Thornbird

Chapter Thirty-Nine It’s Not That Simple

thirty-nine

It’s Not That Simple

Maggie agrees to pick me up from school the next day to drive me to Nashville for my appointment, which we were able to procure because Dr. Wilmer had a last-minute cancellation. After the final bell rings, I dive out of my seat and practically sprint toward my locker.

“Ryan.” Chase’s voice cuts through the noise in the hall. He reaches my locker and gives me a rueful look. “Are you ever going to talk to me? Like in full sentences and not just one- or two-word texts?”

I hesitate, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t know.”

That makes him chuckle. “At least you’re honest.”

“Everyone hates me, Chase.”

We both hear how tired I sound. How defeated.

“I don’t hate you,” he says softly. He steps closer, his hand brushing mine.

“No?” I’m still too afraid to look at him.

“No.”

The hall has cleared out, leaving just the two of us at the locker bank. He’s closer now, leaning in, his hand cupping my cheek, and before I can react, he presses his lips to mine.

For a second, I let myself melt into him, let myself feel safe, feel wanted. But then reality crashes in, and I break the kiss.

“Don’t.” I shake my head, backing away. “I don’t deserve this.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.” I bite my lip when it starts to quiver. “My father was a murderer. I’m…I’m stained. I’ll never be anything but his daughter to everyone. That’s all they’ll ever see.”

“Bullshit. That’s not what I see when I look at you.”

“But it’s what I see,” I snap. “All the time. I don’t know how to make it go away. And I don’t deserve…I don’t deserve to feel good. To have you.”

His jaw tightens. “No. You don’t get to decide that for me.” He reaches out, but I pull away again.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t give a shit what your father did. That doesn’t make you him. You’re strong, you’ve been through hell—and you’re still here. So don’t tell me what you don’t deserve, because you deserve so much fucking more than you think.”

I want so badly to believe him, but the shame holds me back. “Maybe one day I’ll believe that. But not right now.”

I slam my locker door and turn away, leaving him standing alone in the hall. Forcing myself not to look back as I hurry out of the school toward Maggie’s waiting SUV.

Dr. Wilmer was able to fit me in today only if we could make it there by five, and I swear my aunt breaks nearly every speed limit in her mission to deliver me to therapy on time.

“I’ll be waiting for you right here,” Maggie promises after Dr. Wilmer greets us in the outer office.

I nod gratefully. “Thanks.”

A minute later, I’m lowering myself into the armchair in Dr. Wilmer’s office, surrounded by those serenity-blue walls and the soft strains of meditation music.

As usual, Dr. Wilmer gets right to business. She settles in her recliner and watches me with that calm expression. “Let’s breathe,” she prompts. “Nice deep breaths, okay? Inhale through your nose…one…two…exhale through your mouth…three…four…”

We breathe together for several minutes, her voice a soothing drone that draws me into a state of relaxation.

“I want us to try to go deeper today, Ryan. Is that all right with you?”

“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, focusing on keeping my breathing steady.

“Good. I want you to picture a staircase. A staircase with exactly ten steps. We’re going to go down those steps. And with each step, the world around you is getting quieter and quieter. Let’s descend the steps, Ryan. Ten…nine…inhale through your nose…eight…seven…exhale through your mouth.”

I listen to her voice, picturing myself taking those steps, one at a time. My heartbeat seems to slow.

“…three…two…one.”

Stillness. It’s all around me. Everything is still and silent.

“Now I want you to close your eyes, let everything go black.”

I do what she says. Seeing nothing behind my eyelids.

“Breathe in…breathe out…And now…look. Where are you?”

“Daddy’s studio.”

Sunlight pricks my closed eyelids. It’s streaming in through the windows of the cabin. I glance down at my hands. They’re tiny. Stained with paint. Blue and red splotches.

“I’m painting a birdhouse,” I tell her.

“Are you alone or is your father with you?”

I scrunch up my face, trying to concentrate on the scene.

“Relax your features,” Dr. Wilmer says in that tranquil tone. “Don’t push it. Just breathe. Focus on your birdhouse.”

I watch myself painting the wooden slats. Those little hands.

“Oh hush, you’re just saying that.” A female voice. Laughter.

“I never just say things. The light adores you, Leah.” My father’s voice.

I suck in a sharp breath.

“You’re safe, Ryan. What do you see?”

“They’re talking. My dad. He’s talking to Leah Devereaux.” It’s hard to speak through the shock. “She’s at the studio with him. With us.”

“Who is Leah Devereaux, Ryan?”

“She’s…He…He killed her,” I choke out. “She’s one of the women he killed. Why is she here?”

“Can I see?” My voice now.

“Of course you can, little sparrow.”

I pad across the floorboards in my tiny bright red sneakers and peek over my father’s shoulders at the sketchpad in his lap. I see the delicate curve of a woman’s cheek. Dark hair tumbling over one shoulder.

I look up and beam at the real-life woman. “Soooo pretty!” I tell her.

“She’s sitting on a stool. Posing for him.” My voice sounds far, far away. “He’s sketching her.”

“Gabby,” he says. “You should probably start heading back to the big house now. Your momma will be home soon from the hospital, and she’ll need your help with dinner.”

