Can the truth set her free?…
A part of Mercy died the summer her sister tragically drowned. Now Mercy has a chance to discover if Faith’s death was an accident—or murder. Her first step is to confront the lead suspects: a band of traveling gypsies—the last people who saw her sister alive. But Mercy finds an unexpected ally in Cross, the soulful musician in their ranks. He’s a kindred spirit, someone who sees into her heart for the first time in, well, forever. Yet stirring up the past puts Mercy in danger…
Suddenly someone is shadowing Mercy’s every move, making her even more determined to uncover the facts. With Cross by her side, she is ready to face it all, even if that means opening up to him, knowing he may one day leave her. What she discovers is a truth that rocks the foundation of her small river town—and a love worth risking everything for….
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Julie Anne Lindsey
LYRICAL PRESS
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First Electronic Edition: February 2016
eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-486-7
eISBN-10: 1-60183-486-1
First Print Edition: February 2016
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-487-4
ISBN-10: 1-60183-487-X
Printed in the United States of America
Bryan, for seeing past my scars
Thank you to my crew: Jennifer Anderson, Dawn Dowdle and Paige Christian for making this book happen. Thank you Darlene Lindsey for your untold hours of babysitting & limitless encouragement. Your enthusiasm means everything. Thank you Noah, Andrew and Lily for sharing me with my books and Bryan for your infinite patience and understanding. I love you so much I sometimes fear I will literally explode.
The Sideshow
Faith is dead.
The words had formed my first thought every day for three years. Strangely, on the anniversary of her death, my mind was blank.
My bedroom door stood open, courtesy of my little sister, Prudence, no doubt. This was her way of nudging me into motion. Muted shades of gray light filtered through rain-washed windows, barely enough to illuminate dust motes floating overhead. Time to face the worst day of the year.
Sounds and scents of breakfast climbed two flights of stairs and settled into my thoughts with an eerie echo. I pulled clothes from the pile and brushed my teeth and hair. These were the things I’d only begun to appreciate before everything changed.
Far too soon, my toes curled over the top step outside my room. I pulled in a deep breath and braced my palms against cool stairwell walls, dragging my fingertips over the grooves and planes in the wood paneling as I inched downstairs.
From the quiet hallway outside our kitchen, life looked surreal, like the setting for a play with actors in motion but no audience or script. Dad’s clothes were as neat as a pin, and his hair fell in the same schoolboy style he’d outgrown thirty years ago. The morning paper lay open in front of him, beside a full cup of coffee that had lost its steam. Pru stood at the stove shoveling eggs from a pan onto a plate. She, too, appeared ready for the day, if I ignored the tremor in her hand and the strain in her brow. She nearly dropped the plate when she turned from the stove.
“Mercy.” She pressed a hand to her heart and stumbled to the table with the eggs. “Why are you just standing there?”
Dad turned blank eyes on me, unspeaking.
I moved to the counter and filled Mom’s favorite travel mug with coffee, ignoring the palpable tension. In sixty seconds, I’d be out the door with my free, portable caffeine.
Pru untied the apron from her waist and folded it on the counter. She stared at me. “Aren’t you eating?”
I sealed the mug. “No.” I needed to be anywhere but here.
Dad tensed. The paper crumbled around his tightened grip, but he wouldn’t get involved, especially not today. Today we’d pretend we were still a family. Three months from now, we’d do it again.
Pru bit her trembling lip. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, even in the quietest house on Earth.
Something tore inside me, and I wavered, slowly sipping coffee until the bitter taste Mom had loved turned my stomach.
Dad pressed the paper against our ancient Formica tabletop and lifted cold coffee to his lips.
I settled onto a chair and tapped my nails over tiny flecks of gold and silver embedded in the table’s white surface. He and Mom had received the kitchen set as a wedding present from her parents. A grooved metal wrap curled around the table’s perimeter. My sisters and I had done homework at that table. Birthday cakes and Thanksgiving dinners were served there. When our family was whole, we’d played cards and board games together every Friday night. Family night. Lately, we were a family of ghosts, figurative and literal.
The legs of Dad’s chair scraped over worn linoleum. He poured his coffee into the sink and freed his jacket from the chair back where he’d sat. He threaded his arms though too-large holes. “I’ll be home late.”
Pru flopped her arms against her sides. “But you didn’t eat.”
He scooped his Bible and keys off the counter and pulled the front door closed behind him.
Pru collapsed into the seat across from me. Bony elbows slid across the tabletop. “Please eat something.”
“No thank you.”
Her frown deepened. “No one eats around here. It isn’t healthy.”
“We don’t sleep or talk either. At least we’re consistent.” A deep cringe pinched my heart. I’d promised myself not to provoke Pru. She was only a kid. The least I could do was use restraint and good manners. “Sorry.”
I stared into her wide blue eyes, wanting to say a million things I couldn’t. “You didn’t need to make breakfast. It’s not your responsibility.” The word lodged in my throat, filling the space until air struggled past. “Sorry.”
Hurt welled in Pru’s eyes. “Whose responsibility is it then? Yours?” She stood in a burst of energy I couldn’t fathom, rocking her chair onto two legs before it settled with a thump. “I’m fifteen, not five.” Pru whirled through the room, dumping eggs in the trash and shoving dishes into the sink. Defeated by her loved ones before nine AM. It wasn’t fair.
She turned on her heels and glared at me. “You’re leaving in six weeks. Then what?” She bit her bottom lip and scrubbed a plate hard. “You could at least pretend you don’t want to go. Even if it’s a lie.”
“I’m not leaving. I’m going to college like everyone does.”
Her weary eyes drooped at the corners. “Not everyone.”
“Not Faith.” As if I needed the reminder. As if I didn’t think of that every day.
She dried her hands and pursed her lips. “What are you doing today?”
Thunder rocked the house. “I’m going out.”
“Out where? There’s a storm. Besides, my friends are coming over for movies and popcorn. Why don’t you stay? Company could take your mind off…stuff.”
Stuff. Right.
“Me, Prudence, and the color guard?” I flipped a handful of sandy curls off Pru’s shoulder. “I’m not sure that’d be fun for anyone.”
“Please.”
“Can’t. I’m going to go see Mom and Faith. I’ll be home later.” Her doe-eyed expression stopped me short. Since when was Pru so needy? She’d certainly never needed me. Had she? Even if she had, what was I supposed to do about it? “If you want, you can come up to my room when your friends leave. We’ll eat cold pizza and drink warm soda after Dad falls asleep.” My throat constricted further with each word. Faith and I had spent many nights that way when Pru was small and sound asleep in her room next door.
She paled. “Maybe.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe?” That was the best invitation I’d ever offered and she’d turned me down. Something was up. “Why? Do you have plans after Dad falls asleep?”
“Maybe.”
I sucked air. “You can’t go out after curfew.”
She crossed thin arms over her chest. “I said maybe. Anyways, since when do you care? Is this a joke? You think you’re in charge?”
