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So there were calls.
I didn’t have social media, except for my design business. I needed it for my clients, but they knew to email me if they needed to get in touch. I’d purposely not checked there since my appearance, but there should’ve been nothing anyway. That wasn’t affiliated with Willow Harm at all, only Melanie Morning.
Howard had told me he’d be getting the mail for the next month. He’d said that the morning before I went on the news for that segment…
“Have there been letters?” I asked.
“Billie…” Another hesitation.
“How many?” I croaked.
“Some.”
I still heard hesitation in his voice. I cursed softly to myself. “How many?”
“Billie, it’ll fade out. It always does. It’s just going on longer because of that clip.”
My chest had tightened. It was getting tighter and tighter. “Brett is a new star on our football team, and we went to the Super Bowl last year. That could mean months. Months of attention could stir up…” I sighed. I didn’t want to think what prolonged attention could stir up.
It was its own tsunami. He was a monster, the Midwest Butcher, and there were always others. The documentaries. The shows. The Datelines. He was up there with Manson.
My hands began shaking. “Are you reading the letters?”
“Billie…” Another sigh.
“Goddammit, Howard.”
He was quiet. I never swore, never, and I’d just sworn at him.
“You’ve always let us handle this before,” he said. “Why is this time different?”
“Because before it’s always been brief. This isn’t brief. This might not slow down, and if Brett…” I had to stop because I didn’t know. If we got together? If we stayed together? If he remained a football player?
If he remained being a football star?
“This is so not good.”
Howard let out another sigh. “Maybe Brett could talk to ESPN, see if they’d stop airing the clip? That’s where it’s getting most of its airtime.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“You and Brett need to be a secret because of all of this.”
A slightly panicked laugh burst from me. “You think?” I immediately regretted that. “I’m sorry, Howard. I—” I just wished this would go away, but it wouldn’t. It’d never go away. I’d always be connected to the Midwest Butcher.
“Where are you?”
“Running errands for Vicky.” My heart blasted against my chest. I was also trying not to have a heart attack, but I didn’t share that.
“Come home. I can get all that for her.”
“No. She said you needed to go to Cascade for an auction. That’s why I went today.”
“I canceled that. I’m going later in the week. I’ll come into town and finish everything else up. You just come back. You’ll feel better.”
“No.” I winced as I heard that because it was weak. I sounded weak. “No.” That was better. My head started to pound. “This isn’t the first time I’ve panicked. I’ll be fine. It’s a twenty-minute drive. It’ll be fine.”
“Tell me your contingency plans,” he prompted. We’d done this so many times before.
