Chapter 5
RUE
“What did… What did you do?” My dad’s face grows white, as I step under the porch light. His gray hair glimmers under the orange glow, his blue irises mirroring my own.
But I can’t look at him.
My gaze drops to the pocket knife at my side, still slick with my blood and Matthew’s. “I… he…” I lift my other hand, staring at the engagement ring now missing, sunk to the bottom of the lake.
“Rue…”
“He stole your truck.” They’re the only words I can seem to find. Even though that’s only the beginning of it.
“Rue, what did you do?” My dad’s voice grows deeper, and I feel his presence come closer.
I just shake my head.
The tension and silence stay like that for a few beats, my heart hammering in my ears erratically. I know there’s so much I need to say. I need my dad to know. But my mouth just won’t move.
His tone softens as he wraps his fingers around my right hand. “Let me have the knife, and then we’ll figure it out.”
I let him take it.
“Did anyone see you?”
“Bullet,” I whisper, having forgotten that he even was there—that I’d hugged him when it was over. When Matthew’s body had splashed into the dark waters.
“Where is he?”
I shrug, my shoulders aching with tension. “I don’t know.”
“Rue,” heavy, yet gentle hands land on my shoulder, “You have to tell me what happened, because that’s the only way I can help you.”
“You mean arrest me,” I feel myself on the verge of breaking. “Please just do it.”
He’s silent, and I shrink away, fighting the part of me that imagines racing off into the woods—and the part that just wants to fall apart in my father’s arms.
“Take your clothes off by the fire pit,” Dad lets out a sigh. “Wash off as much as you can under the water hose, then shower. Avoid your mother. I’ll deal with her. Don’t wake up Eliza.”
A deep, long bay erupts in the night.
And I wake up, startled by Bullet chasing something outside.
My bleary eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling above my childhood bed. I’m pretty sure the sheets haven’t been changed since I left, but the room is much different. It’s been stripped of anything familiar, the photos I’d hung replaced with generic lake cabin décor.
I flip the covers back, already knowing my mother will be expecting me to have something ready for her. But this won’t last forever. She’ll get better, and then I’ll leave.
And I’ll never fucking come back.
I grab a pair of light wash jeans, a sweatshirt, and slide back into my Converse. It’s better to always be ready to run, and while I’m sure my mother can’t catch me, I’m not sure the other ghosts around this place have the same limitations.
“Rue!” My name jars me just as I finish lacing up my shoes.
“Coming,” I croak out, wiping the sweat from my brow. It’s unbearably warm in the cabin, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother is running the heat just to make me miserable.
After all, everything that destroyed our family is my fault. And the worst part is, she’s not even wrong.
“Are you coming?” Her sharp voice carries. “I can’t get out of this godforsaken bed on my own.”
Well, you were doing it before I got here. I frown, but pick up my pace, slipping down the hall and to the main bedroom.
My mother glares at me as she sits up in bed, her thin lips in a flat line. “You should set your alarm for six-thirty, so you’re always ahead of me. I don’t like to feel stuck. It makes me claustrophobic.”
“You have a boot on your ankle and a cast on your wrist,” I reason, grabbing the wheelchair and rolling it up parallel to the bed. “I think you can probably use it a little—”
“If I could use it a little, then I wouldn’t have asked for you to come home,” she says the words flatly, without any emotion. “I wouldn’t make you torture yourself with coming to a place that you hate.”
I let out a sigh, adjusting her covers and then helping her into the chair. “I don’t hate it here.”
“You haven’t been back since your dad died.”
“I’ve just been busy.” I glance down at the top of my mother’s unruly hair, wondering if I should offer to brush it. Probably.
“You and your sister are always too busy, but at least Eliza lets me come to New York and visit her. You took off to California and never called home.”
“I’m sorry.” But I don’t mean it. I’m not fucking sorry for getting out of this hellhole and leaving all the bad memories behind.
I bump the wheelchair down the hallway, my mother groaning at every jostle like it might kill her. I situate her at the kitchen table, just like the way we ate dinner last night, and then start on coffee and eggs.
“You’ve gained some weight,” Mom hums, folding her arms across her chest as I fill the coffee pot with water. “You must eat good in California, despite being poor.”
“I’m not poor,” I turn to her, but only so I can spin and put the coffee pot on the burner. “California is just a lot more expensive than Moccasin Cove.”
She snorts. “And full of funny people.”
“Yep,” I don’t argue with that. I moved to Los Angeles to try and escape the shitstorm, because it seemed like the kind of place where everyone was so worried about themselves, they wouldn’t notice me.
And sure enough, it worked.
“Your dad wouldn’t have wanted you to leave.”
“Mhmm.” I press the on button for the coffee.