My gut wrenched. Was I? Everyone ahead of me on the chain of command had either died or otherwise checked out. “You can’t stay out all night.”
She clenched her jaw.
I grabbed my bag off the coat tree and secured it cross body before she lashed out. “I can’t do this right now. I’ll be home soon. I won’t interrupt your movie day, but I will look for you tonight.”
Pru scoffed as I edged past her and out the door where Dad had disappeared minutes before.
My muddy Chucks waited on the rack against the railing.
Pru glared at me through the window.
I couldn’t stay. I had to visit Mom and Faith before the storm washed the roads away.
I gathered my hair into a knot as I sloshed through the rain toward the edge of town. Puddles splashed warm water onto my ankles. Raindrops swiveled patterns over my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision and masking a hot tear of frustration on one cheek. The streets were empty of pedestrians. Cars with wipers on warp speed settled at stoplights or outside shops, collecting women in rain gear and children wielding umbrellas shaped like storybook characters.
Dad’s car sat alone in the church lot. He dreamed of inspiring the town and he prayed fervently for a healing of our broken community. The concept was nice if you weren’t one of his forgotten daughters.
I ducked my head and moved faster, dashing through the lot and across the intersection at Main Street. Soggy, wind-battered flyers waved from light posts on every corner. The annual River Festival returned this month, assuming St. Mary’s didn’t wash off the map before then. I tugged my hood over my ears and sloshed onto the sidewalk. American flags lined store windows. Support our Troops shirts and Uncle Sam bobbleheads monopolized every retail display in town. The Fourth of July fun was right on schedule, only a few days until the big parade and concert in the park. My family didn’t celebrate this weekend anymore.
Several yards away, two guys took shelter under the awning outside our local honky-tonk. Their laughter broke through the drumming of rain on rooftops and pounding of truck tires through puddles. Both were tall, dark, and out of place in my town. Instead of jeans and boots, like cowboys or country singers, or the shorts and gym shoes of locals and tourists, this pair wore black pants and dress shoes. Their matching V-neck shirts were equally out of place in St. Mary’s, West Virginia.
The broader one noticed me first. His smile vanished and his posture stiffened. He locked his wrists behind his back and nodded. The short sleeves of his shirt nipped his biceps. The ridiculous breadth of his chest tested the limits of the thin black material. His clothes probably hid the grotesquely oversculpted figure of a body builder.
My feet slowed instinctively, weighing the merits of crossing the street to avoid them. Crossing meant moving away from my destination, staying meant eventually sharing a three-foot patch of cement with two guys already filling every spare inch.
The leaner, younger-looking one turned his face toward me. Black ink crawled up his neck from the collar of his shirt to his earlobe. A scar pierced one eyebrow and a thin silver hoop graced the corner of his mouth. Dad wouldn’t approve.
I rounded my shoulders, withdrawing into my hoodie and averting my eyes.
The broad one whipped a hand out as I stepped onto their patch of cement. “Miss.”
I jumped back, wrapping my fingertips around the strap of my bag.
His enormous arm blocked my path. He clenched a mass of silk flowers in his fist. “For the lady.”
“Uh.” I pulled in a shallow breath. “No thank you.”
The younger one’s eyebrows dove together. “I think you’re scaring her.” His dark eyes settled on mine. His voice was deep and low. “Is he scaring you?”
The big guy handed the flowers to his friend and stepped back, palms up.
The younger one offered them to me, extending his arm slowly as if being careful not to frighten a wild animal. “I’m Cross. This is Anton. Anton thinks he’s a magician.”
I glanced over one shoulder at the church behind me before accepting the strange offer. A lifetime of forced manners pushed my name from my mouth. “Mercy.”
Cross’s lips twitched. “He’s a lot to take in, but he’s a marshmallow.”
I bit back an awkward smile as Anton protested the remark with a shove. “Mercy’s my name. It wasn’t an exclamation.”
Cross relaxed his posture. “Good to know.” He shoved his fingers into his pockets. “Do you live here?”
“Yeah.” A measure of unexplained confidence wound through me. “Not you, though.” I scrutinized their strange ensembles again. Their clothes were almost like costumes, or what I imagined a mortician would wear in the nineteen hundreds. “What are you doing here?” I sidestepped them, exchanging my view of the distant willows for a view of the church.
The low tenor of their voices collided as Cross said, “Visiting,” and Anton said, “Performing.”
Cross narrowed his eyes at Anton.
Interesting. A sign tucked into the corner of the honky-tonk’s window announced another round of live bands. Cash prizes and a guaranteed Nashville record executive in the audience meant lots of newcomers to St. Mary’s. Maybe these two were country singers. “Performing what?”
Again with the twin speak, Cross answered, “Nothing.”
Anton answered, “Everything.”
I frowned. “Well, that’s cleared up.” I waved the bouquet. “Thanks for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome,” they answered.
Dad’s face appeared in the church window, and I darted into the rain. “I have to go.”
I stuffed the flowers into my bag as I jogged away from the street of shops, closing the space between the willows and me. Thunder cracked in the distance. The storm was passing for now. I stepped into the pavilion outside St. Mary’s Cemetery with a sigh of relief. Willow trees lined our small town along the river’s west edge. Their craggy branches swept the earth with every gust of wind. The town cemetery stretched fingers of marble graves into the distance, marking lives lost in the mideighteen hundreds beside others lost in my lifetime. Two of those graves marked the lives of Porter women, Faith and Mary Porter. My older sister and my mother.
When the drops thinned to sprinkles, I made my way up muddy paths to their grave sites, sliding down as often as I moved forward. Dad said he’d chosen the spots at the top of the hill so Faith and Mom could look over our town. If they truly had a view, theirs was perfect.
The sopping earth squished under my weight as I left the path. A week of relentless rain had ruined the dirt roads and flooded the lowlands mercilessly.
I knelt before the headstones. “Hi. I bet you didn’t think I’d come in the storm.” Tears burned my eyes. I’d come selfishly. “You’re the only one I can talk to.”
I rubbed my wrist over each eye. “I am so amazingly sorry.”
Wind beat against the trees, shaking limbs and freeing wads of green leaves from their branches. “The storm’s gathering again.”
I wiped pine needles and dirt off Faith’s name. Wind tossed sticks and tiny American flags across the thick green grass. A batch of grave flowers rolled down the hill toward the river, reminding me of the ones in my bag.
“I have something today.” I unlatched my bag and pulled out the silk flowers. “Some very weird guys outside Red’s gave these to me. I think you should have them, Faith. I don’t bring you flowers enough. Maybe that’s why I ran into those two. You needed flowers.” I stabbed their plastic stems into the mushy ground and pressed the grass tight around them, anchoring them the best I could.
“I miss you. I wish you knew how much. Dad’s still trying to save the town. Pru’s still pretending she’s like everyone else. The color guard’s coming over for popcorn and movies.” I rolled my eyes. “I think she’s planning to sneak out tonight, and I don’t even know if it’s the first time.”
