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It was likely Adrian who told others. Markus’s son brought Valerie in as his partner, but quickly discarded her. She bonded with my mother and never left. Stuck in the kitchen, never paying the highest price.
There were other whispers, too. That I wasn’t my father’s son. That my mother slept with another man while out fishing. While out bringing in fresh blood for manual labor to develop the homestead on the ranch.
Outsiders could not fornicate with the women.
That was saved for Markus and his sons.
I didn’t look like my father. He had sandy hair and dark brown eyes. I had black hair and blue eyes. My mother looked like my father. The truth of that knowledge was like a kick in the gut when I finally broke free.
I shook my head, pushing away the horrors of our past.
“Dinner when?”
“Tomorrow night,” Valerie said, a warm smile spreading over her face. I enjoyed seeing her smile. After everything we’d seen, I didn’t want her to be sad.
And who was I to say anything? She was becoming friends with the town Deacon. I was friends with a preacher’s daughter. Maybe we couldn’t escape our religious chains, no matter how hard we tried.
“The fall festival dance is tomorrow night,” I reminded Valerie.
She smiled, wiping her hands. “It’ll be an early dinner. You can go to the dance after. How does that sound?”
I gave her a smile, forced, hoping it would land.
It did.
“Sounds great.”
ELEVEN
Shortly after we moved to Hart Hollow, Valerie and I had walked along the town square, learning the architecture, learning our new home. While in a thrift shop, a pop up tent had caught my eye. When I asked Valerie if we could buy it, her eyes had misted, and she’d said yes. I ignored the emotion. I never got a childhood, and though she never talked about her time before the ranch, I suspected she never had one herself.
Until that night, I hadn’t set up the tent. But after Valerie went to sleep, I snuck out the back door and set the tent up next to the picnic table. It sat just to the right of my bedroom window. The opening of the tent faced the cemetery, and by flashlight, I read my newest book, a large and worn copy of Stephen King’sIt.
I worried that she wouldn’t come. I had seen little of Sorina since she gave me the joint, since the night I slept soundly and hard, with no dreams. When I saw her at school, which was rare, she smiled a knowing smile at me. It was infuriating, and I clung to that annoyance as I glanced beyond the trees, searching for anything bright. It was two in the morning when I gave up. I clicked off my flashlight and pulled my sleeping bag tight as I cursed myself.
I heard her singing when I closed my eyes, and I was smiling for a few seconds before I stopped myself. Too lost in the dream of her voice. Thinking I wanted to see her so badly that the tenor and tone came from the recesses of my mind. But it was real. I heard the rustle of her dress in the cool October air as I sat upright.
When I saw her silhouette, I shivered. “Hey stranger,” I whispered as I threw back the portion of my sleeping bag that was keeping me warm. “I haven’t seen you walking lately,” I added. I held back the part about my walks that made me feel like a child. I hadn’t walked past the bridge since that night. Since I saw the man with blood on his flesh. It was too close to my dreams, too close to a waking nightmare.
“What are you doing in this?” Sorina said, ignoring my observation about her absence. She eyed the tent like it was something childish, or something she didn’t understand. “Why are you sleeping in the backyard?”
I had no answer for her other than I wanted to see her. And wandering the town and sitting at the picnic table hadn’t brought her to me. I hadn’t knocked on her door. I was playing a game. I wanted her to chase even though everything inside of me told me I was born to chase her.
If I had been in my room, would she have knocked on my window? I didn’t know, worried she wouldn’t.
So I made myself available to her.
I didn’t know how to play the games the guys and girls at school did to get each other’s attention. So I was trying to figure it out on my own.
And it had worked.
“I don’t know.” I laughed, low, the lie having no chance at fooling her.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Sorina said, crawling out without another word.
I followed.
We walked in relative silence down the road, past Kyrie’s house, and back toward the school, one road over from one of the two main streets. The cop patrolling never saw us, though when I thought he might, Sorina pulled me into her and down an alley to avoid the headlights. It felt like a game. Like adream. And I wanted to smell her, smell another joint from her fingertips, smell her in private places.
