Chapter 31 Nancy
THIRTY-ONE
NANCY
The woods buzzed with shouts and the thunder of boots. My false statement came out far too easily, the lies punctuated with faux sorrow. I’d cried enough over Robert for any real tears.
But when the chaos moved on, with a distinct lack of police involvement, I left them to pick up the torn pieces of Robert and headed back to the building. To see the real cause of death.
The showers hissed as I approached, as if to warn me back. Steam filled the room, and I squinted through the mist to find my Ginny.
I spotted her in the corner, Larry’s oversized shirt clinging wetly to her frame.
She sat on the tiles beneath the spray with her knees drawn tight to her chest. Despite her large stomach, she looked every bit innocent.
The water sluiced pink down the drain as it carried Robert’s blood beneath the ground.
Where he belonged. Each of the ten showers was on, filling the room with noise.
Her shoulders heaved as she wept.
Poor little thing.
I slipped off my apron and kicked off my shoes, joining her beneath the spray fully clothed. Within a few steps, I was soaked through. I turned off all the showers but hers. My uniform clung to my skin, but I didn’t care.
I knelt beside her and gathered her up. Her sobs fell against my neck as she lost control.
‘Shh,’ I murmured, stroking her wet hair. ‘It’s over. It’s done. He can’t hurt us any more.’
Her shoulders heaved. Our fingers entwined as she clung to me. I used my other hand to soothe her, stroking down her arms, across her back, through her sticky hair.
Her hair.
There was no shampoo, seeing as the orderlies rationed it out during scheduled showers, so I grabbed an abandoned bar of soap and worked it gently into her scalp.
Her shorn strands slicked flat beneath my fingers.
I massaged slow circles, lathering until suds bubbled up between my fingers.
So often I’d imagined having a child to adore.
To bathe and feed and cherish. Hopefully soon I would.
If I could convince Marney to let me take them home.
I wished I could wash away everything. The blood, the fear, the sins.
Ginny tilted her head into my touch. Her eyes fluttered closed and the sobbing abated. My massaging fingers made her sigh.
Shifting to face me, I watched as the water cascaded down her cheeks. She took my hands and lifted them to her jaw. Such a sweet looking thing. If I hadn’t seen her drenched in Robert’s blood with my own eyes, it would have been impossible to believe.
‘Thank you for helping me,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’
And then she kissed me.
Under the falling water, her mouth was soft but insistent. The sensation injected fire into my veins. Soap and salt clung to her lips. The taste of the forbidden.
For a moment, I let myself fall into the sweet idea of us.
Perhaps we would raise the baby together as lovers.
To the outside world, we’d just be friends helping each other.
But behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, what if we were more?
God help me, I needed the softness as much as she did.
Something to mask all the ruin I’d seen.
My hands cupped her wet face, then slid down her arms, pulling her closer until the swell of her belly pressed hard against me.
Her lips parted as she moaned, and heat rushed through me.
But shame rose in an overwhelming wave.
I broke away, gasping against her mouth. My heart hammered as I pressed my forehead to hers, the water streaming down both our faces.
‘Who are you?’ I whispered.
Her lashes flickered open, confusion on her face. ‘Ginny.’
‘But why are you here? Did Robert make you come?’
‘No…’ She shook her head and ran a finger over my lower lip as she spoke. ‘Mama said I couldn’t live on the farm no more.’
‘Why not?’
Her eyes clouded. ‘Not after what I did.’
‘What did you do?’ A chill slid down my spine.
She only stared at me. It was as if someone snuffed out the light in her eyes. The sudden detachment made me shudder.
‘Ginny,’ I pressed, harsher. ‘What did you do?’
‘You said my baby earlier. It’s not your baby. She’s mine.’ While she whispered the words, they hit me like a scythe.
My throat closed up.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I stammered. ‘You just killed my husband, and I framed Larry for it because I wanted to protect you.’
‘It was never about me though, was it?’ She grasped her stomach protectively and narrowed her eyes.
Then she went still, shutting down like a doll placed back on its shelf.
Without a word, she rose and stepped out of the spray. She lay down on a rusted bench against the far wall, curling onto her side.
She turned her face to the tiles.
And she didn’t speak again.