I settled in the wet grass and tilted my face to the sky. “I’ve never minded our summer storms. Remember when we used to dance in the rain until Dad begged us all inside? He’d laugh and say,” I mocked Dad’s deeper voice, “‘I guess the rumors are true. My girls don’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.’”
A sound in the distance caught my attention. A rhythm. “Do you hear that?” Wind whipped through the trees, but the eerie sound of tinny pipes and organs floated to my ears. I rubbed my palms over gooseflesh-covered arms and an icy shiver slid down my spine.
I stood on wobbly knees and moved to the hill’s edge.
A line of black vehicles crawled along the river toward the campground. Each truck was marked with the symbol that once haunted my dreams. A fancy letter L, circled in curlicue lines and tiny words from another language. “The Lovell Traveling Sideshow came back?”
After three years, it was back.
I turned to my sister. “I bet they came for the River Festival. What should I do?”
I sensed her presence and felt her voice in the wind, obscured by the ringing in my ears. My weary conscience screamed, “Leave it alone,” but my every curious fiber disagreed.
I’d researched, cyberstalked, and obsessed over the Lovells off and on for two years before I backed off. I squinted at the caravan of trucks below. If one of them knew what happened to Faith, I needed to hear it. Maybe someone at their campsite could help me.
Dad refused me the courtesy of knowing what happened to my sister. When I’d followed him through our home begging, he’d said I was too young. Faith was too young. I should pray for peace. I’d scoured the local paper and Internet for information. Three years later, the only things I knew for sure were Faith was dead and Dad blamed the Lovells. I’d heard him and Mom after Faith’s funeral. He hated them, but it didn’t make any sense. Faith drowned. Dad believed the Lovells contributed to Faith’s death somehow, despite the coroner’s accidental drowning conclusion.
I looked over one shoulder at Faith’s headstone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back.” I rubbed wet palms against my jeans. My feet stumbled through the grass on autopilot. This was my chance.
I sprinted toward home, formulating a plan. First, I needed a shower and change of clothes. Next, I needed a picture of Faith from that summer. The Lovells probably saw thousands of new faces every year and three years had already passed. Expecting them to remember one girl from a town as unremarkable as ours was asking the impossible.
I slowed my pace on Main Street. Outside the honky-tonk, a fresh banner hung from the awning, a photo advertisement for the Lovell Traveling Sideshow. My mouth dropped open as my gaze swept over the ad. I missed the curb and planted one foot in ankle-deep runoff racing for the gutter. “Gross.” My palms hit the sidewalk, stopping me from a complete fall. The open flap of my bag dripped against my pant leg when I stood. I buckled the bag without looking, unable to drag my focus away from the banner. A woman covered in tattoos posed with a set of acrobats front and center. A shirtless strongman with a mask and endless muscles stood behind her. I tried to match Anton and his flowers to the masked man in the photograph. Was it possible?
A man in tuxedo tails pulled fire from his hat and a woman in a ball gown swallowed swords. Animals in black tutus and studded collars pranced at her feet. Behind the others stood a brown-eyed guy with neck ink, a guitar, and a frown. Cross was a performer all right. He was one of them. A Lovell.
The Number
The mailman stood at our mailbox, shuffling letters with junk mail. His sour expression spoke volumes.
I stopped at his side and waited.
Rain rolled off his plastic poncho, dripping onto a long, hooked nose before landing on his round paunch. The navy walking shorts with knee socks and orthopedic gym shoes were especially sporting with a poncho. He eyeballed me with a look that fell in the stretch between pity and disdain.
He placed a set of letters in my hand and blinked raindrops from stubby eyelashes. “Tell your father it was a lovely service Sunday.”
“I will.”
I splashed down our driveway, flipping through the late notices. “Shoot.”
I kicked my Chucks onto the welcome mat and shoved my way inside. Cleaning house and making meals weren’t a problem, but Dad had to pay the bills.
A puddle formed at my feet while I patted my limbs with a dish towel and wrung my hair in the sink. Steady bass pounded the ceiling.
I tossed the towel onto the puddle and stacked our bills on the kitchen table. With a pen, I wrote “Pay Me” on the top envelope before jogging upstairs. Music blared from Pru’s room. I rounded the corner and climbed the third flight of stairs to my room. At least I knew she was home and safe.
Music beat against my bedroom floor, ruining any chance of a peaceful shower. I rushed through the process and redressed in my old color-guard T-shirt and cotton shorts before dealing with my hair. My third floor room had plenty of perks like solitude and a tiny bath, but Dad didn’t allow door locks. Instead, we had a strict knock-three-times-before-barging-in policy. Dressing at my leisure wasn’t an option.
I raked a brush through tangled, wet hair. The black lines in my otherwise sandy hair were less noticeable after a shower. What had begun as one rebellious streak of mourning my sister became a dozen when Mom joined her. That was right before I checked out. Disconnected. Quit. In the reflection of my mirror, the outgrown streaks looked more like intentional black tips creeping over my shoulders. I held the blow dryer over the ends and brushed them dry.
My unmade bed called to me, begging me to let this day come and go without participation. I set the hair dryer aside. My blankets wound into a beckoning nest that I longed to crawl inside and disappear, but this wasn’t the day. I wasn’t that girl. I opened my laptop and jammed earbuds into my ears. I wouldn’t lose another day to sleep and sadness. The bass of Pru’s music reduced to a low drone and vibration against my feet. I opened folders of photos from Faith’s last summer. She was my age then.
There were so many pictures.
Faith had been my entire world. I’d emulated her. Adored her.
Lied for her.
I had dozens of shots of her in her color-guard uniform. Photos of her in her pj’s on Christmas morning. Fishing with Dad at the river. Carrying Pru on her shoulders. A hole opened in my chest as memories flooded out. Shame strangled me, the way it always did when anger jumped forward. How dare she leave me when I needed her so much? How dare I blame her?
I shut the folder and opened a search engine. I’d take her senior picture with me to see the Lovells. Meanwhile, I needed a plan. I needed the right words. My bookmarks tab had a compilation of links dedicated to the Lovell’s Traveling Sideshow. The Lovells had been in town the night Faith died. In the morning, they’d been gone. Dad skirted the details beyond those facts. There was an accident. Your sister drowned. Faith hadn’t gone to the river to see the Lovells, but the Lovells had been at the river and so was she. When kids from school had gossiped about her death, calling the accident a suicide, I’d died along with her. She wouldn’t have done that. I’d prayed for someone to tell me if she was alone that night. The Lovells might’ve seen her. If they had seen someone with Faith and described them, I could put a name to the description and talk with that person. As the pastor’s kid, I knew almost everyone in town. If I followed the clues, maybe I could understand why we’d lost her. The official report didn’t matter. Lifeguards didn’t drown unless they wanted to.
