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He was tired of talking about it, thinking about it, feeling the betrayal and the pain and the shame and the anger and the bitterness. He wanted, just this once, to forget as thoroughly as she appeared to have done.
But she was going to find out. The police had talked to the Wallace girls yesterday. They would get to the Grayson and the Gaudette kids soon, if they hadn’t already.
And they would come to Mary Ellen. They would want to corroborate Landry’s story, would want the details of her own abuse. Was it better to let them spring it on her out of the blue or for him to bring it up?
“What did you mean, Landry?” she repeated, her voice plaintive and shaky and just a little bit scared. “Why did you leave us? Why did you make me go away for so long? I know that was because of you. Daddy reminded me every time we talked. What happened?”
Liquid splashed over his fingers, and he realized his hands were shaking every bit as much as hers were still. He set his glass on the table between them, dried the wet spot on his shorts and swallowed hard. “Do you remember all those Saturday nights we spent with Jeremiah and his friends?”
Something flickered through her eyes, and a muscle tightened in her jaw. Her mouth worked, as if a spontaneous denial was trying to work its way out but failed. “I—I—” Clamping her mouth shut, she shook her head hard. “No. No, the only time I saw those men was when our families got together. I never...”
He didn’t say anything. He just watched her head shake get faster, more emphatic, her lips thinner.
“Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. Daddy wouldn’t allow—” Panic joined the fear in her eyes. “Mama wouldn’t allow—” Now there were tears, too, not falling yet, just gathering, like the raindrops on the tips of the flower petals.
“Why would you say such a thing, Landry? Why would you think—” Her mouth formed an O, and the tears started falling. “Oh, my God, Landry. How could he— I’m so sorry! Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry!” She reached a trembling hand toward him. “Why didn’t you tell Daddy? He would have protected you! Hell, Landry, he would have killed anyone who hurt you!”
He sat, stiff and cold and so damn sorry. “He didn’t protect me, Mary Ellen. He arranged it all.”
Horror lit her face as she went statue-still again. He thought of his earlier caption for the picture she’d made and changed it now to Southern Belle in Torment. It was too much to take in. She was...shattered.
He should stand, take her in his arms, tell her it was all a lie, but any comfort he might offer would be too little, and it was too late to take back his words. “I’m sorry, Mary Ellen,” he whispered, his words barely audible over the steady drip of the rain. “But you asked, and I needed to tell, and the police will be questioning you...” Piss-poor excuses, but all he had to give.
He waited for hysterics, more tears, wails, collapse, but she didn’t surrender to any of those. Slowly she lowered her hand, wrapping those fingers over the hand that held her iced tea, and she gave him a dry-eyed look that was surprisingly strong. “You told the police this?”
He nodded grimly.
“You told them everything?”
His nod this time was even grimmer.
“Why?” One word, not sharp, not angry, not teary, just very controlled. It surprised him again. He’d never seen her so controlled in an emotional situation. It must be the medication, he thought numbly.
“Why do you think they were killed, Mary Ellen? Jeremiah and Camilla, Miss Viola and Bradley Wallace? Because of what they did, because of what Camilla and Miss Viola knew.”
A shudder ratcheted through her as she raised one hand to her forehead, pressing the skin there as if to relieve an ache. “I didn’t know...I don’t... Why don’t I remember that?”
Relief swept through him. It wasn’t an admission, but it was a start. “You were young. Sometimes our brains push ugly things into a corner and cover them over so we don’t have to deal with them.” Sometimes he wished for a brain like that.
“But you remember.” Unexpectedly her lips turned up in a tremulous smile. “I know, I know, you’re stronger and braver than me. You always have been.”
“You’re strong in your own way, Mary Ellen.”
“I don’t feel strong. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take one of the doctor’s magic pills and lie down for a while.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” He stood and offered his hand. She laid hers in it, all long, thin bones and porcelain skin, her fingers cold, her nails polished a shade of pink so pale that it was barely a color. Carefully he pulled her to her feet, then walked to the door with her. He thanked her for lunch. She thanked him for coming, and then she hugged him tightly.
