Page 103 of Ghosts Don't Cry
Sliding down the wall, I land hard on the floor. Everything hits me at once. The humiliation, the anger, the unfairness of it all. The exhaustion from holding myself together through the weekend, this morning, that walk down the hallway with everyone watching.
Tears come hot and fast, and I don’t try to stop them.
My phone rings, Mom’s name lighting up the screen. I connect the call.
“Oh, honey.” She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened? Why make Cassidy lie for you?”
“Mom …” The tears come harder. “School sent me home. They’re making me take leave until the board has a meeting.”
“I’m coming over.” There’s a rustling sound. She’s already grabbing her keys. “I’ll bring lunch.”
“Mom, you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. I should have been there over the weekend, too.” Her tone is firm. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
She’s right. The thought of sitting here by myself, replaying everything, makes my head ache. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Twenty minutes. And Lily.Noneof this is your fault.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but the tears keep coming as memories flood my mind. Beverly Walsh at every school function when I was growing up, watching everything and judging everyone. Her voice at town meetings, church socials, at every gathering where opinions were formed. She was one of the loudest condemning Ronan back then, spreading stories about how he was dangerous, a bad influence, someone the town was better off without.
And now she’s doing it again. Using her influence, and her network of supporters to shape the narrative. To decide what’s right, proper and acceptable for a teacher in her precious school.
I should call Cassidy and tell her what’s going on. She’ll be furious on my behalf, just like she was when we were in high school and people judged me for caring about Ronan.
Not much in this town changes. But thankfully, that includes having people in my corner. Even when the rest of the town seems determined to find fault with me.
Chapter Forty-One
RONAN
The kitchen faucetcomes off with a groan of protest. The chrome is worn dull, the washers deteriorated, but it was functional enough to get by. Just not good enough to keep.
The parallels to my life are not lost on me.
The new one sits in its box on the counter, waiting to replace it.
I brace a knee against the cabinet, wrench in hand, working the corroded supply lines free. The metal fights me, decades of mineral deposits locking everything in place. My still-sore fingers protest with each twist.
The house is too quiet, it makes my thoughts louder, amplifying every doubt and bad decision until they drown out everything else. I’ve been working since dawn, moving from room to room, finding tasks that keep me focused, so I don’t have to think about the past forty-eight hours.
I have my head under the sink, shoulders wedged into the narrow space, when someone pounds on the front door.
I don’t move. If it was Tom, he’d already be inside, probably carrying coffee and asking what needs fixing today. But theknock is wrong for him. It’s aggressive and insistent. With any luck, if I continue to ignore them, they’ll take the hint and leave.
But the pounding doesn’t stop.
“I know you’re in there, Oliver!”
I freeze, wrench halfway through loosening a joint.
It’s Cassidy.
“Don’t make me stand out here yelling. Your neighbors already think you’re trouble. Do you want to give them more to gossip about?”
I ease out from beneath the sink, and glance up at the ceiling, wondering if I pray, some random god will strike her down. But no gods are listening, and Cassidy is still trying to beat my door down. Lily’s best friend has always been good at figuring out what buttons to push to get a response from people, and if I don’t acknowledge she’s here, she’ll just get louder.
I set the wrench down, wipe my hands on my jeans, and head for the door.
