Chapter 27
Then
In the end, Casey didn’t drive us home. It was Frances who took the keys from him. Frances who told Casey she had it from here before getting behind the wheel and leaving him behind. She parked in our yard next to Ruth’s truck and cut the engine.
“I’m going to take a shower.” She opened her door without looking at me. “Do you think dish soap would help get the stains out?”
“Huh?” I looked at her, bewildered.
“Of my Converse.” She shook her head exasperated. “Forget it. You’re drunk.” She slammed the truck door. I watched her disappear into the house.
For a long time, I stood alone in the yard, listening. Transfixed. The whirring sound was faint but unmistakable. Ruth’s bone grinder. I’d never had the stomach for helping Aunt Ruth process game, but if the grinder was whirring tonight, if my aunts were in that shed—it could only mean one thing.
I walked toward the sound like it was the sirens’ call, reverent dread building in my chest, the ground unsteady beneath my feet. The melodic whir of the bone grinder cut through the night sounds like music of a steady, terrible murder ballad.
The idea of Mr. Fortenberry’s limp body hanging from the gambrel in Aunt Ruth’s game shed, slit from clavicle to crotch, the bucket filling beneath him—stopped me in my tracks. I retched violently onto the ground, then spit, wiped my nose on the back of my hand.
In the dark, with the everything swaying, I bumped into the sawhorse-table that Ruth kept in front of the shop, knocking her most recent collection of bones to the ground.
Always bones. Bleaching, drying in the sun, waiting for their purpose. I left them in the grass and dirt.
My hand was on the doorknob of Ruth’s shop, but before I could twist it, Hattie-May cracked it open as if sensing me.
“No dearie. You can’t come in here. Go get some rest. Be with your sister.” She touched the side of my face, and if she could tell I’d been drinking, if she could smell the vomit on my breath, she kept it to herself.
My lip trembled, and I opened my mouth to speak but a pitiful mewling sound escaped. And instead of pulling me forward, instead of dragging me into her warm embrace, Hattie-May grabbed my shoulders, and anger laced her tone. “Now, that’s enough. I’m sorry—but this won’t serve you.”
I sniffed back the last of my tears, longing for her scent of tomato vines and comfort to envelop me. I wiped my eyes with the heels of my palms and nodded.
Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!
No. No, my great-aunt wasn’t Daddy. If she told me to stop crying—she had a good reason.
“You must be tough. You must be careful. You understand? You’re not a kid anymore. Not after tonight—no matter how unfair that may be.”
I nodded. I hadn’t felt like a kid in a long time. Not since that morning in the kitchen with Mama.
“Ruthie and I were talking,” she said. “When your teacher is reported missing, y’all don’t need to be at that school. You know how this town is. Everyone will be talking, throwing around theories. It would be a lot of pressure for anyone. Especially you and your sister.”
Girls whose mama was in jail and whose aunts were a bit witchy while living in the Bible Belt. Girls who’d dared to fight back.
“What are we going to do?” I heard myself ask.
“Your sister’s going to start her new school earlier than we planned. And we think it would be a good idea if you finished up at home. Maybe homeschool. Get your GED—go ahead and start college next semester.”
“How?” I asked. “I need the salutatorian scholarship to be able to afford it. Even if I get grants and student loans, it’ll be too much by the time I pay room and board and books.
” I’d already done the math many times over, ready to be done with Puddle Creek High.
If there was an option that allowed me to leave early, I’d have known about it, even if I’d never have left Frances behind.
Aunt Hattie-May nodded. “I see. Well, don’t worry about it tonight. We’ll figure it out.”
The buzzing of the grinder stopped abruptly.
“Aunt Hattie, I need some help in here,” Ruth’s voice echoed from inside the shop.
Hattie-May shrugged, then gave me a gentle hug. “Milly, we love you. We’ll get through this together. Now, go get cleaned up and get some rest.”
So that’s what I did.
After the world’s hottest shower, I curled next to Frances on the bottom bunk, the way I’d done when we were little, on our first night in our strange new home.
The way I’d done in the meadow.
