Page 74 of Broken Bayou
She grabbed a small bag from under her bed, next to the pile of meds she’d been secretly stashing. For once, she felt like she could think clearly. It’d been his idea to stop the meds. He’d been right. He’d also been right about something else. She had to get out of this house. Away from her mother.
She raced back to the window. The drop down wasn’t awful. She’d done it before, plenty of times, but this time she knew she wasn’t coming back. Her brothers wouldn’t find her this time. No one would.
She dropped the bag, and it landed on the ground with a quiet thud. Then she slipped out into the night, grabbing her bag and racing for the woods. Racing to her sweet Raymond. The boy who promised to save her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hot water from the shower washes over me until steam fills the entire bathroom. It loosens the knots in my shoulders. Despite what happened at the levee last night, or maybe because of what happened at the levee last night, I feel better. More in charge. I rub a spot on the glass and look out at the thermos on the bathroom counter. Well, maybe not completely in charge. At least I slept. The first full night of sleep I’ve gotten in days, exhaustion finally catching up to me.
The water loosens my mind as well, and my thoughts travel to the month after Mabry’s funeral. Mama was in bed. I had to force her to get up. I leaned her head over the kitchen sink and washed her hair, put fresh clothes on her. Then she hugged me. Pulled me in tight and sobbed into my neck.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, between sobs. “I shoulda done better.”
The shower water runs cold, and I yelp and duck away from it. But I can’t duck away from the memory. The raw truth in Mama’s voice. That moment of clarity when she was honest and vulnerable, not hiding behind her huge persona. A dull ache spreads through my chest. A voice deep inside me, one I want to ignore, says, Sound familiar? I step out to dry off, and that’s when I hear it. A sound outside the bedroom. I freeze with my hair dripping and the towel wrapped around me. There it is again. A creak. Like someone walking on old floorboards. Thenthe sound is gone. I stay put for another minute and, when I don’t hear anything else, ease into the bedroom.
The room is empty. The bed still unmade. Everything is as it was when I went to sleep last night. The boxes and my duffel are in their same spots. The old television still on the floor. The security tape, thankfully, gone. I have a strong feeling it would have taken the place of Mabry’s voicemail if I’d let it.
The sound doesn’t come again, but I still grab my gun off the nightstand and take it with me downstairs. The house is bright and full of light. The storms have gone. Nothing looks out of place down here either. The front door is still locked.
My cell trills in my hand and I jump. “Holy shit.” I look down and see my mother’s name.
I swipe it open.
“Are you home yet?”
I look around the front foyer of Shadow Bluff. “Not yet.”
“Sweet girl, you’d better get on out of there.”
I want to tell her about my breakdown over Mabry. About the ashes. About all of it. I really want to talk. But I can’t seem to form the words. “I’ll be leaving soon,” I say.
“My doctor came by the other day.”
I walk onto the front porch and sit on the steps. “Oh, Mama, I left him a message and forgot to follow up. Things got a little ... hectic ... here.” Squirrels scamper through the puddles in the front yard and frogs croak from every shadow. Hot, salty air sits over the porch like a wet blanket.
“He wants me to try a new medicine.”
I don’t hear anything in her voice that sounds bitter, but I stay cautious. “I am concerned. I worry when you stop taking your medication. I want you to stay healthy is all.”
“Well, I told him I’d try it.”
This makes me sit up straighter. “You did?”
“I did. You know you’re not the only one who worries. I worry too.”
I let out a long breath. This is the clearest she’s sounded in months. I have a feeling she’s already started whatever he prescribed. “You sound really good, Mama. More alert.”
“Maybe not this morning. That friend of yours came by early. Woke me up. I’ve had all kinds of visitors.”
“Who? Amy?”
Mama coughs in my ear, clears her throat. “No. The other lady.”
My blood turns to cold sludge in my veins. “What other lady?”
“That fancy one who dresses like you. Rita Meade.”
“What!” I jump up from the steps. “What the hell?”
