Chapter 11
Now
It was dark when I pulled up to the driveway, the sky an inkblot with no stars.
There was no gate. No intercom with a button for me to press and beg to be let inside. In Moss Grove, why would there be? Out here, there’s no one for rich people to hide away from.
The long driveway looped through a canopy of oak trees before opening up to a circular drive in front of a white brick farmhouse with a sprawling porch. In the glowing porchlight, I took in the oversized ferns hanging in evenly spaced rows, while flowers bloomed in ornate planters.
Even at night, it was easy to tell my sister’s home was magazine ready.
A part of me had hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
That maybe in person, I’d see wear and tear.
Hidden patches of moss growing in the crevices or weeds sprouting between the blooms. Something to indicate that maybe her life wasn’t quite so perfect without me in it. Should’ve known better.
I shifted to park and cut my engine.
I walked up the front steps onto the porch, my shoulders held straight. The call of crickets serenaded me as I stood in front of the door, wiping my damp palms on my shorts.
Now or never.
I rang the bell.
On the other side of the front door, over the bell’s melodic chime, something scraped across the floor. There was a thump followed by the sound of footsteps. No one answered.
The urge to run bubbled up, followed by a whisper of insecurities. You’re not good enough. Look at her nice house. She doesn’t need you. She cut you from her life like the cancer you are. You always bring destruction. Always ruin everything…
I clenched my jaw, ignoring the poisonous thoughts. My sister did need me. She needed me more than ever.
I knocked, followed by one final ring.
The door swung open to Mama’s ghost.
Only Mama wasn’t dead, and I’d never believed in spirits.
Jesus. I blinked. Through the years, I’d spent hours memorizing my sister’s face, but the photos didn’t do her justice.
Here she was, in the flesh, with her hair twisted into a topknot and face scrubbed clean, her lips unlined and her eyelashes blond and fluttery. She looked exactly like Mama from my memories.
“Milly.” Frances’s eyes widened, and the smile on her face suddenly appeared as awkward as mine felt.
She glanced over her shoulder before stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind her.
Her voice was tight. “What a surprise. Um.” She looked me over from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”
My brow furrowed, taking in every detail of her. I hadn’t noticed immediately, but scarlet droplets flecked her forehead like red freckles, almost hidden by her hairline.
“You’re bleeding,” I blurted, and without thinking, reached toward her.
Frances recoiled. She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her Auburn University sweatshirt. “What?” She rolled her eyes. “No, that’s paint. Why on earth would you think… You know what? Never mind. Answer my question, please. What are you doing here?”
My hand dropped to my side. “What am I doing here?” I repeated like an idiot. Jesus. I shouldn’t be nervous. I knew that. This was my sister. Yet my heart pounded.
Once upon a time, we were girls who would’ve thrown their arms around each other.
I could describe how the top of her head smelled when she was six, or imitate the soft snoring that had drifted up to my bunk our entire childhood.
I knew she hated fish but loved shrimp, and though she was a math genius, she hadn’t memorized her multiplication tables until high school but got away with it because she could add numbers lightning fast. Yet this version of my sister, with her accentless way of speaking and perfect posture, was a stranger.
She’s still my Frances. Strip all of this away, and she’s my baby bird. Nothing can change that. “I’m here because...” I paused, inhaled a breath. “I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
“Worried?” The corners of her mouth twitched, and she shifted her weight from one slippered foot to the other. “You are worried about me? I really wish you’d called first. Now isn’t a good time. A terrible time, actually.” She again glanced over her shoulder, at the front door.
“You blocked my number.”
“Oh, right.” She pressed her lips together. “Well. It’s not like you gave me a choice, sister.” Her words were even and emotionless, and somehow this made them sting even more. “You can’t do that. You can’t just call someone over and over.”
Heavy footsteps clomped inside the house, and Frances ushered us farther away from the door.
“Is that Burt?” I asked.
I’d never liked Burt. Scrolling through his photos, I’d understood exactly who he was—the kind of man who’d never been forced to do without a day in his life.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to make such a judgment based on a douchey haircut, last name, and shoes that cost more than six months of my rent, but that didn’t mean my assessment was wrong.
But that sprinkle of blood on her hairline—because I didn’t for a minute believe it was paint—and the twitchy look on her face as she shooed me farther from the door, a look I’d seen more than a few times on Mama’s face…
If Burt is hurting her…
My brain leapt, and I couldn’t take it back. I’d been so focused on our past, I hadn’t considered that maybe there was another reason she’d flash the signal, more like our mama than I’d even realized.
