Run (Then—August 1981)
WHEN SHE OPENED her eyes, Holly Prine was sure she was dead.
But no—there was Mrs. Coldwater’s lifeless figure on the ground in front of her. There was Jessica standing eerily still, clutching the front end of the rifle in her hands like you would a baseball bat, as if she was waiting for her mother to move so that she could hit her again and finish the job.
The world started spinning violently in front of Holly’s eyes. She was sure she was hyperventilating, her chest beginning to heave, as she stared down at Mrs. Coldwater. Mrs. Coldwater, who had baked her cookies and told her to stay away from her daughter and tried to murder her.
Holly could barely get the words out as she asked, “Is she …”
Jessica bent down, pressing two fingers to her mother’s neck. “No,” she said, soft and calm. It was as if she were relaying information about the weather or the score of the football game.
When she rose, Jessica was not shaking. She was strong and still, like a statue. No—like a phoenix rising from the ashes. That’s exactly what the scene around them was: ashes of a life they could never, ever return to. Things that would never be the same again.
“We have to go to the police,” Holly said, willing her hands to stop shaking. “We have to tell them that she tried to kill me. That you were acting to protect me, that—”
“They won’t believe you,” Jessica said matter-of-factly. “My family runs the police like they run this town. No, they’ll do exactly what my mother tried. They’ll send me away and do God knows what to you.”
Horror gripped Holly. All this over … over … love. Over two people who had refused to be what the world demanded of them, and had almost been punished in the most severe way because of it. All because of the times, because of the world’s narrow view, because two girls loving each other was apparently enough to warrant cold-blooded murder.
She’d known the risks. Of dancing with Jessica that night at the gala. Of every kiss, every touch. Of every night spent in Jessica’s bed. Of not staying away when Mrs. Coldwater had warned her off. Of coming out here tonight, of crossing that final line, of being a teenager in love.
She’d known the risks. They both had. And if this was how it ended … then so be it. Better to go down in a spectacular blaze than be safe and miserable.
Jessica put the gun down, then stepped toward Holly, raising her hands to cup her cheeks. “Remember that talk we had in my car before the gala?”
Holly nodded. She remembered everything when it came to this girl. “Of course.”
“Run away with me, then,” Jessica breathed into the cool night air. “My sister can help us once we get settled. She knows people at the college who can make sure we stay hidden. It can be you and me for the rest of our lives.”
It sounded crazy suddenly—running away. It was so much easier to agree to when it was in theory, when it was talk, when it was a fantasy. But now, here Jessica was, holding onto Holly as if she would never let go, begging her to run.
“Say yes,” Jessica whispered. “Say yes and run away with me and be mine, Holly.”
For a split second, Lenora’s face flashed across her mind. The baby, her future sister or brother. Lenora was the only other person in her life besides Jessica, and Lenora was ready to start over. To start fresh, with her new baby and her married, ranch-owning boyfriend.
Lenora wanted a clean slate, so why shouldn’t Holly get one too? They could get in Jessica’s car and drive, with nothing but the shirts on their backs. They could start a life together. Jessica was eighteen, and she’d be, too, in a couple of months. It was perfect. It was what she had always wanted, what she’d been searching for. A home. A family. A love so whole and devastating it overwhelmed everything else in its path.
All she had to do was run. If there was one thing that Holly Prine knew how to do, had been raised to do, it was run. Fast. Constantly. Without looking back and without apology.
Holly leaned forward and kissed Jessica hard. She pulled back, pressed their foreheads together and said the one word she’d never regret uttering once in her whole life: “Yes.”