Page 92 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“I know you didn’t just say that.” Blood roars in my ears. “If you were a whit or two smarter you’d know enough to be ashamed of yourself.”

Lauren shakes her head. “Someone needs to teach you a few lessons about the opposite sex and how to treat them.”

“Yeah. Right,” he scoffs.

I’m pretty sure I could rip his head off with my bare hands right now, but Lauren is already moving toward him. When she gets close she doesn’t say a word. She simply twists her body, kicks one leg out, and leaves the ground. As she completes her turn the rotation of her body drives her foot into his chest and knocks him to the ground where he lands in a heap in a mud puddle, like an oversize rag doll.

I look at Lauren in shock as I race to her side.

“What? He asked for it. Literally.”

“Where in the world did you learn how to do that?”

It’s Lauren’s turn to shrug. “That first day in New York when I got mugged I vowed it would never happen again. At least not without a fight.” She shrugs again, this time with satisfaction. “I’ve been practicing martial arts ever since. I take a refresher self-defense course every year.” She opens one hand. A small black canister of pepper spray is cupped in her palm. “And I don’t leave home without this. If he hadn’t gone down so easily I would have emptied it in his face.”

“Wow.” I shake my head in wonder and gratitude. “Thank you. I don’t think I could have borne seeing him smirk in the rearview mirror.”

“My pleasure. I’m glad Lily got herself out of here.”

“I wish she’d had the sense not to come.” I stare down at the limp body of Shane Adams. “Or that I’d been home to stop her.” A shudder passes through me. “I know it’s the mess between Clay and me that drove her to act out this way.”

“She’s a sixteen-year-old girl, Bree. Remember when we were that age? He behaved like a shit, but she isn’t the first girl who got herself in a bad situation.”

She slips the canister back in her pocket then crouches down to snap her fingers in the boy’s face.

He groans and blinks.

“He’s conscious. Grab an arm. Much as I’d like to leave him here, if there’s more rain the river could rise this high.” Lauren takes one large limp arm and I take the other. We drag him through the mud, hitting every possible puddle, and up the steps to dump him on the porch.

“Come on, I’ll drive,” she says.

As we leave the cabin behind I reassure myself that if Lily were “pissy” and determined enough to walk out of this place, a mile and some rain wouldn’t have fazed her.

Thirty-nine

We’re approaching State Route 629 with Lauren at the wheel when we come within range of a cell tower and messages start dinging onto our phones. Mine shows missed calls from Clay and Kendra and a number I don’t recognize.

“Where are you?” Clay asks, picking up my return call on the first ring.

“We’re just getting into Walkerton.”

“Thank God,” he says. “I’m still about thirty minutes away. But I had a call from a woman named Sue. She works in Walkerton in a place called Scott’s Store. Lily’s there. She’s... the woman said Lily’s phone was damaged and that she was...” His voice trails off. “Apparently she was too shaken to make the call herself. I... I could hear her sobbing in the background.” He sounds like he’s about to cry himself.

I don’t offer even a hint of sympathy. As far as I’m concerned he could have prevented all of this if he’d been tuned in and paying attention to Lily. The fear and adrenaline that’ve been pumping through my bloodstream since I found out she was missing have left me jangling with a dangerous kind of energy.

“Kendra and Jake shouldn’t be far behind you,” he continues. “I had a text a few minutes ago and gave them the address. I’ll see you there.”

Walkerton is neither big nor bustling. The few businesses that exist are closed, and I have no idea if it’s because of the storm or simply because it’s a Sunday. Scott’s Store is a small,pale-yellow clapboard building with gas pumps, an ice cooler, and a Coke machine out front. Only one or two cars are in its parking lot. Lauren’s barely brought the Focus to a halt when I open the door and jump out. Unlike the Ford that has kept its wheels on the ground, I fly into the building, which seems to be a convenience store/restaurant/gas station.

“Mom!” Lily’s in my arms before I know how either of us got there. I squeeze her to me, cupping her head to my shoulder, breathing in a shuddering sigh of relief. She’s here. She’s wet and bedraggled beneath the towel around her shoulders. Her face is mud streaked, but she’s alive and intact. I hold her and we sway back and forth. Both of us are crying. I bow my head in thanks that turns to fury as she sobs out the whole story before I have the strength to ask the first question.

“He told me it was a house party. Only no one else ever came.” Her words are tangled up with her tears. Both land on my shoulder.

She lifts her head and I look into her filthy tear-streaked face to the horror shining starkly in her eyes. “I thought he liked me. He acted like he did. But then when we were alone all he cared about was... you know. Only... I... I couldn’t do it. When he went out to move his truck, I locked myself in the bedroom and pushed the dresser in front of the door... and... the electricity went out and that whole place shook in the storm. I was so scared.” She takes a shuddering breath. “When it finally slowed, I begged him to take me home but he...” She’s crying again. “He called me names. And he, he said that he was going to tell everybody I did it whether I did or not so I might as well come out and stop acting like a baby.” She sobs and trembles in my arms.

“How did you get here?”

The tears continue to spill. Her voice wobbles. “When the wind finally started dying down I crawled out the bedroom window as quietly as I could and I ran.”

---