“Frances. Is Burt… Are you okay? You can leave…with me. Right now.”
“Leave with you?” Her mouth dropped open, aghast. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I leave with you?”
“I…I mean—” I stammered. “If you need help.”
She shook her head as she leaned in, then spoke with authority.
“Look, you shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know what this is about, but Milly…
We don’t know each other. Not anymore. I’m completely happy in my life, but if I were in some kind of trouble—which I’m definitely not—it’s absurd you’d think you could help me.
You cut me out of your life first, remember?
You don’t get to decide to show up again. ”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I said. “I had to leave. It was for your own good—”
“For my own good? Really? It’s not up to you to decide what’s good for me. Milly, how many times have I told you that? You’re a wreck. You’ve been a wreck.” She gestured to me. “This entire conversation is… It’s wild. You show up, literally out of nowhere, and ask me if I want to leave with you?”
A bump sounded from inside. Frances startled and took a step back, toward the door. “Just go. Okay?”
Before she could leave, I reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “I drove hours to see you.”
She looked at my hand, then at me, her gaze narrowed. “Do you…” She lowered her voice. “Do you need money or something?”
My cheeks flushed.
“No. I don’t need money. Christ, Frances.” Anger rose in my chest. “You know why I’m here? I saw you. On TV I saw your hand signal.”
“What are you talking about? What hand signal?”
My palms splayed desperately in front of me. “Don’t you dare pretend like you don’t remember. The one we—”
“Stop.” She cut me off. “Just stop, okay? Burt’s family is on television all the time. Do you really think I’d what? Flash a secret signal from childhood? Listen to yourself.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, the ruddy color rising in her cheeks clashing with the orange of her sweatshirt.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I know what I saw. And…and you know the girl they found? The college student? Do you know who her boyfriend is? He’s Shane’s stepson! Remember his kid with the bright eyes? He was always around at—”
Frances held up a hand for me to stop talking. “Hush, Milly. We aren’t talking about that here.”
That’s when the sleeve of her sweatshirt slid up her arm. It was only the slightest moment, but it was enough. Finger-sized bruises circled her wrists. I stared.
“Sister.” It was all I could say as I grabbed for her hand, determined to push up her sleeve. She stepped away quickly, but it was clear she understood what I saw.
Her brow furrowed and something flickered over her expression. Was it fear? Frances shook her head.
“Don’t touch me.” She gestured for me to keep back, careful to keep her arm concealed. “I don’t know what story you’re inventing in your head right now, but you need to leave.”
My panic rose, the words desperate to get out as she stepped closer to the door, threatening to shut me out for good. “I know you’re not okay! I know you’re afraid. I saw the signal, and I read your leaves, Frances! Just like you wanted me to!”
She stilled.
“Like I wanted you to?” Her voice was seething. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”
I flinched as she clenched her fists, betrayal written across her face.
“Stay out of my life, Milly. You hear me? I don’t want you at my home or in my fate.” She stepped closer, her nostrils flared. “You have no right.”
I glanced again at her wrist, still covered. “Frances…”
We stared at each other for an eternity. I worried she’d stomp into her house and that would be the final end of us. “Don’t you think it’s strange that the girl who was killed was buried right by you? And that she was dating Shane Fortenberry’s son?”
“A girl is dead, and you’re making it about us?” Frances turned away. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I think it is about us.”
“It’s not. How could it be? What happened—what we did—you have to move past it.”
“But—”
“Listen.” She lowered her voice. “You ran away and disappeared, but I’ve kept an eye on things.”
She touched my arm lightly, looking into my eyes. It was a simple gesture, but in that moment, we were us again.
“You did?” I whispered.
“Yeah. I don’t know… I guess partly to cover our asses, but also, maybe part of me felt guilty.
” She shrugged. “Allison—Shane’s wife—has family in the next town over.
After Shane went missing, she took her son and moved back there.
And Blake, Shane’s stepson?” My sister pressed her lips together and shifted her weight.
“He never… He hasn’t been okay for a while.
He’s been troubled, so I’m not surprised something like this happened. ”
“But what about—”
“But nothing.” She cut me off, and any hint at tenderness I’d felt from her hardened in an instant. “God, I forgot how exhausting you can be.”
This time, as she walked away, I knew she meant it. She called over her shoulder, “You’ve clearly lost it. Don’t come here again.”