Chapter Eleven
Present and Past
Bailey Rae flipped from her back to her stomach, then to her side, struggling to get comfortable in a bed so much softer than the places she’d slept for the first six years of her life.
The sheets were clean. She didn’t have to share.
She had a pillow and a rag doll she’d pretended not to want, but when no one was looking, she’d hugged it until her arms went numb.
Maybe if she stayed really still and quiet, her mama would forget about her, and Bailey Rae could stay here.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d kept so quiet her mother had forgotten all about her.
Once, Bailey Rae had spent almost a whole day in a motel after her mom and her boyfriend skipped the bill.
Each of them thought the other had stashed her in the back of the station wagon.
Bailey Rae had hidden in the shower until they peeled out of the parking lot.
She’d enjoyed the best day watching television and feeding herself by snaking her arm up into the vending machine like she’d been taught.
She’d taken a nap on a pool lounger, full of Cheetos and two Snickers bars until her mom woke her up madder than a wet hen.
Yvonne’s number one rule: Don’t upset the latest boyfriend. And apparently, the boyfriend had been livid at backtracking for a snot-nosed kid.
This bed, though, was better than even the motel one because it came with a house owned by a grandparent-like couple.
Everything inside her wanted to stay in Bent Oak, not that she would ever say the words out loud.
Asking for stuff that couldn’t happen just hurt worse.
Sometimes she thought her mom denied her those things just to be mean.
Soon enough, Bailey Rae stopped asking for anything.
Meanwhile, might as well make the most of one good night’s sleep. In the morning she would stuff the doll and nightie in the back of the station wagon faster than she’d jammed those stolen Cheetos in her mouth.
Twitching, she burrowed deeper into the dream world, trying to block out the swampy night sounds. Scary-loud bullfrogs. Screech owls. The knock, knock, knock of branches against the window.
Except it wasn’t a branch. The rapping grew louder, along with shouts. “Yvonne, get your ass out here. I know you’re in there.” Then the shift to fake apologies. “Baby, I’m sorry. Come on. I love you ...”
On and on it went from Yvonne’s boyfriend.
The worst one, with the biggest fists and a quick trigger.
Hunting for her and smacking aside anyone in the way.
Bailey Rae had learned that smaller targets were harder to hit, so she curled into a ball under the covers with her hands against her ears.
Still, she heard the muffled sounds of Yvonne and her “man” yelling in a worn-out repeat of so many fights before.
Then the calm voice of the grandpa-like man—Russell—slid underneath it all, settling the storm.
She’d never had a grandpa, but in her deepest of dreams, the ones she knew better than to speak aloud, her grandpa sounded like Russell.
Bringing peace and calm. For now. Because it never lasted.
Then she was left with nothing but hurt that somehow made her do bad things.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Bailey Rae held her breath, peeking from under the quilt.
Then shook with relief. The grandma-like lady—Winnie—dragged the chair out from the dressing table and sat.
She didn’t say a word. She just waited, letting Bailey Rae know that she wasn’t alone and defenseless in a world with dangerous adults spinning out of control.
For a moment she almost believed this could last. Until water began trickling in through the window. Dripping, flowing, pouring, more and more covering the floor. Bailey Rae scooted back in her bed, flush against the headboard as a river grew deeper in her room.
Which way should she turn? Try to escape through the window? Or reach for Winnie? Because she couldn’t swim. Choosing wrong meant death.
Surely opening the window to run away would be worse. Decision made, she extended her arms for Winnie, only to find she’d disappeared without even a goodbye.
The waters grew darker, bubbling up the contents of the barn ... quilts, cookbooks, rag dolls, even a photo album with pictures sliding out of her longtime friends as well as Yvonne and Martin.
Parting it all as it floated by ... a body.
Floating through her childhood bedroom.
Closer. And closer until it seemed near enough to nudge ...
Bailey Rae bolted upright in her bed, heart slugging, the grip of her nightmare working to haul her back. Another nudge made her shriek, only to find Skeeter. He nose-bumped her leg again before putting one paw, then the other on the edge of the bed.
