Chapter 23 #2
Supper had been nice, although Jennie had hardly been able to choke it down.
She’d given Zane a slight nod earlier when he requested that she be more open with him.
Yet he’d already busted through the front door of Traeger Hall and unveiled a tomb of potential horrors.
Why would he want to enter her personal house of horrors?
Even so, she’d nodded. That nod had been earth-shattering.
Her stomach had done flips, and she ended up in the bathroom, dry-heaving over the sink.
A moment any woman in her right mind would have swooned over and texted her best friend about, for not only was Zane practically a heaven-made man but he was to-die-for good-looking.
And he had a sensitive soul that made him .
. . what? What was she thinking? Dad had been able to manipulate women with his charm too, and that didn’t make him safe.
He’d been selfish and deceitful, making her believe for three-quarters of her life that everything was all her fault.
But it wasn’t. Mom had told her that many times.
She’d urged Jennie to get counseling after her dad died.
Pleaded with Jennie not to close herself away as she had done.
But to embrace restoration. But what was restoration supposed to look like anyway?
Heck, Zane would need a ventilator just to take one curious step into her life, or he’d be knocked over by the dilapidated Jennie he’d find inside.
There was a song she heard on the radio now and then, something like “Let me be your hero.” Yeah, that was Zane’s theme song, Jennie was sure of it. But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t . . . no, she had to let him in. The contradiction was terrifying.
Come, know my secrets.
The whispers became more real as the evening wore on.
Come, know my secrets.
What if it hadn’t been the woman in the painting that had whispered in her ear? What if it had been her own voice? Urging her to unveil her secrets. To explore what they were and then be rid of them . . .
Jennie jumped to her feet. They were all sitting around a table, playing a rousing game of Uno. She herself had been playing robotically.
Trixie threw down her cards in surprise.
Greg lifted a lazy eyebrow and stared at her.
“Ope!” Hannah peeped.
Jennie’s eyes connected with Zane’s. She sensed a storm brewing within her. The turbulence that had entered her life. She had to get away. He was busting in, using a crowbar but with gentle pressure. And she was utterly, completely terrified.
“Jennie!” He shouted after her as she whirled from the table.
Yes. She was causing a scene. She was doing everything she wouldn’t have wanted to do if she’d thought about it beforehand. But she needed fresh air. She needed to breathe.
Breathe, Jennie, breathe.
Come, know my secrets.
One breath, Jennie, just one deep breath.
Come, know my secrets.
Secrets.
My secrets.
Come.
She ran into the backyard and collapsed on the ground, her chest heaving.
Jennie could see the high pitch of Traeger Hall’s roof far off on the distant hill and its dark, brooding bell tower.
The sad little trickle of what remained of Newton Creek gurgled nearby.
Though the sawmill was out of sight, Jennie knew it was there too in all of its deplorable decay and boasting the ugly fact it had hidden Allison’s body for eight years beneath its wheel and water.
A hand touched her hair.
Jennie screamed, scrambling away from it. “Please, just . . . go.” She lifted her eyes and leveled an urgent, beseeching look on Zane.
Only it wasn’t Zane.
Milo stood there.
His little glasses encircled his deep chocolate eyes. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His black hair flopped every which way. He was wearing overalls, and a purple highlighter pen poked out from the chest pocket for whatever reason.
“Milo, I’m so sorry!” Jennie reached for him, but he stepped back instinctively.
Zane had said that Milo initiated physical contact; he didn’t receive it.
Still, in her emotional meltdown, she hadn’t meant to scare the boy.
Hadn’t intended for him to see her charge from the house, and she certainly hadn’t intended for him to follow her to the backyard.
Milo looked over his shoulder, then turned back to Jennie. “Ma . . .” he said.
Man? Or was it Ma?
“Ma . . .” he repeated.
Okay. This time it was not uttered in fear and not regarding some man. No. Milo had said “Ma” when he indicated he’d heard his mother’s whispers. Allison’s whispers. At least that was how Jennie had interpreted it.
Milo stepped closer and pointed to her chest. Then he poked her right where a child would imagine her heart to be. “K.”
“K?” Jennie tried to understand.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Jennie repeated. “Okay? Is that what you’re asking? Am I okay?”
Milo gave a tiny smile.
Jennie sniffed. Gosh. How did she give an eight-year-old autistic boy the honest answer he deserved?
No. No, I’m not okay. I was abused by my dad when I was a girl.
But now I see you and your dad, Milo. I see your grandparents and Hannah and .
. . my life wasn’t normal, was it? I missed out on family, on all the good that can be in the world.
I’m scared. It hurts. It’s safer to stay closed up. It’s safer to . . .
Jennie hadn’t said one of her ranting words out loud, but in that moment, Milo threw himself forward. His skinny arms wrapped around her neck, and he lowered himself onto her lap and curled against her.
“Ma.” While the word was a struggle for him to communicate, he was insistent. “Ma,” he said into her neck.
Jennie held on to him.
She knew then that Milo knew. Knew what it was like to be closed, cut off, but also having so much inside that screamed to be heard. To be set free.
Milo wasn’t saying “Ma” or “Mama.” He was trying to say “Me.”
See me.
Find me.
Come, know my secrets.
“Okay, buddy,” Jennie whispered, weeping softly into the neck of the little boy, whose insight and perception were more healing than anything anyone had ever done for her. “I’ll find you.” She pulled back, and they locked eyes with each other. “Will you help me find me too?”
Milo nodded. He gave her his typical half smile that, now that Jennie was really looking, was remarkably like his dad’s.
She lifted her eyes and, in the distance, saw Zane striding toward them. Milo pulled away from her. He took her hand.
“Come.”
It was perhaps the first clear direction Jennie had received, and she thanked God for it.