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That night was brutal and heartbreaking all at once.
Neither of us was hungry so we went back to the hotel after Brett talked with Monroe for a bit. (Channing Monroe. I remembered his name after that night.) The next day, we went to Will and Harmony’s, and that was one of the rawest days I’d ever experience.
I knew the look in Stevie’s eyes when she saw everyone there for her.
I recognized it because I’d had that same look one day, long ago.
It was in the afternoon when we were on the couch, she and I. We were just sitting, not even talking. Stevie was talked out. The boys were on the floor, their legs folded in front of them as they played video games. Sammy was next to her brother, playing with two dolls.
Stevie kept watching the adults, who were talking in the kitchen. Her mouth tightened, and I saw the regret on her face.
I leaned over, and said, “They’re not upset at you.”
She went eerily still, before her eyes jerked to me.
“They’re upset because of what you were put through. You were hurt and they hadn’t stopped it. They’re mad at who hurt you, at who should’ve stopped it, and also at themselves. Not at you. Not because of you. They’re upset because they love you.”
Her mouth started trembling. Tears shown from her eyes. She quickly looked away.
I pretended she hadn’t, saying, “When that man killed my friend and Jojo’s family, and when my mom and brother died, it took me a long time to figure out what that weird reaction was that people had around me. Course not all people had that reaction, but some did. The good ones. They’d get all tense and have this odd half-twisted expression on their face. Sometimes they just got real mad, their whole face getting tight and swollen. But it’s because they were mad at what happened to me, not at me. Took me a long time to figure that out. Don’t take that on. When people get like that, it’s because they’re just mad you got hurt. Shows they love you.”
It was worth repeating.
She began picking at the pillow in her lap, and she mumbled, “But I did it, what he made me—”
“No.” I made sure to look her straight in the eyes. “You think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t done what he wanted you to do? What might’ve happened to Georgie? To Sammy? Would he have hurt them in retaliation?”
Her eyes clouded over.
“You were twelve.” Jesus Christ. The same age as when I’d—“Don’t put that on your shoulders. It doesn’t deserve to be there.”
She tore her eyes away and went back to picking at the pillow. “Still. Not their fault. Any of them.”
I relaxed a little again. “Yeah, but they’re adults. They all think they’re superheroes and think every bad thing that happens is their fault. It’s easier to blame someone than accept they were powerless, including blaming themselves.”
She didn’t react anymore or respond. I wasn’t sure how she took my words, but Brett and I left the next morning after breakfast, and she’d hugged me so long and so tight.
She’d heard me.
Now we were back in Texas and we were driving to the farm.
I wanted to grab some things and see Vicky and Howard for a little bit before going to Brett’s for the rest of the night. We’d just turned onto the driveway when his phone lit up.
Callie calling.
He frowned, but took the call. “Calli—”
A blood curdling scream cut him off. “Brett! BRETT—”
“Callie?” He jerked forward, hitting the acceleration and closing the distance between us and the farm in record time. “Callie!”
“Brett,” she was sobbing. “Help! I need help. He won’t stop and—” she choked off as another scream came over the phone.
He cursed but braked at my place. He threw open the door, shouting at me, taking his phone with him and speaking into it as he yelled at me, “Grab your bag.”
“My bag?”
He was at my place and through the door.