“But I’m not done painting my birdhouse.”

“It’ll still be here tomorrow. Run along now, little sparrow. And don’t forget, you can’t tell Mom that Leah stopped by. It’s going to be a surprise. So until we can share the surprise…” He makes a zipping motion with his finger across his mouth.

“It’s a secret!” I zip my own lips.

“He’s making me leave. He wants to be alone with her.”

My stomach begins to churn. The memory has cracked open, and now the dark is starting to spill through. I can feel it engulfing me, swallowing me whole.

“Oh my God, was that the day he killed her?”

“Ryan—”

“Was I there the day she died?” Panic gurgles in my throat. “Oh my God! She was there and I left! I left her there to die! I left her to die! I—”

“Ryan!”

Firm hands grip my cheeks, and I blink my eyelids open to find Dr. Wilmer kneeling in front of me, her eyes swimming with concern.

“You’re okay,” she assures me, her voice firm. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

She repeats the words several more times, but they don’t seem to penetrate. I can’t shake the horror of what I just saw.

I saw Everett’s mother in my father’s studio. I laughed with her. I complimented her.

And then I left her there to be murdered.

When we get home that evening, I’m emotionally drained and physically exhausted.

Maggie tried talking to me on drive back from the city, but my vocal cords refused to work.

Now I trudge into the bedroom I used to share with Jasmine, wanting nothing more than to hide under the covers and never come out again.

No sooner does the thought arise than Connor knocks on the door.

“Hey,” my cousin says, poking his head inside. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

He flops down onto his sister’s bed, leaning against the headboard and stretching his long legs out in front of him. Then he glances over at my bed, where I’m fidgeting with one of the throw pillows.

“Where did y’all go tonight? Dad wouldn’t tell us anything.”

“I had an appointment in the city.” An awkward laugh slips out. “Getting hypnotized.”

Connor stares at me. “Um. Really?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Not that it achieved anything other than scaring the shit out of me.”

I almost tell him about Leah. About that day in the studio. About the fate I condemned her to when I walked out of that cabin. When I skipped home and didn’t tell my mother that he was drawing Leah because I liked having a secret with my daddy.

But I banish the confession before it can surface.

My cousin looks like he wants to ask more questions, but instead, he falls silent.

So do I. The dread inside me is a living, breathing thing.

Connor is one of the few people who has given me the slightest indication that he might forgive me for what I’ve done, but now that I’m about to test that theory, I’m terrified I might be wrong.

“Connor, about everything that happened…” I hesitate. “I didn’t want to deceive you. But when Gran died and I found out I had to move down here, your parents thought it was best if we kept it quiet. So I—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, giving me a gentle smile. “I get it. I know why it had to happen. I’m gay. For a long time I thought it would be best if I just kept it to myself. So I know all about people’s perceptions, Ry. You don’t have to tell me about that.”

I nod. He has a point. “Yeah, but being gay doesn’t usually hurt other people—”

“And neither did you. Your father was all those things. Not you. Remember? As far as I’m concerned, you’re innocent. My parents were just trying to protect us, and you.”

I let his words wash over me, wishing the rest of the town would believe them. Hell, I’d settle for just Jasmine.

“Thanks, Con,” I say, bringing my knees up to my chest. “But by protecting us, I feel like we hurt so many people. There’s no fixing this situation now. It’s like the shadow of my father’s sins stretches all over Tennessee. I’ll never be rid of them until I’m out of here.”

He frowns. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

“After graduation, yeah. I don’t belong here. I never should’ve come back. I wouldn’t have, but I had nowhere else to go.”

Connor watches me for a moment, his face sad. “Jazzy will come around. I promise. Everett might too. Someday.”

My throat feels tight, making it hard to swallow. “Maybe.”

“They will,” he says, but he sounds more confident than I feel.

Our talk succeeds in lifting part of the weight off my chest, but it doesn’t stop me from tossing and turning in bed later that night, every thought and worry tangling up like a knot in my mind.

My session with Dr. Wilmer ripped me apart, but it also left me feeling like I’m right on the edge of something.

When I finally drift off, the dream starts as gently as a breeze.

I’m in the woods, young again. My dad is beside me, holding my hand like he always does when we walk the trails together.

There’s a map in my hands, hand-drawn on sky-blue computer paper, creased and crinkled, covered in little bird symbols Daddy drew himself.

Each mark represents one of our birdhouses.

It’s my favorite thing to do, going from one to the next, checking on the feeders, refilling seeds, peeking up at the trees to see if anything had nested.

“Where to next?” Daddy asks, his eyes twinkling.

I peer at the map, a path of birdhouses winding through the woods like a breadcrumb trail. I trace the route with my finger. “Magnolia warbler!”

His fingers tighten around mine, warm and strong, guiding me down the well-worn path toward the—

My eyes fly open.

I sit bolt upright in bed and look around, my heart pounding out of my chest. I’m in Jasmine’s room, pale sunlight streaming through the blinds. The alarm clock on my cousin’s nightstand tells me it’s five-thirty in the morning.

I lie there, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. I can still see the map in my mind, every little birdhouse, every twist and turn through the trees.

My father was right this entire time.

I know where the bodies are.