Page 54 of We Already Dug the Grave

“I’m sorry, Milly.” Frances shook her head. “But it’s my secret too, and I’ve never been as strong as you.”

Her secret too?

While she disappeared into a new school with a full scholarship, then college—the kind of life depicted on a Netflix series—I’d disappeared in a rusty truck for good. Living alone with no support and no diploma and no skills. No idea how to be an adult.

But somehow I’d done it. I’d gotten through. And I’d never, not once, let the secret slip, even when it hollowed me out and turned me into someone I barely recognized.

Meanwhile, Frances, my sister who managed to get the life I always dreamed of, told the first boy who called her pretty.

If it was her secret too, how come she hadn’t had to suffer for it?

Her eyes widened, and this time it was she who reached for me, taking my hands in hers. “It was festering in me, and I believed Burt was my soul mate. I thought he’d understand, because Shane was a bad man. He groomed me.”

With that sentence, my anger deflated, because when she said it like that, part of me did understand. And the dark moons of her eye sockets and busted lip proved I was wrong about being the only one who’d suffered. Frances suffered plenty.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“Well.” She glanced away. “The thing is that Burt did seem to understand. He didn’t freak out. Maybe that should’ve been a red flag, because if anything, he became more attentive after he knew. And not in like a helpful way. But like…it turned him on.”

“What?” My brows steepled. “That’s—”

“Disgusting. I know. He’d make me tell him the story right before we…” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “Then it was like we finally moved past it and everything was normal until one day…well.”

“What?”

“Well. He started dissecting everything about that night. It was like he became obsessed…” Her gaze dropped. “With you.”

This confession hit me like a slap across the face. “What?”

“Not like…oh God. Just. Okay. Let me finish.” The words rushed out of her. “Not in a sexual way.”

I stared, openmouthed.

“Burt said you’d protected me. That you’d killed for me. It was like, a fascination. He’d ask me exactly how you did it, he’d praise you for it. I convinced myself it was kind of sweet…” Her voice petered out, and she seemed to disappear into her own thoughts for a moment.

I nodded to the bruises on her wrists. “When did he start, you know…”

“Abusing me?” She frowned. “I think…I think it probably began in the bedroom. Sex became rougher and rougher, and I told myself it was okay. That I liked it, even though I really didn’t. Then he went too far.” Her face crumpled, and she swiped at her eyes. “Choking me until I blacked out. Laughing when I said never again. Hitting me, but always where it wouldn’t show. I had to be camera perfect for the Anderson family.” She scowled, then ran her tongue over the healing cut near her lip. “He took over my social media. Took my keys. It happened slowly…until I was a prisoner.”

She grabbed my hand, laced her fingers through mine, and for a split second, we were five and eight, holding hands in bed at our aunts’ house, the first night we arrived.

Frances continued. “A few years ago he started not coming home. He’d stay away later and later. Then overnight. That’s when I began noticing things. There’d be a tiny dot of blood on his shirt or a stain on the knee of his slacks. He didn’t give a shit if I saw, because, Milly, he’s untouchable. An Anderson, after all.” She spat the words like a curse.

“It’s embarrassing how I lied to myself. Refused to see what was in front of me. I told myself he was hunting. Or maybe fighting. I realize both of those excuses sound dumb, but who thinks the person they once loved is capable of murder?”

Her words stung, because hadn’t I proven I was capable of murder?

“Then I figured he was having an affair. He’d come home from one conference or another, smelling like another woman, and I’d find things tucked away in his suitcase. On his nightstand or closet or office—pieces of jewelry or a hairclip. Once a lacy thong. I thought...” She heaved a sigh. “God, I’m not proud of this, but I thought those spots of blood meant he was hitting his mistress. A tiny part of me was relieved, because if I wasn’t the only one he was hitting, it meant I wasn’t the problem, he was.”

“Frances—”

“Please. Let me finish.” She pulled her hand free of mine and reached into her purse. “It wasn’t until I found this that I understood he was even more dangerous than I could’ve known.”

She inhaled a deep breath and held out the two plastic cards she’d pulled from her purse. “This is why I had to come. When you mentioned the missing college kids—Blake and Andrea—it all clicked together. Burt left for a men’s prayer conference in Atlanta early this morning. He always takes my car keys with him when he travels, but this time they were in his desk drawer. I…I know I don’t have the family gifts, but it was like everything worked out: finding these, you coming by, Burt making a mistake. It was like the universe was telling me to run.”

I took the cards and examined them. My stomach sank. They were driver’s licenses. One with a smiling redheaded girl whose photo had been all over the news for weeks. The other was a solemn-faced college boy with the same bright eyes as the little kid who used to tag along with his stepdad to ball games. The eyes I’d recognized when his picture was splashed across the local media. I covered my mouth.

“Burt had these?” It was a stupid question, but in that moment I didn’t trust my own reasoning. It was too much. The threatening phone calls. The body in Moss Grove. Frances showing up.