr. McRae’s card from my wallet and hold it up to the window. It has both his office number and a handwritten one in blue pen that says “if you need help after business hours, call 24/7.”

Calvin Marsh reaches for it with greedy fingers, but I pull back, hiding my shaking hands behind bravado. “Read it from there. You’re not touching it.”

His brown eyes scan the card, and his brows lift before his face fills with the deep red of rage. A vein pulses in his temple. “Credit where it’s due, little girl. You learned how to use those blue eyes and big tits early.”

I glare at him.

Sneering, he tears up the citation, then allows the pieces to flutter away on the damp spring breeze. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when you leave me, my friends, and my family alone.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Charlie. You don’t give me any reason to come after you, and I won’t.”

He raps loudly on the roof of my car just above the backseat, and Bronnie jolts awake with a scream of fear.

“Better take care of that,” he says. “Sounds like your kid needs you.”

Hand in My Pocket

The Emails

Thirteen Months Later

May 5, 1996

Dear Mr. McRae,

I hope you and your family are well. It occurred to me recently that you asked if I’d say hello from time to time. So here I am. HELLO! :)

I can’t believe it’s been more than a year. I’m enclosing a photo of Bronwyn from a couple of months ago at her first birthday party. We call her Bronnie most of the time. She isn’t very big, but the doctor says she takes after my mother, and it isn’t a problem. She’s been walking (running, really) since she was ten months old. You never saw such a giggly girl, though she hates to get out of the bathtub.

Steve’s mom called me last week to ask about the baby. I don’t think her husband knew she did it. My first instinct was to send her a big “up yours, lady,” but I sent her a photo, instead. She asked me not to put my name on the return address. I felt for her. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be married to someone you can’t be honest with. I could never do it.

I probably shouldn’t tell you that. I’m not trying to gossip. Just thinking things through, mostly. Besides, who are you going to tell?

Anyway, I know Steve would want his mom to see what she looks like and for me to show you her photo.

Let’s see. What other news don’t you know?

No one has seen or heard from Jeremy Polford in more than a year. He disappeared, seemingly, off the face of the planet.

The sheriff is calling his disappearance “suspicious.” The cops thought I had something to do with it. Bronnie was only a week old at the time.

---