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Amy pauses, then frowns. “Didn’t Marjorie tell you? Septic’s down. We’re supposed to be using the toilets outside. They’re over there.” Amy points around the other side of the house, near the kitchen. “Someone should have said something.”
Lenna pulls in her bottom lip. “I used the bathroom this morning. And last night. When were we supposed to stop?”
Amy releases her grip on the goat’s teat, and the animal trots away. “Marjorie told us before dinner. Oh, I think you were getting changed.” Then she waves a hand. “Don’t worry. It’s more to keep all the kids from using the bathrooms, flushing seven thousand times, throwing weird stuff down there. The toilets are sensitive.” She looks up at Lenna and points to the other goat. “Can you hold this lady steady while I milk her?”
Lenna holds the sides of Jamie the goat. Her fur is spinier than Lenna expected. She isn’t sure if she’s actually ever touched a goat before. Then something occurs to her. “Wait, Marjorie told you guys about the outhousesbeforedinner?”
“Uh-huh.” Amy’s fingers gently pull down as she squeezes.
But that doesn’t make sense. When Lenna came inside and heard Rhiannon talking, Rhiannon told her she had just come in to use the bathroom. Only, Rhiannon had been in the living area, which was on the east side of the house. The kitchen—and the outhouses—is all the way on the west.
It both surprises her and doesn’t, how quickly the certainty that Rhiannon isn’t telling her the whole truth rushes in. Lenna tries to remember what Rhiannon was saying. Something about Lenna having come yesterday morning. Something about an agreement. An agreement towhat?
Amy pats the head of one of the goats. She speaks to him in a soft voice, murmuring niceties Lenna can’t hear. There’s such a gentleness to her. A trustworthiness. Lenna clears her throat.
“Did Rhiannon…say anything about me, before I came?” she blurts.
Amy raises her head. “No…” she says after a beat. “Actually, I didn’t even know she was bringing anyone until you showed up.”
“Is that…normal?”
“Not really. But no matter. We’re happy to have you. We don’t get a lot of new people.”
The uneasiness feels palpable, pressing against her skin from beneath, trying to wriggle free. “Do you know why Rhiannon came to Halcyon? Did she, um, tell you anything about her past?”
Almost imperceptibly, Amy moves away from her. “I don’t really like talking about people when they aren’t here.”
“I get it. I don’t want you to betray her trust—it’s just…”
When Amy looks up, her eyes are sympathetic. “I think you and Rhiannon have some things to work out. And it’s good that you’re here.”
Lenna’s mouth drops open. “Did shesaywe had things to work out?”
Amy’s expression is pained—like she wants to say something but knows she should hold back. Then she opens her arms. “You look like you need a hug.”
Lenna stares at the woman’s outstretched limbs. A hug isn’t really what she needs, but she moves forward all the same. Amy is warm, and her arms grip her tightly, though she’s mindful of Jacob’s little body between them. Amy’s compassion sends a shudder through Lenna’s bones. It’s like the past is justhere,knotted up in front of her, everything true, or maybe nothing at all, and she doesn’t have the capabilities to tell which is which. She doesn’t want to think what Gillian said about Rhiannon was true, consideringwho Gillian turned out to be. But maybe it’s allabsolutelytrue, regardless. And maybe Lenna was foolish to come here, foolish to believe that Rhiannon had forgiven her and was letting the past drift away.
She lets out a sob.
“It’s okay,” Amy murmurs. “Let it out.”
“I just feel so lost,” she says into Amy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s what anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing. I wish I had my mom. I wish she was still here.”
“Shhh. You’ll find your way.”
“I’m not sure I will. The thing is, I…Ididsomething.To Rhiannon. And I wonder if she knows and is still mad at me for it. One of the reasons I wanted to come is so we could reconnect—and figure things out, maybe? There are so many gaps in our story. I want to set it straight.”
“Youcan.I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“But also…” Lenna gulps in a breath. “It’s not just what I did to her. It’s what all of it led to. Which has nothing to do with her, but…” Another gulped-in breath. Her head spins. “I did something bad. I’m not a good person. And it’s haunting me. It’s affecting my parenting, I think. I’m not a good example for my baby.”
“It’sokay,” Amy insists. “You aren’t the first person who has come here feeling haunted. But whatever you did—it can’t be as bad as you think.”
But Lenna shakes her head. That’s the problem. Itisthat bad.
It’s the very worst.
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