Each time my eyes closed, Mr. Fortenberry was there, waiting. Sometimes in the forest. Sometimes hanging in Aunt Ruth’s shed. Sometimes lecturing in his classroom, or with his arms around my sister.
My eyes sprung open. I pushed up and gasped.
Casey was coming here.
The alcohol had worn off enough for me to think and the memory of him promising again to come by tonight, right before Frances took the keys to drive us home.
I’d told him when to meet me. Where. Shit.
I couldn’t have him stumbling into something he should have no part of.
The glowing numbers of my alarm clock said it was not quite two.
There was still time. I crawled out of bed, grabbed my shoes, and tiptoed out of the room.
I waited on the front porch until Casey appeared at the edge of the yard, pushing his bike. He sat it gently on its side, then jogged toward me. Before he could open his mouth, I held an index finger over my lips and shook my head. Not here.
I took his hand and led him to the backyard, to the greenhouse path.
The moon was full, but I had followed the trail many times in total darkness.
Both my feet and my heart knew the way. We didn’t stop until we were sitting in the grass, propped against the building, the aluminum and glass biting into our backs.
We sat close to each other, fingers twined together, his silver ring pressing into my finger like a heartbeat. Even with him so close, I felt alone. I couldn’t imagine ever not feeling alone. “Now will you talk to me?” he whispered.
Instead of the warmth that usually spread through me whenever we were together, I felt…empty. I rested my head on his shoulder, as his thumb stroked the side of my hand.
In that moment we were the only two people who existed.
I could feel the secret bubbling up, ready to escape, but I wanted it keep it in, I swear I did.
When he kissed the top of my head, when he told me it was okay if I didn’t want to talk, that we could still sit together, I opened my mouth, and the entire story spilled out.
I hadn’t meant to tell.
But I can’t lie and say it didn’t feel good.
Casey didn’t say a word until I finished.
He whispered, “I thought Mr. Fortenberry was a good guy. He tutored me during lunchtime all last year when my grades dropped because I was working so much.”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t good,” I said. “But I didn’t mean to kill him. I only wanted him to stop.”
Except he had stopped. When I threw the camera to the ground, he’d let her go. That’s when I swung. Maybe I’m a liar. Maybe I’d wanted to do it all along…
“You did what anyone would’ve done.” Casey leaned toward me, and I think he wanted to kiss my cheek, but he missed and kissed the side of my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice was thin, as if he was trying to convince himself, and that hurt more than anything else.
I sat there, my heart an open wound. My soul raw and ready for judgment. Instead, Casey turned into me, his eyes open, wide. Imploring.
“It’s okay, Milly. You know, I shot a man one time.”
“What?” I froze. “When?”
“In seventh grade. I had stayed home sick from school, and I heard someone in the house. This creep had broken in, was turning everything upside down. I think he was on something, because it took him a while to notice me. He said Dad owed him money.”
“Did you… Is he dead?”
“No.” Casey shook his head. “It was only with my pellet gun, but I got him in the cheek. He’s lucky, because I was aiming for his eye.
He ran out, and I locked the door and pushed the couch in front of it.
” Casey sighed. “When Daddy got home, he backhanded me for it. Said I’d caused him all kinds of trouble. ”
I wanted to tell him that was awful, that his dad was a piece of shit. I wanted to tell him I was sorry that happened, but I didn’t have it in me to comfort anyone. Besides, it wasn’t the same. Casey had never looked into the flat, lifeless gaze of another person after he took their life.
He’d never felt that thrill, nor that loathing.
I moved to face him on my knees. “Casey?”
“Yeah?”
He was pale in the moonlight. Ghostly.
“I…feel…I mean…I feel numb. Like, kind of, I don’t know, like nothing. I just…I want to feel something. Anything. Please?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” And I was sure. Instinctively I understood feeling okay was too big an ask. That maybe I’d never feel okay again. But I’d have settled for feeling anything at all.
“Will you kiss me?” I asked as I slid my hand to the back of his neck, pressing my fingers against his warm skin.
Waiting for the buzz. The electric charge.
The beating of moth wings in my chest. When they didn’t appear, I blinked away the tears that sprung to my eyes before Casey knew they were there.