I hadn’t considered Faith capable of suicide, despite what everyone said, until three months later. If Mom could do it, maybe it was in our genes. God knew how many times I’d stood at the riverbank, imagined walking in and disappearing. What would that do to Pru?
I couldn’t do that to Pru.
I opened a site from my bookmarks. The Lovells’ website was basic. Shades of black and gray with punches of crimson. The pictures were affected with a basic antique filter. I hadn’t visited the website in months, maybe a year, but it looked the same. There wasn’t much to learn on the site, aside from pricing and act details. They performed at parties and events but often traveled with carnivals and fairs. I’d long ago moved on to stalking the cast and crew through social media and the blogs of others who’d seen the show. I pinned every stop on a map. For what purpose, I didn’t know. Maybe I hoped they’d return and answer my questions about Faith’s death. Maybe I needed to know she hadn’t left me intentionally.
The Lovells were a large family. Their last name suggested they were Roma, a group most people called Gypsies, but I tried not to think of them that way. I’d learned Gypsy was an offensive word to Roma. Aside from the name, I wasn’t convinced they were Roma. Probably they’d taken on the name for added mystique or legitimacy. They had a standard sideshow palm reader and psychic, but none of their acts or advertisements specifically referenced a Roma heritage. I’d researched that too.
Nadya and Nicolae were the elders of the group. They had several children, Beau, Anton, Tom, and Rose. Anton. I ground my teeth. I’d never met anyone named Anton until today and yet I’d never suspected him as a Lovell. They hadn’t been here in so long.
I shut my eyes. What was I doing? Questioning the Lovells about something so personal and so long ago was the silly conviction of a fourteen-year-old. Even if they remembered something about a girl near the river, how would it matter? I shut the windows on my computer screen and pulled in a cleansing breath. I shouldn’t go. Shouldn’t get my hopes up. Maybe I shouldn’t even want to know.
Pru’s music cut out.
“Thank you.” I pulled the earbuds free.
My heart seized before my mind processed her scream. I barreled headlong down the steps toward Pru’s room, terrified of what I’d find. What if she was hurt? I couldn’t lose her. Not her too. My ankle rolled, spilling me into the hall outside her open door. “Pru!”
I gasped as the scene before me took shape. Dad had a boy by his elbow, dragging him into the hall as I scurried out of their way. Pru held a quilt to her chest, bare arms poking out on either side. Her ruined ringlets fuzzed over her shoulders. Tears stained her cheeks. “I hate you!” Her voice cracked. “I hate you! You’re never here. What are you even doing here? My life is none of your business!”
She wasn’t hurt. My chest heaved and dropped. I tilted my face to heaven for a quick “thank you” and hobbled into her room, securing the door behind me. I’d help the boy in a minute, assuming Pru was a willing participant. If not, I’d help Dad dig a hole.
“Not you.” She face-planted onto her bed, quilt-first, in nothing but panties.
I threw a blanket over her. “So.” I dragged the word out several syllables.
She screamed into the bed.
“What were you doing?”
Pru turned her face to better scowl at me. “We were trying on my clothes and Dad got the wrong idea.”
I nodded in mock acceptance. “Yep. Yep. I can see how that could happen. Did your bra fit him okay, then?”
Pru snorted and buried her face again. “Shut up. Go away. This is none of your business.”
I waffled. Who was I to stay if she didn’t want me?
Who would stay with her if I left?
I tossed her clothes onto the bed. “I hope you used protection.”
Pru shot upright, clutching the quilt. “I hate you.” Her words lost their heat. “We weren’t having sex. I’m saving myself for marriage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
I frowned. As if any guy in this town would touch me. “No.”
“I can’t tell if you’re lying.”
“Get dressed.”
She scoffed. “Whatever. Just go.”
I moved to the doorway and slid out, hoping she didn’t really hate me. “I’m not saving myself.”
The door clicked shut and I took a deep breath. Pru would survive. Her reputation might not, but she was resilient. She could probably spin this to her benefit.
I edged closer to the door beside hers. My old room.
A gentle touch of my fingertips dislodged the door and it creaked open on tired hinges. No one went in there. Not anymore. The pink and white stripes looked as inviting as Faith and I had hoped they would. Twin canopy beds stood along the back wall. Matching vanities and dressers pressed against the opposite wall. One bed had white eyelet comforters and pillowcases. Mine. The other was decked out in our school colors. Faith’s color-guard pillow lay on the floor by my vanity, right where she’d left it after beaning me in the head with it that night. It was the last night I’d stayed there.
Photos of us clung to the vanity mirrors. I forced my feet forward and stopped at Faith’s mirror. Her perfume had permeated the fabrics of the closed room. She was everywhere. I freed a close-up snapshot of us, cheeks pressed together, smiling as though we’d grow old and babysit one another’s kids someday. I caressed her face with one thumb, regretting the decision to come inside our old room. It hurt in here.
Dad’s voice bellowed through the house. His angry bark snapped me back to the crisis at hand. Prudence hadn’t earned her name today, and Dad, therefore, had failed as both pastor and parent. I wound my way down the next flight of steps and peered into the kitchen.
A boy with good hair and bad skin sat at our kitchen table looking a little pissed. His shirt was on, but he hadn’t bothered to straighten it or pull it over his flat, freckled stomach. Dad’s eye twitched. He’d blamed a boy for breaking Faith’s heart, or I assumed as much based on a number of Sunday morning sermons about the perils of teen romance. Teens aren’t ready for the ramifications and heartbreak of first love. I supposed he assumed a broken heart was the reason she had gone out alone that night. His theory hadn’t given me much motivation to find love, ever. Maybe that was the point. Apparently the tale hadn’t affected Pru.
“Dad?” I went to the sink and poured a glass of water.
He pressed his fists against his hips. “Mercy, this doesn’t concern you.”
“I know.” He was right. I had no right to push my way into their lives after avoiding them for so long. So, why did it feel so important? “I just thought you’d want a witness.”
Both sets of eyes jumped to catch my gaze.
“I mean, just in case...”
Dad’s shoulders slumped. “This isn’t my first rodeo, darling. I’ve already contacted Jason’s parents. They’re on their way and we’ll talk about this together.”
Right. Of course he’d wait for the parents. Protocol for ministry was engraved in his brain. I grabbed the stack of unpaid bills on my way out. “I’ll put the mail with your Bible.”
“Thank you.”
I eased through the kitchen doorway with one backward glance. Whatever Pru saw in Jason eluded me. Maybe he had a good personality, but the way he sat cocked sideways and tipped back in the kitchen chair reeked of disrespect and attitude. His obnoxious bright red high-tops probably cost more than half my wardrobe. If Dad jerked the chair leg and upset Jason, I’d cover for him.
“Mercy?” Dad’s voice was calm, almost pleasant. “Can you ask Pru to get down here, please?”
“Yep.”
