Page 3 of Ghosts Don't Cry
I squeeze my eyes closed, and force my breathing to slow. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The technique they taught me in therapy. The one that’s supposed to calm the nervous system, and trick your body into thinking you’re safe when every instinct says otherwise.
When that doesn’t work, I try to let exhaustion drag me under. The kind of bone-deep tiredness that comes from carrying too many memories for too long.
Tomorrow.
I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Even though I know I should never have come back. I’ll tell myself this place doesn’t have any hold over me. I’ll go out there and face all the things I never thought I’d see again.
Lies have always been easier than the truth.
But the truth is waiting. It always is. Patient the way predators are. Crouched in the dark, watching as you stumble closer until it’s too late.
The difference is that this time, I’m not the same kid who used to run from it. This time I know how to hit back.
Chapter Two
LILY
It’s seven A.M.,and my classroom is quiet.
I love this time of day, before the chaos and joy of twenty kindergarten kids fill the room. Morning light filters through construction paper fish hanging from the ceiling, casting blue and green shadows across freshly sanitized tables. The room smells of disinfectant and yesterday’s art projects—a mixture of dried paint and glue that never quite fades.
I adjust the morning activity stations while my coffee cools on my desk. ‘Ocean Month’ always brings out the best creativity in the kids. Yesterday, Marcus spent twenty minutes explaining how sharks are actually ‘just big swimming dogs,’ and I’m still finding glitter from Sophia’s interpretation of a starfish. The sparkles catch the light like tiny scales scattered across every surface, impossible to completely clean up no matter how thorough I am with the vacuum.
My phone buzzes. I know before I even check that it will be another text from Mom asking if I’ll be going to hers for dinner on Sunday. She’s been pushing harder lately about ‘meeting someone nice,’ as if being twenty-five and single is some kind of personal affront to her parenting. She means well, and sinceDad died, she’s been more aware of time passing, so I don’t take it too personally. I send back a quick ‘can’t wait,’ and return to prepping the sensory bin with blue water beads.
The first sound of kids’ voices float through the windows just as Jenny from the front office appears in the doorway. She’s practically vibrating on the spot, the way she always does when she has gossip she can’t hold in. Her eyes are bright, and she’s doing that thing where she rocks forward on her toes, like the news might physically push itself out of her mouth. My lips twitch and I have to hold back a laugh, while I wait for her to speak.
“You willnotbelieve who Sarah just saw going into the Mitchell’s Law building.”
I carry on measuring out water beads. “Is it Mr. Peterson again? Who was he caught in bed with this time?”
“NotMr. Peterson. Ronan Oliver.”
The measuring cup slips from my fingers. Blue beads scatter across the floor, rolling under tables and chairs. The sound of them hitting the linoleum is too loud in the silence following her words. Thunder rushes through my ears, and my vision blurs as my breath catches somewhere between my lungs and throat. I grip the edge of the table, fingernails pressing into the smooth laminate surface until the pressure travels up to my wrists.
I must have misheard. She did not just say that name. Shecan’thave.
“What?” The word comes out strangled.
Jenny crouches to gather up some of the beads closest to her. “Sarah was opening up the office when he walked in. She said she didn’t recognize him at first. He looks completely … well, he looks different. But Mitchell’s receptionist called him by name, and …” She hesitates, probably finally remembering everything that happened before he left … everything this town whispered about for months afterward.
Of course she remembers.Everyoneremembers a version of what happened, even if none of them know the whole truth.
I force myself to breathe, and unclench my fingers slowly, then kneel to clean up the beads.
“I need to finish setting up before the kids arrive.” My voice sounds too high, too bright.
“Oh Lily.” Her voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Are you?—”
Forgot?I bite back a shrill laugh. She didn’t forget. No one in this town forgets anything.
“I’m fine.” I count the beads as I pick them up.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