He wouldn’t kiss me if I was upset, and I needed him to.
“Okay.” He cupped the side of my face. When his lips found mine, this time I tried not to think of Mr. Fortenberry—I tried so hard.
I kissed him back, hoping to banish the unwelcome thoughts. My lips pressed into his and I wrapped my arms around him, as his own circled my waist. The kiss deepened, but the horrible images still lived behind my eyes. A sob escaped while Casey’s lips were still on mine.
He jolted away.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said.
“No. Don’t be sorry. I…I only wanted to make sure that you still wanted me to kiss you. I—”
“No. I did. But… I’m sorry.” He put an arm around me. “Shh… It’s okay. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me to, and we’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”
I looked at him then, with pleading eyes. “Casey, I’m so scared.”
He peered at me, deep eyes, auburn hair almost black in the nighttime, his finger running over my hands. Then he pulled his hand away, twisting the ring from his finger. The gift from his mama their last Christmas before she left. The silver ring he’d always worn, like a part of him.
“Here. Take this.” He slid it on my index finger, curled my hand into a fist. “Keep it, and every time you get scared, hold it and remember that I’m here.”
“I can’t—your mama gave it to you and—”
“Yes. You can.” He lifted my fist to his lips, kissing my fingers. “Say you’ll take it.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Will you hold me? For a little longer?”
“I’ll hold you forever,” he said. He pulled me close, and we fell to the soft grass, nestled together. Tears slid down my cheeks as Casey, my once best friend and now something more, rubbed my back and whispered over and over that it was all going to be okay.
After a while, I thought I might believe him.
* * *
Casey was still with me when I awoke in the pink light of morning. We were no longer tangled together, but I faced him as he slept. He appeared so peaceful.
Out here, with only the two of us, maybe I could believe him. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe everything had only gotten twisted up, but as long as only bad people got hurt, it didn’t matter. I reached to cup his cheek in my palm, when somewhere on the path, the snap of a twig jolted me upright.
I held my breath as I waited for one of my aunts to appear around the corner and yank me to my feet. Would they be able to look at me and know I’d already broken the promise? That it took less than a day for me to tell our secret?
My breathing hitched.
A moment passed, and nothing. Whatever I’d heard, it wasn’t my family.
“Casey,” I whispered, realizing that in the fugue of last night, there was something we hadn’t considered. His bike.
He had to wake up and move it before Ruth saw it. Or Hattie-May—her quiet brand of disappointment was even worse, and she was the early riser.
Casey could push the bike to the end of the driveway and ride it back to the house. Say he was coming over for breakfast.
It’s not like it would be the first time he’d done this.
More than once, he’d escaped his daddy’s wrath by sleeping in our front porch swing, showing up after the aunts were in bed and disappearing before they woke.
But it had been a while—years—since his last sleepover.
And back then, I wasn’t harboring a secret that could send all of us to prison.
“Casey?” He was so handsome, sleeping in the grass. I gave him another gentle shake, and forced a lightness I didn’t feel into to my voice. “Hey. Wake up—we’re going to get busted.”
Casey didn’t stir. I pushed his shoulder, shaking him harder. “Casey, wake up.”
There was something weird about how he moved. “Casey?” My voice cracked as I said his name, panic blooming inside.
A new feeling took hold—worse than dread. Worse than sadness or despair. It was as if I’d been ripped open and hollowed out.
Reality seized me. How had I not noticed the blue tinge of his lips?
“Casey!” I grabbed each of his shoulders and shook him again, this time violently. Nothing.
“No.” My face crumpled, but there were no tears left in me. “Please. Please no.”
I pressed my palms to each of his cheeks.
He was so clammy.
So cold. How had I not noticed?
I remembered then—our kiss at the bonfire. The flash of Sight that had come out of nowhere. The unearthly chill that came over me. So, so cold.
No. This couldn’t be because of that. This wasn’t fair.
I hadn’t meant it. I wasn’t peering into his timeline. Not on purpose. No. I’d never read the person I loved. I’d never doom Casey to be my cursed thing.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. No wail or sob, just a silent plea that I was wrong.
Because this was my fault, and I couldn’t bear it.
Casey was dead.