Page 57 of We Already Dug the Grave

“He’s dead?” I whispered.

“Yeah.” Frances’s voice was now crisp. “Hopefully.”

I whimpered. “Oh God. I…I hit him with the shovel and…” This wasn’t power, not really. I’d stopped Mr. Fortenberry, but now my life was in his cold, dead hands.

People adored Mr. Fortenberry. He was voted favorite teacher two years in a row. Students crushed on him. He had a beautiful wife, and we’d all seen how he doted on his stepson at school events. He’d even befriended old Mrs. Green, our crabby world history teacher, and she hated everybody.

Who would believe a man like that attacked my sister? That he’d sought her out?

Everyone knew about Mama. They heard (and spread) rumors about my aunts.

I thought of Daddy. Of Mr. Baker. Of all the Robbins women who came before me, of the death left in their wake. I was just like them. I’d thought I could outrun our family’s legacy, but I’d been wrong. It was carved on the door inside my chest. Why should I be any different from any other woman in my line? One way or another, this was my fate.

I’m going to prison. Like mama, like daughter. An ugly sob contorted my face and tears cut paths through the blood and grime on my cheeks.

“Shh. Milly, it’s okay.”

“No. It’s not.” Shallow, panting breaths set my lungs on fire.

“Milly. Breathe. Slowly.”

“We’re going to jail,” I rasped. Sniffed. “I’m going to jail like Mama.”

“No, you’re not,” Frances said. “He was going to kill me. You saved my life. You had to do it. I’m so sorry. I should’ve listened to you, I…I just wanted to believe him so bad. I thought he was my person.”

I sat up. Mr. Fortenberry’s swollen lips were parted, and his tongue peeked out.

The shovel lay a few feet away. And the blood.

So much blood. The spray fanning out all around.

“What are we going to do?”

Frances held my hands in her own as she chewed her bottom lip. “We get rid of him.”

“What?”

“No one knew about us.”

“How can you be sure? I found out, and I wasn’t exactly snooping.” It came out sharper than I intended.

“What do you want me to say?” She drew back. “I said I’m sorry. Milly, I—”

“You’re right,” I interrupted. “It’s okay. It’s his fault, not yours. I just… I don’t want to go to prison.”

“You won’t. I keep telling you that no one knew about us.” She stood and walked to the body. “If we get rid of…” She gestured to the corpse. “We dump him somewhere far away, then no one will ever suspect you and me.”

She made it sound so simple. Too simple.

And she was so damn calm. I’d killed the person she’d thought she loved. And she seemed unbothered, as if this were another equation to solve in mathletes.

Meanwhile, I might rip apart at any moment, right down the middle. I shook my head. “Where would we take him?”

Frances leaned forward and grabbed his blood-slick arms. “You get his feet. We get him to the truck, and go from there.”

“What about his car?”

She shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”