Page 41 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

Twitching, she burrowed deeper into the dream world, trying to block out the swampy night sounds. Scary-loud bullfrogs. Screech owls. The knock, knock, knock of branches against the window.

Except it wasn’t a branch. The rapping grew louder, along with shouts. “Yvonne, get your ass out here. I know you’re in there.” Then the shift to fake apologies. “Baby, I’m sorry. Come on. I love you ...”

On and on it went from Yvonne’s boyfriend. The worst one, with the biggest fists and a quick trigger. Hunting for her and smacking aside anyone in the way. Bailey Rae had learned that smaller targets were harder to hit, so she curled into a ball under the covers with her hands against her ears. Still, she heard the muffled sounds of Yvonne and her “man” yelling in a worn-out repeat of so many fights before.

Then the calm voice of the grandpa-like man—Russell—slid underneath it all, settling the storm. She’d never had a grandpa, but in her deepest of dreams, the ones she knew better than to speak aloud, her grandpa sounded like Russell. Bringing peace and calm. For now. Because it never lasted. Then she was left with nothing but hurt that somehow made her do bad things.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Bailey Rae held her breath, peeking from under the quilt. Then shook with relief. The grandma-like lady—Winnie—dragged the chair out from the dressing table and sat. She didn’t say a word. She just waited, letting Bailey Rae know that she wasn’t alone and defenseless in a world with dangerous adults spinning out of control.

For a moment she almost believed this could last. Until water began trickling in through the window. Dripping, flowing, pouring, more andmore covering the floor. Bailey Rae scooted back in her bed, flush against the headboard as a river grew deeper in her room.

Which way should she turn? Try to escape through the window? Or reach for Winnie? Because she couldn’t swim. Choosing wrong meant death.

Surely opening the window to run away would be worse. Decision made, she extended her arms for Winnie, only to find she’d disappeared without even a goodbye.

The waters grew darker, bubbling up the contents of the barn ... quilts, cookbooks, rag dolls, even a photo album with pictures sliding out of her longtime friends as well as Yvonne and Martin.

Parting it all as it floated by ... a body.

Floating through her childhood bedroom.

Closer. And closer until it seemed near enough to nudge ...

Bailey Rae bolted upright in her bed, heart slugging, the grip of her nightmare working to haul her back. Another nudge made her shriek, only to find Skeeter. He nose-bumped her leg again before putting one paw, then the other on the edge of the bed.

For the second night in a row, Bailey Rae had woken from a night terror, sheets soaked with sweat. She’d expected it right after finding the body with Martin. But this evening’s repeat left her wrung out.

And alone, since she’d sent her friends home.

Once June had brought her back to the cabin, Thea and Libby had already been waiting in the drive. The ladies had tucked her in with a glass of sweet tea—spiked with Southern Comfort. Skeeter even kept vigil from the foot of her bed, while Keith had slept in the Airstream again. She’d welcomed the collective presence of their makeshift family and sensed they needed her too.

None of them had slept well that evening.

However, she’d hoped for better tonight. No such luck.

She flung aside the quilt, averting her eyes from the rag doll tucked away in the corner curio cabinet. “Come on, Skeeter. Keep me company while I finish up in the barn for this weekend.”

Skeeter had been her companion, but tonight? She needed him to alert her of any unwanted company, because her quiet little town of Bent Oak wasn’t feeling so sleepy anymore.

2025

Between yawns, Bailey Rae had sold out most of her truckload at the farmers’ market, an uneventful day in comparison to two weeks ago, when she ended up helping a young mother and child. She should have been relieved over the quietly successful day. Instead, she couldn’t shake the jittery sensation, waiting for what could go wrong next.

No amount of smelling the flowers and blowing out candles seemed to help.

Loading her truck with the leftovers, she hefted a box with only three cookbooks, two quilts, and two jars of canned okra. No takers on the okra. Not surprising.

She suspected the high traffic at her table had more to do with the incident at the river. The market had always been a hot spot for gossip, but chatter was buzzing overtime with rumors about the man who’d drowned.

Nausea roiled all over again, and she shoved the box to the back before grabbing her water bottle off the table. How much longer until she recovered her emotional footing after the horror from that moment when she’d assumed she’d found Winnie’s body? No matter how many times she showered, she couldn’t rid herself of the feel of that shirt in her fist.

At least the police department had confirmed that the body was, in fact, the lost fisherman. The drowned man’s brother—Gia’s husband—was wanted for questioning. But he’d been lying low since landing his wife in the hospital. The police chief insisted the rest of the information would be sealed, as the investigation was still ongoing.

That should have shut down the whispers. It hadn’t. This was Bent Oak, after all, with a small police department and low crime. Nothingworse than the occasional poachers ... and illegal fishing. Finding that dead body in the river, with a bashed-in skull, had rocked the town to its core.

She was definitely locking her doors, the same as everyone else. Something she’d been sure to tell Martin when texting him after he left three voicemails.

Thankfully, June had shown up to help her pack away the market stand, which meant less chance of running into Martin. June folded her chair and tucked it into the truck. “Are you feeling better today? I’ve been worried about you. You were pretty shaken when I picked you up after you gave your statement to the police.”

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