And then I left her there to be murdered.
When we get home that evening, I’m emotionally drained and physically exhausted. Maggie tried talking to me on drive back from the city, but my vocal cords refused to work. Now I trudge into the bedroom I used to share with Jasmine, wanting nothing more than to hide under the covers and never come out again.
No sooner does the thought arise than Connor knocks on the door.
“Hey,” my cousin says, poking his head inside. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
He flops down onto his sister’s bed, leaning against the headboard and stretching his long legs out in front of him. Then he glances over at my bed, where I’m fidgeting with one of the throw pillows.
“Where did y’all go tonight? Dad wouldn’t tell us anything.”
“I had an appointment in the city.” An awkward laugh slips out. “Getting hypnotized.”
Connor stares at me. “Um. Really?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Not that it achieved anything other than scaring the shit out of me.”
I almost tell him about Leah. About that day in the studio. About the fate I condemned her to when I walked out of that cabin. When I skipped home and didn’t tell my mother that he was drawing Leah because I liked having a secret with my daddy.
But I banish the confession before it can surface.
My cousin looks like he wants to ask more questions, but instead, he falls silent. So do I. The dread inside me is a living, breathing thing. Connor is one of the few people who has given me the slightest indication that he might forgive me for what I’vedone, but now that I’m about to test that theory, I’m terrified I might be wrong.
“Connor, about everything that happened…” I hesitate. “I didn’t want to deceive you. But when Gran died and I found out I had to move down here, your parents thought it was best if we kept it quiet. So I—”
“Hey,” he interrupts, giving me a gentle smile. “I get it. I know why it had to happen. I’m gay. For a long time I thought it would be best if I just kept it to myself. So I know all about people’s perceptions, Ry. You don’t have to tell me about that.”
I nod. He has a point. “Yeah, but being gay doesn’t usually hurt other people—”
“And neither did you. Yourfatherwas all those things. Not you. Remember? As far as I’m concerned, you’re innocent. My parents were just trying to protect us, and you.”
I let his words wash over me, wishing the rest of the town would believe them. Hell, I’d settle for just Jasmine.
“Thanks, Con,” I say, bringing my knees up to my chest. “But by protecting us, I feel like we hurt so many people. There’s no fixing this situation now. It’s like the shadow of my father’s sins stretches all over Tennessee. I’ll never be rid of them until I’m out of here.”
He frowns. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
“After graduation, yeah. I don’t belong here. I never should’ve come back. I wouldn’t have, but I had nowhere else to go.”
Connor watches me for a moment, his face sad. “Jazzy will come around. I promise. Everett might too. Someday.”
My throat feels tight, making it hard to swallow. “Maybe.”
“They will,” he says, but he sounds more confident than I feel.
Our talk succeeds in lifting part of the weight off my chest, but it doesn’t stop me from tossing and turning in bed later that night, every thought and worry tangling up like a knot in my mind. My session with Dr.Wilmer ripped me apart, but it also left me feeling like I’m right on the edge of something.
When I finally drift off, the dream starts as gently as a breeze.
I’m in the woods, young again. My dad is beside me, holding my hand like he always does when we walk the trails together. There’s a map in my hands, hand-drawn on sky-blue computer paper, creased and crinkled, covered in little bird symbols Daddy drew himself. Each mark represents one of our birdhouses. It’s my favorite thing to do, going from one to the next, checking on the feeders, refilling seeds, peeking up at the trees to see if anything had nested.
“Where to next?” Daddy asks, his eyes twinkling.
I peer at the map, a path of birdhouses winding through the woods like a breadcrumb trail. I trace the route with my finger. “Magnolia warbler!”
His fingers tighten around mine, warm and strong, guiding me down the well-worn path toward the—