“You should’ve put more grounds in the pot. The coffee will be weak.”
I pull out a pan and set it on the stove, turning to grab the eggs from the fridge.
“You should make them over medium. I don’t like too much yoke being runny. Just soft.”
“Okay.” I keep my focus on breakfast, and thankfully, my mom runs out of steam for a whole freaking thirty seconds.
“Did you let Bullet out last night?”
I crack the egg, watching it sizzle against the heat. “No.”
“Then how did he get outside?”
My brow furrows, and I actually start considering what she’s saying. Did I let Bullet out last night? I know I didn’t do it this morning. When would I have let him out? Did I just never let him back in?
“He probably slipped out through the utility room. That latch hasn’t been quite right in a few years.”
I blink a few times, before flipping the egg. “You should get that fixed.”
“No need to be rude, Rue.”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat and grab one of the clean plates from the rack, plopping the egg onto it.
“You could fix it.”
I nod, my stomach knotting up as I pop a piece of bread into the toaster and another egg into the pan. While it all cooks, I pour my mom a cup of coffee, adding just enough creamer to taint the black liquid.
Her eyes stay trained on me while I set the cup down in front of her, and then move on to finishing her plate of eggs and toast. “Are you going to eat?”
I shake my head. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Hmm.” She busies herself with cutting into the egg, letting out a pained sigh. “This is more easy than medium, Rue, but I guess it’s better than nothing.”
I force some sort of smile at her, but there’s no words—only fatigue. I want more than anything to get the hell out of this house already, and I’ve only been here for twenty-four hours.
That is not a good sign.
While my mother grumbles and eats, I clean up the kitchen, and then move to the living room, dusting. I don’t find myself to be one of those who cares all that much about a place being spotless, but anything to keep me busy is worth it.
“I’d like to read for a while,” Mom announces, her fork clanking down on the ceramic plate and startling me. Again.
I guess that’s just something I’m going to have to get used to.
“Where do you want to read?” I ask her, setting down the dust rag. “In here?”
She rolls her eyes. “You should know I prefer to read in my room.”
“Sorry.” I breathe out the word, already feeling defeated. But still, I roll the woman to her room, find her self-help book stash, and plant her, Living in Grace, book in her lap. “How’s that?”
She peers up at me. “Fine. There’s a grocery list on the counter somewhere. I’d really like to have that stew I used to make. It’s better than eating sandwiches, which I’m sure is what you had on the menu.”
There’s nothing wrong with a good sandwich.
“I’ll go into town this afternoon,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’ll probably go for a walk first, get some fresh air before I face the people.”
“No one in town thinks anything about you,” Mom hums. “They probably won’t even recognize you.”
“With all the weight I’ve gained?” All ten pounds of it.
“You just scream city girl now,” Mom eyes my Converse. Which I’ve literally been wearing since I was a kid.
Noah bought me my first pair. The memory comes from nowhere, and I choke it back, surprised by the way it makes my throat tighten. I should’ve kept up with him. I should’ve done something to not lose touch.
But I can’t remember enough to even know where to start.
“What was Noah’s last name again?” I randomly blurt out, shaking my head. “You know, the kid I used to play with that lived next door?”
My mom sets her book down, giving me a weird look. “You mean, the Anders? We just talked about them last night.”
“Right,” I brush her off, sweeping my own hair out of my face. “Sorry.”
“They’re long gone,” she replies, nothing giving in her voice.
I nod, and then exit her room, relieved that she didn’t protest me not hanging around. I would assume she doesn’t want me around anymore than I want to be here, but she can be difficult to read.
Maybe she’s just lonely.
Or maybe I should stop empathizing with someone who only convinced me to come home by reminding me of what I did.
I reach for the front door’s handle, and then tug it in, the early light of the day and cool breeze barging in. I take a step out, the faded wood groaning under my feet. The crisp air feels good in my lungs, but as soon as I suck it in, I freeze.
What the fuck? What. The. Fuck.
My eyes take in the sight of blood, streaked across the porch, as if something’s been dragged across it. It’s not a lot, but enough that I can’t ignore it. Carefully, I follow it to the far edge, and then stop, letting out the breath.
“Freaking Bullet,” I mutter, raking my hands through my hair. There lies a dead rabbit, its face crunched as though he used it as his own personal chew toy.
And as if right on cue, the beagle darts out from the bushes and up the steps, his tail wagging as he sees me.
“You’re demented,” I laugh, shaking my head and kneeling to pet the top of his head. “I don’t know why you have to be so cruel to the poor bunnies.”
And I swear, he smiles at me.
But as soon as I stand to my feet, a knock resounds through the morning air—the same kind of sound I heard yesterday afternoon.
Yeah, maybe I don’t need that walk.
Maybe I should skip it and just go to town.