For the second night in a row, Bailey Rae had woken from a night terror, sheets soaked with sweat. She’d expected it right after finding the body with Martin. But this evening’s repeat left her wrung out.
And alone, since she’d sent her friends home.
Once June had brought her back to the cabin, Thea and Libby had already been waiting in the drive.
The ladies had tucked her in with a glass of sweet tea—spiked with Southern Comfort.
Skeeter even kept vigil from the foot of her bed, while Keith had slept in the Airstream again.
She’d welcomed the collective presence of their makeshift family and sensed they needed her too.
None of them had slept well that evening.
However, she’d hoped for better tonight. No such luck.
She flung aside the quilt, averting her eyes from the rag doll tucked away in the corner curio cabinet. “Come on, Skeeter. Keep me company while I finish up in the barn for this weekend.”
Skeeter had been her companion, but tonight? She needed him to alert her of any unwanted company, because her quiet little town of Bent Oak wasn’t feeling so sleepy anymore.
2025
Between yawns, Bailey Rae had sold out most of her truckload at the farmers’ market, an uneventful day in comparison to two weeks ago, when she ended up helping a young mother and child.
She should have been relieved over the quietly successful day.
Instead, she couldn’t shake the jittery sensation, waiting for what could go wrong next.
No amount of smelling the flowers and blowing out candles seemed to help.
Loading her truck with the leftovers, she hefted a box with only three cookbooks, two quilts, and two jars of canned okra. No takers on the okra. Not surprising.
She suspected the high traffic at her table had more to do with the incident at the river. The market had always been a hot spot for gossip, but chatter was buzzing overtime with rumors about the man who’d drowned.
Nausea roiled all over again, and she shoved the box to the back before grabbing her water bottle off the table.
How much longer until she recovered her emotional footing after the horror from that moment when she’d assumed she’d found Winnie’s body?
No matter how many times she showered, she couldn’t rid herself of the feel of that shirt in her fist.
At least the police department had confirmed that the body was, in fact, the lost fisherman.
The drowned man’s brother—Gia’s husband—was wanted for questioning.
But he’d been lying low since landing his wife in the hospital.
The police chief insisted the rest of the information would be sealed, as the investigation was still ongoing.
That should have shut down the whispers. It hadn’t. This was Bent Oak, after all, with a small police department and low crime. Nothing worse than the occasional poachers ... and illegal fishing. Finding that dead body in the river, with a bashed-in skull, had rocked the town to its core.
She was definitely locking her doors, the same as everyone else. Something she’d been sure to tell Martin when texting him after he left three voicemails.
Thankfully, June had shown up to help her pack away the market stand, which meant less chance of running into Martin.
June folded her chair and tucked it into the truck.
“Are you feeling better today? I’ve been worried about you.
You were pretty shaken when I picked you up after you gave your statement to the police. ”
The purple streak in June’s frequently colored hair was beginning to fade out, the natural gray taking over. Bailey Rae suspected the added stress of the week had kept the woman from her regular salon visit. Were all of Winnie’s friends having nightmares too?
“I’m better,” Bailey Rae lied. She’d been afraid to close her eyes again last night for fear of replay of the nightmare. “Thank you for staying over the other night and for checking on me today.”
“No thanks necessary.” June yanked the checkered tablecloth off and folded it.
She fast-stepped to the side of the truck bed, reaching over to drop the fabric into the box.
“I think we were all more than a little shaken by the news of that poor fisherman. It was almost like losing Winnie all over again.” Her voice cracked on the last words.
“I hear you,” Bailey Rae said softly. Every day felt like losing Winnie anew.
Kneeling to unhook Skeeter’s leash from the table leg, she saw one last painted rock with a weeping willow stenciled on the smooth, flat surface.
She started to toss it into the box, then hesitated.
Surely she had room for one tiny memento in her Airstream, in honor of all the times she and Winnie had stenciled patterns on stones.
Bailey Rae clenched her fist around the treasure.