I didn’t have to go far. Pru stood on the bottom step. She at least had the decency to look embarrassed, if not ashamed. Dad had seen her boobs and her underpants. Personally, I’d never leave the house again, but this was Pru and, from the rigidity in her form, I’d guess she was angry with him for barging in. He’d probably knocked three times first, but she never would’ve heard him over the music.
I lifted a thumb over one shoulder. “Dad wants you.”
She crunched her face at me as I passed on my way back upstairs. Whatever she’d planned for tonight was most definitely canceled now. Dad hadn’t been so worked up since Faith got busted sneaking a guy into our room when I was thirteen. Dad had threatened to move me into Pru’s room and put a lock on Faith’s door. On the outside.
Ten minutes later, Jason’s parents arrived. I listened from the privacy of my room. Dad was a gracious host. He made coffee and offered some cheese and grapes from the fridge. It went downhill from there.
Jason’s dad’s voice boomed through the house. “Stop pushing your religion onto our family, preacher.”
“This isn’t about the church.” Dad’s counseling voice was in gear. “It’s about protecting the children.”
Jason’s mom barked a high-pitched laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I provide our son with protection. He’s a responsible sixteen-year-old with all the facts and a mind of his own.”
I imagined Dad swallowing his tongue at the revelation of Jason’s age and accessibility to condoms. Pru was never leaving the house again.
The doorbell rang and the house stilled.
I shuffled toward the door, glad for a reason to get a better position inside the house. “I’ll get it.” Old air vents carried sounds well, but a first-floor seat was better.
When I grabbed the doorknob, Dad was in the middle of insisting his “girls are respectable young women with high moral values and equally high expectations for their suitors.”
Oh, yes. We had oh-so-many suitors. Pru was only fifteen and I’d never had a real boyfriend. I opened the door with a snort.
The guy on our porch stared at me from a solid six-inch difference in height. “You dropped this earlier.” He handed me something that looked a lot like my wallet.
“Uh.” I pinched the soaking-wet wallet between my thumb and first finger, as if it might explode.
Dad’s voice boomed behind me. “Mercy? Who’s this young man?” His voice hitched on the word “young.” Cross was at least eighteen, maybe twenty.
“Uh.” I turned to face the crowd gathering behind me.
Pru’s snide smile irked me. “Yeah, Mercy. Who’s your friend?”
I squirmed though I hadn’t done anything wrong. Not unless unwittingly consorting and receiving flowers from mysterious traveling-sideshow men counted as a crime. Still, Dad wouldn’t be happy if he knew I’d spoken to Cross, especially if he recognized him from the banner outside Red’s. I shot a pleading glance at the stranger on my porch.
“I’m Cross.” A rivulet of rain dropped from his bangs and swiveled over his forehead.
Jason’s parents elbowed past me with Jason in tow. The cloud of perfume and cologne was enough to knock me aside, if I hadn’t moved willingly. Cross stepped away as they passed him on the porch. His guarded eyes swept over them, moving from one person to the next, like a scientist in a lab. The evaluating gaze caught in a few places before moving on to the next specimen.
Jason’s mom looked Cross over with appreciation before turning to Dad. “I can see why you were so concerned about your daughter and my Jason. He’s clearly the biggest problem your ‘morally upright’ daughters have.” She formed air quotes around Dad’s words.
The four of us stood in silence as Jason’s parents packed him in the car and reversed down our driveway.
Pru edged closer to Cross and me. She folded her arms, her drama already forgotten. “Why did you have Mercy’s wallet?”
I straightened my stance and spun on Pru, turning my back on the mysterious guy on our porch. My family’s long-stagnant emotions were on high for a bunch of reasons, none of which had anything to do with him. “I lost my wallet today when I went to see Faith and Mom.” Apparently.
Cross sidestepped into my periphery. He looked at me. “I found the wallet in a gutter on Main Street. I used the address on the license to return it.”
I swallowed hard. Oh, thank goodness. No mention of our brief introduction earlier. I breathed easier. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t look at anything else.”
“What?” I turned to face him and opened the wallet. It hadn’t occurred to me anything might be missing.
“If it was my wallet, I’d worry someone went through it.” His voice was low and smooth. “I didn’t. I only touched the license.”
Dad clapped one hand over Pru’s shoulder and pulled her away from the door. He dragged her around behind him and clasped his free hand on the doorjamb. “Thank you very much for returning my daughter’s wallet. I’m sorry if this seems rude, but we’re in the middle of something I feel I need to finish.”
Cross nodded. “Of course. Sorry for the intrusion.” His gaze dropped to me and lingered. “Have a good day.”
Dad closed the door in Cross’s face and gave me a warning look. The warning could’ve been for so many things. I decided it best to wait in my room and see if Pru needed anything. Walking through the bedroom I’d shared with Faith had rocked something loose in my heart. I’d been so busy mourning the loss of my big sister, I’d forgotten Pru needed one as much as I did.
The yelling began before I closed my bedroom door. I stuffed earbuds back into my ears and flopped onto the bed. Holding the wallet over my face, I checked the pockets and creases for all the things I’d hidden in the folds.
I wiggled my license free. Cross had said it was the only thing he’d touched. He’d kept my secret about meeting him today. Appreciation burned in my chest. Dad had had a rough enough day without knowing I’d spoken with two of the Lovells. Did Cross understand how much he’d saved me with that omission? I owed him a thank-you. Not that I’d talk to him again, but still.
I ran a thumb over my license. I was young in the picture, taken almost two years ago. Sad. Heavier. Soon, I’d be eighteen. Older than Faith. My fingers brushed over something stuck to the backside and I turned my license over. A folded sticky note with the Lovell logo and Cross’s name etched in rough pen strokes clung to the thick plastic ID. Beneath his name was a phone number.
An Invitation
No one left the house all day. After three years of politely avoiding one another, Dad and Pru had a head-on collision, and I was stuck as their unwilling spectator. Dad lectured Pru on the values of purity until his voice gave out and he went for a glass of water. His heavy footfalls reverberated through the house on his way to the kitchen. He commanded me to go to my room and I jumped.
“I’m in my room!”
Who needed the Lovell’s Traveling Sideshow? We had enough drama to charge admission at Pastor Porter’s house and it was loud. Not even my bootleg Beats could drown out Pru’s screaming and door slamming after Dad called the church camp and tried enrolling her. Lucky for Pru, it was late in the season and the cabins were full through the end of summer. Camp Purity filled up fast. I’d avoided camp, but Faith had gone twice and relayed the horrors of gender segregation, modest apparel in sweltering temperatures, and no air-conditioning. The camp was located across the river in Ohio and it was a no-cell-phone, no-Wi-Fi, be-still-and-appreciate-what-God created kind of camp. Pru wouldn’t have survived.
The screaming went on for hours. I hoped Dad’s heart would hold up. This was the worst day he’d had in years, and he didn’t look too good. If he stroked out on Pru and me, we were in trouble. No parents. No local family. I’d have to skip college and stay with Pru until she graduated. I couldn’t handle that.
