I keep my voice steady. “And where do you keep it?”
“I can’t remember… It’s been a while since anything has come for you, honestly.”
“Right, but I got an email that I had something accidentally sent here from work,” I lie, stumbling over my words. “It’s?—”
“Why would a digital marketing job send something here?”
“Because noteverythingis digital,” I counter, narrowing my eyes. “Just tell me where you put the mail. If it was addressed to me, then it’s mine.”
She glares at me. “I don’t remember.”
She’s full of shit. I know she is.
But I swallow it. “Okay.” I take a deep breath and spin around, thinking about the gun safe my parents had in the spare room.I’ll start there.
I head out of my mom’s bedroom without another word, leaving her there, tucked in for the night.
“Rue?” She calls after me. “Where are you going?”
I shake my head, and slip into the spare room, heading straight for the gun safe in the corner. I stare at the keypad, trying to remember what the hell the passcode is.
Oh right.I punch in my parents’ anniversary and shift the lever as soon as it beeps. The hinges groan, as I swing open the door.
“Rue! You donothave permission to get in that safe!” My mom’s voice is shrill, and borderline panicked as she screams from the bedroom.
But I don’t care what she has to say.
My eyes pour over the rows of papers and documents, not stopping until I catch sight of a shoebox unlabeled at the bottom. I pull it out and flip the lid open.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, my heart jumping to my throat.
There, in the box istonsof letters,Ruth Iversonscrawled in pencil as the addressee. Noah (Anders) Peterson is listed in the corner, along withmultiplejails and prisons.
He’s been writing to me since he was arrested.I can’t even freaking breathe, as I start trying to sift through them all. I’m shocked at the sheer number, but once that wears off…
There’s nothing but fucking anger.
“Rue.” My mother’s voice is suddenly closer, and I whip my head around to see herstandingin the threshold, her frame casting a shadow that reaches my face. “You need to put those back.”
My eyes rake over her, and my anger only grows. “So, you can get around just fine?” I gesture to the way she’s putting weight on her bad ankle. “I thought it was broken.”
She shifts, immediately taking weight off it. “I was just trying to get to you.”
I narrow my gaze. “Right, so I guess that’s why it’s not even bruised any more? Because now, I’m just fucking confused as to why I’m here.”
“I told you, I needed your help.”
“Did you?” I shoot right back. “Because to me, it just looks like you got sick of being alone. Guess you started feeling empty when Mr. Wilson was no longer around to keep you company?”
“You better watch how you speak to me,” she sneers, her eyes growing dark. “You had no idea the life I lived.”
“I know you were fucking Mr. Wilson long before Dad ever died.”
“Yeah, and you murdered someone,” Mom cackles, tipping her head back. “I don’t think we’re on the same moral page. I didn’t kill anyone. Your father was never the same after he had to cover up what you did and let that Anders boy go to prison. It made him sick.”
“I never asked him to cover for me,” I choke out, my chest constricting. “I would’ve paid the price for what I did.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah, right.”