For dinner, Dad ordered a pizza no one ate. He sat across from Pru with flushed cheeks and a frustration-creased forehead. I recognized this face. He wore the expression when he wrote his sermons. Dad was plotting.
Pru refused eye contact. She’d screwed up big-time but, in her defense, it was nice having Dad home all day, even if it was to make sure she didn’t leave.
When we were excused from the table, I stuck the pizza in the refrigerator and went back to my room. I stayed there searching for information on Cross. I couldn’t find anything on the Lovells’ website indicating his full name or his part in their show. News articles and Yelps about the sideshow didn’t call anyone by name. Maybe Cross was his last name. I traced a fingertip over the number scrawled on the little sticky note. The answers I sought waited on the other side of those ten digits. All I had to do was dial.
The sudden squealing drone of power tools purred and cried downstairs. The hair on my arms stood at attention. Pru’s screams began anew.
“What the hell are you doing?” She pounded her fist against the stairwell.
I pulled to a stop on the landing above her floor. Dad stood before her with a power tool, pinching and releasing the trigger. Goggle straps wound around his thick sandy hair and gripped his forehead. He lowered the plastic glasses over narrowed eyes and turned the screwdriver to Pru’s door.
I slapped a palm over my mouth and dropped into a more comfortable position.
Pru shoved Dad’s shoulder. “Stop!” She pounded on his back, stormed into her room and back to his side. Nothing fazed him.
A few seconds later, Dad lifted his hand. A set of screws lay in his open palm. Pru screamed. Dad pocketed the screws and turned back to the door. I scrunched my nose against the dry scent of sawdust filling the air. Two handfuls of screws later, Pru landed on her knees beside Dad.
I rested my chin in my hands. Whatever the rest of the town was up to today, it didn’t compare to the action at the Porter home. We hadn’t been this loud in years. It was as if a sinkhole had swallowed our entire house. Poof! Right through the looking glass.
Pru sobbed. “I am so super amazingly sorry, Daddy. Please don’t do this.”
I rolled my eyes. Oh boy.
Dad wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He scrubbed the cloth over the back of his neck and stuffed it into his pocket.
I hadn’t seen Dad in parent mode for so long, I’d forgotten how formidable he was when provoked. Faith had loved to provoke. Did Pru remember those days? She was only twelve when Faith died. I’d assumed she’d slept through all the hoopla when Faith broke curfew, snuck out, and got caught, or kissed her dates good night too long on the front porch. Seeing Pru in action made it hard to believe she hadn’t taken notes back then.
Dad faced the door. “Move.”
Pru scurried up the short flight of steps and collapsed at my knees. “Can you believe him?”
Kind of. Yeah.
A few creaks and groans later, paint chips popped off the hinges and speckled the hallway floor. Dad wrenched the door away from the frame and dragged it down the steps.
Pru growled and slapped the wall. “He took my effing door.”
She’d lost the battle, but the war was only beginning. She chased Dad downstairs, claiming injustice, misquoting the right to privacy act and fabricating a slew of other broken laws before pounding back up the steps to her room and slamming her closet door a hundred times.
Who knew a little premarital nudity would bring Dad back to life?
There might be hope for us yet.
* * * *
I woke several hours later with a jolt. Limbs of the old oak outside my window clattered against the glass. Wind bent younger trees over like brown-and-green candy canes in our yard.
My stomach ached and growled. I picked my way to the kitchen for a bite of cold pizza. Pru lay still in her bed. She looked peaceful for the first time all day. The door to Dad’s room was open, but he wasn’t there.
Our television flickered blue light through the first floor, illuminating a giant set of cowbells hung over the front door. A West Virginia alarm system. Funny. Dad’s recliner blocked the back door. He snored loudly from a fully reclined position. His fleece blanket covered one leg and draped onto the floor. His Bible rose and fell on his chest.
I rearranged the blanket over Dad’s chest and legs and pulled a small glass wedged between the cushion and arm of his chair free so it wasn’t crushed when he straightened the chair in the morning. A black cap appeared beneath the glass. Something else was crammed deeper down. I wiggled it free and stared. Blackberry brandy. Huh. I pressed both his secrets back into place and covered them with the blanket. I guess today had taken a toll on both of them.
I freed a slice of pizza from the fridge and headed back to my room. A slippery idea formed with every step. Dad was asleep on brandy. Pru had thrown a fit equivalent to a marathon. She’d sleep until noon. The doors were barricaded. No one would check on me anytime soon.
I chewed the pizza without tasting it. Maybe the solitude was a gift. I’d be reckless to waste an opportunity I’d waited on for so long. I wrapped the pizza in a paper towel and tossed it in the bathroom trash.
I scrolled through the contacts in my phone where I’d added Cross’s number. Midnight was too late to call a stranger, so I sent a text.
“R U up?”
I dropped my phone on my desk and mentally kicked myself. Well, I’d never sleep now. At least he wouldn’t know it was me.
The phone buzzed.
“Yes.”
My heart thundered. Holy crap. He was up. Now what? I rubbed my palms together.
The phone buzzed again. I snatched it off the desk.
“Hungry?”
I dashed my thumbs against the screen.
“No, this is Mercy.”
Buzz.
“I know.”
He knew? How could he possibly know? I shook my head. Showmen. It was all an act. I probably could’ve said I was Elvis or Prince Harry and he would’ve played it off like he’d known all along.
“You like bonfires?”
I eyeballed the window. He’d be lucky to light a candle with all the rain we’d had. Even if they traveled with dry firewood, the wind would put out a bonfire before it started.
“When?”
The phone grew heavy in my hand. I was so incredibly stupid.
“I’ll pick you up in 10.”
“No!”
“No?”
“I can’t. Sorry. Thanks for asking.”
Gah! I was such a complete and utter spaz. What if this guy was a lunatic? What if the Lovells were horrible people, and I’d just asked one of them to deliver me to the lair? I tossed the phone away and marched in a tiny circle with my arms covering my head. I’d get caught and Dad would kill me or have that stroke I’d worried about earlier. He thought Faith had snuck out to meet the Lovells. If he caught me doing the same thing, and he survived the shock, he could go from distant and uninvolved to catatonic. Not good. Pru definitely needed Dad present and aware. Guilt twisted through me. Dad was wrong about Faith meeting the Lovells that night, but I couldn’t tell him.
The phone vibrated. Okay. Be calm. I picked the phone up and looked with one eye.
“Everything ok?”
“Yep.”
“Tomorrow night?”
No. Not tomorrow night. This was my chance. I tugged my lower lip between my thumb and first finger. This was a really bad idea. A really terrible idea. I marched in place, praying for divine reasoning. I wanted to ask the Lovells about Faith more than anything in the world. A tiny crack split the side of my calloused heart. Hope was powerful like that.
I pulled in a long breath and tapped the phone. If a car pulled up to my house at midnight, Dad would know. Cars were big and loud and identifiable. People were small, dark shadows. Stealthy.
“Tonight’s better. Can we walk instead?”
Jeez. I sounded like an idiot. The storm’s aftermath raged outside and I wanted to walk. I didn’t have a choice.
Embarrassment touched my cheeks. Cross didn’t have to sneak away. Curfews and preachers were probably alien concepts to him, but he’d rolled into my world this morning. I couldn’t just waltz out at twelve fifteen for a bonfire with complete strangers, especially not the Lovells. Never the Lovells. Muscles tightened in my chest.
Faith. Wasn’t that a good enough reason to go? I could ask all those questions I’d waited three years to ask. Maybe fourteen-year-old me was wise to think the Lovells had answers. Maybe current me was overthinking. Maybe I deserved some answers before I left this town.
Moments ticked past. I pulled on my favorite jeans and hoodie before the phone buzzed again.
“Anywhere special you want to go?”
Yeah. I wanted to question his friends. I tapped the back of my phone. How could I answer that?
“Bonfire works.”
“Should I throw rocks at your window when I get there?”
“Ha-ha.”
Click. Scratch. Click. The branches tickled my window. My heart stopped then sprinted. Only the wind.
I dragged a brush through my hair. What was I thinking? The whole scenario was insane. I unrolled red-and-white-striped knee socks and pulled them on under my jeans. I owed Cross a thank you for earlier. I’d meet him outside, thank him, ask a few questions and then move on with my life. Simple. Not a big deal.
“Ready?”
I clutched my phone. No. Not at all. I hadn’t climbed off the roof in more than a year. The window had once been my nightly escape route. The fresh air and silent streets helped me sort things out. My walks normally ended at Faith’s grave. No matter how well I slept during the day, nighttime sent my mind into overdrive. I’d fixate on every awful possibility for Faith’s last night. Every gruesome scenario was my fault. I should’ve stopped her.
“Yeah.”
I stuffed my feet into the muddiest shoes in my room and opened the window.
Ding! The sound cut through howling wind. I held my breath and scanned the yard below. My phone was on vibrate.
Cross emerged from the shadows, waving his phone like a beacon in the dark. “Hey.”
I stretched a shaky leg over the window ledge and took one last look at my room. This was it. I swiveled around and hopped onto the mudroom roof. My window slid shut with a clatter. Leaves bustled over the shingles and my feet. I scooted along the rain-slicked roof to a wide oak limb and grabbed ahold. Water rained over me as I swung my body down. Every leaf in the tree dripped with two days’ excess. My tiptoes scraped a lower limb and I tested it with my weight. A gust of wind nudged the tree, but the limbs held their place. Using the overhead limb to guide me, I walked toward the tree’s two-hundred-year-old trunk where I’d nailed three hunks of wood as a makeshift ladder. The only thing keeping my mind off the stranger below was my intense desire not to slip and land in the muddy grass at his feet.
I breathed easier as my right toe touched the earth. A warm hand curled under my elbow, for support, I hoped. Marching willfully to my abduction was a move too dumb to contemplate. I had to trust my gut this time. He’d covered for me earlier. I owed him a thank you. To my relief, Cross stepped away the moment my other foot reached the grass.
He looked taller in the moonlight. Paler and more foreboding. My room looked a hundred miles away.
I dusted my palms together. “You got here fast.”
Cross shoved his fingers into his back pockets. “Small town.”
The wind gathered leaves and twigs at our feet and grass fell over the tops of my shoes. I squinted through the misty wind and pulled a swath of hair off my face. “You have a bonfire going in this mess?”
Cross lifted his gaze from my arm to my eyes and shrugged. “Sort of.”
I pulled the cuffs of both sleeves down to my palms and folded my fingertips over, anchoring the material in place. This night wasn’t about my secrets.
I tilted my head and looked into his eyes for a sign I shouldn’t go. He seemed at ease in the dark, windy yard. Of course, it would take a colossal moron, or someone the size of Anton, to abduct Cross. He had nothing to worry about.
“Thanks for not telling my dad we met earlier today. He’s a little overprotective.” Lies. Dad was gone. Absent. Uninvolved until eight hours ago, but unloading our whole ugly story with my thank-you seemed wrong. “Why did you invite me out tonight?”
He shifted his weight, foot to foot. “I don’t know.”
Was I making him nervous?
Cross glanced at his shoes. His gaze bounced back to me. “Why did you agree to come?”
There was no right answer, so I turned toward the sidewalk with a shrug. My muscles itched to move. “Lead the way.”
Cross kept his distance, staying a half step ahead. We walked in silence to the corner and made a turn toward the riverside campgrounds.
I hooked flyaway hair behind both ears and hid my hands in hoodie pockets. “How’d you know which room was mine?”
He slid his eyes my way. “Your light was on.”
“What if someone else was awake and that was their room?”
“Nah.”
I made a face at his back. “Nah? What’s that mean? Nah.”
He slowed, matching my pace. Confliction rose in his brow and my palms slicked with nerves. “It was the attic. Most people use the attic for storage, but it’s too late at night for anyone to be in the attic unless it’s a bedroom.”
Fine. That was a reasonable and intelligent conclusion. Cross wasn’t a dummy. Good to know. It reminded me of the way he’d watched Jason and his family earlier. What did he see when he looked at them? Something else hit me. “That doesn’t explain how you knew the attic was my room. What if I was in bed for the night when I texted you?”
He ducked his head, shooting me an apologetic expression. “I don’t think you sleep. There are purple crescents under your eyes and you seem edgy. I think you’re troubled and lonely. I think you’d choose the attic for your room because it’s as far away from people as you can get inside your house.”
My mouth opened and my feet stopped moving. The scars on my arms heated with accusation. He’d seen the cuts when I climbed off the tree. Despite the wind and the darkness. Despite the hoodie. Despite everything.
I clutched the cuffs of my hoodie inside my pockets. Cutting was taboo. No one talked about cutting, or cutters, in public. Everyone gossiped vehemently about both in private. The town would’ve cared less if I’d shown up pregnant in middle school or had a trendy flaw like heroin addiction. Anything but cutting. Cutting was ugly and my scars offended them. My mouth dried. The scars were forever and there was no earthly forgiveness for them.
Cross turned. “Sorry.”
I swallowed a lump. “For what?” His next words would determine how quickly I jogged home and climbed the tree in my yard.
“I’m not great with timing. Or words. Or people.”
Not what I’d expected. Most people blurted out rude things and then said they were sorry I was sad or hurting or tired. “Oh.”
“I wasn’t being rude.” He stopped moving. “The marks under your eyes. I didn’t mean to sound like there was something wrong.” Cross locked his gaze on mine.
I braced for what might come next. “Something else?”
“You’re too thin and I saw your arms. I’m curious. I swear I’m not being rude intentionally.” His voice was steady and low. “Did you do that, or did someone else hurt you?”
The foul buzzer sounded in my mind. I shook my head. “Wow. You’re right. You really aren’t good with people.”
He bobbed his head in one sharp motion. “I think I knew it was too much to ask.” He moved forward a few paces and turned his chin to look over one shoulder.
I followed, catching up easily on the wet asphalt. Curiosity moved me forward. “What’d you think of Jason and his folks earlier? I saw the way you looked at them.”
“He’s your sister’s boyfriend?”
“I’m not sure. She and I aren’t close.” Regret settled over me. I’d drawn away when Faith died. I’d chosen retreating into a spiral of guilt and shame over looking out for Pru. In hindsight, I was selfish. In the moment, I’d been surviving a nuclear blast to my soul the only way I knew how.
“Whoever he is, he’s cheating on someone. If not your sister, then someone else and your sister is the other woman.”
My head swung left and right. “No way. Everyone likes Pru. There’s no way he’d cheat on her and there’s also no way she’d settle for being second string.”
Cross shrugged. “I think his parents encourage his behavior. They think having more than one girl shows his success at manhood. He probably excels at every sport and whatever else his parents push him toward. He’s probably an only child.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Anything else, Sherlock?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Odds are his dad’s just like him. The dad probably cheats too and the marriage endures for the sake of Jason, which makes him Priority One. Hence his ego. I think Jason’s worshipped at his house, so he won’t put up with anything else from his friends or his girls, and he won’t see cheating as wrong no matter how many ways the message is sent.”
I snorted. “You got all that from seeing him dragged off the porch?”
Cross’s lips twitched. “You saw him dragged. I saw him escorted home by his entourage for a pat on the back and a hardy steak dinner.”
“Nice. It’s all in the perception, I guess. I wonder what your interpretation says about you?”
Cross chuckled. “Fine. I guessed about the steak. I think it means I’m observant and I don’t trust people.”
Touché. My mind swirled with questions. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
Older than me. I’d been right about that. “I’m seventeen.”
“I know.”
I guffawed. “Was it my telltale nose or something in my freckles?”
“It was on your license.”
I smiled. Right. I pulled my hands free and let my arms swing at my sides. “Are you here for the River Festival?”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”
“It’s not until the end of the month. You’re here until then?”
“Yeah.”
We wound through the trees outside the campground. Cross kicked a path in fallen pine needles. I marveled at his strange ability to make me feel comfortable when everything about him was the opposite of comforting. His disposition was too sullen. His words were too direct. Still, electricity zinged in the air between us and I wanted to know him. What a strange way to make friends.
“Mercy?”
I startled. My name sounded interesting on his tongue. “Yeah?”
“Where were you going when we met? I saw you again on your way home. You were upset. I nearly left Red’s to check on you when I saw you trip, but you were gone before I grabbed my jacket and opened the door.”
He saw me fall in the gutter. Was anyone more awkward?
He gripped the narrow trunk of a young tree. His eyebrows drew together. “You worried me, which is crazy because I’d only met you for a minute, but it bugged me. Where would a girl like you go in a storm and why did the outing piss you off?”
“I wasn’t mad, and I wasn’t on a mission.”
“You were soaked from the storm and you were mad. Weren’t you? Were you sad? Are you sad now?”
I wet my lips and searched my muddled brain for answers. “I went to the cemetery to visit my family. I wasn’t upset by the storm. I don’t mind the rain.” My breath whipped in and out in silent bursts. A panic attack would send me home before I met the Lovells.
He watched me. Could he see the stress in my expression?
I sipped the air, calming my thoughts, steadying my nerves. “Sometimes I worry about the well-being of strangers too. I think it shows heart. We’re all human, right? We should care about one another.”
He ducked his head. “What about the other thing?”
The other thing. Was I sad? For a long time that was all I was. “Not right now.”
His cheek lifted into a crooked half smile. “Cool.” He presented his palm to me.
“What?” I stepped back an inch.
“Sometimes touch helps.” Frustration wrinkled his brow. “I’m not being weird, I swear. This isn’t a creeper move.”
I shook my head. My chest burned with effort as my breaths grew shallower.
“Trust me.”
I shut my eyes against the shining in my periphery. Humiliation was seconds away. I’d pass out or cry. I couldn’t run home this way.
Cross lifted my hand in his. “Okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” My neck and face burned. I squeezed my eyelids tighter.
He curled strong fingers over mine and stepped closer. He pressed our joined hands against his chest until I felt his racing heartbeat touch my fingers. “Human touch is powerful. It’s calming. Free medicine. Like laughter.”
My eyes popped open. “You don’t look like someone who laughs much.”
Cross frowned. “What do you mean?”
A bubble of laughter passed my lips. I pulled my hand free and covered my mouth. “Nothing.” Another slip of laughter pressed my closed lips.
His eyes twinkled. “See?”
A genuine smile of gratitude dawned. The frantic feeling slipped away. I pulled in a long, easy breath. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I laughed again. Who was this guy?
The steady whir of rushing water crept into my conscience. The river. We’d walked across town already? Maybe he was a magician. Trailers filled the campsites. Fires in barrels glowed brightly, despite the wind and occasional mess of flying leaves. Bullfrogs and crickets sang the night score from their secret hideouts.
Cross motioned me forward. “This is my camper.”
Music drifted from the windows of a small black camper on our right. A metal awning sheltered two barrels with fires going strong. A circle of pop-up chairs cradled a group of people I recognized from pictures online and the new banner outside Red’s.
“Welcome to the Lovell Traveling Sideshow.”
Scars
A man in black slacks, a fitted white shirt, and a black vest stood as we approached. His fedora reminded me of old movies. “Welcome back, Cross.” Firelight danced over the older man’s features.
My eyes adjusted to the light and recognition arrived on a burst of floating embers. This was the Lovell family patriarch. According to my research, Nicolae was a father figure to the entire cast and actual father to many of the performers.
Cross met him with a handshake. “Nicolae, this is Mercy. Mercy, this is Nicolae Lovell.”
I lifted my fingers waist high. “Hi.”
Cross evaluated me a moment before turning back to the crowd. He pointed chair to chair in a counterclockwise motion. “This is Nicolae’s wife, Nadya. Their daughter, Rose, and the acrobats Camille, Viola, and Gem. These guys are the Lovell sons. Beau, Tom, and you’ve met Anton. Anton’s sidekick called it a night at eleven. You’ll meet her another time. This is Collin, the fire-eater, and Daisy. Daisy’s our company ninja. She also trains the animals.”
A collective nod moved around the circle. Their smiles were inviting, not suspicious or unkind as I’d expected.
I’d never remember all the new names.
What did he mean I’d meet Anton’s sidekick another time? What exactly constituted a sideshow sidekick, and why did he think I’d come back?
Nadya stood beside her husband. Lines of silver bracelets jingled on her arms. Everyone turned in her direction. “Welcome, Mercy.” She gathered her long gauzy skirt in one hand and approached the food table set against Cross’s camper. Her wide brown eyes summoned me and I moved to the end of the little buffet on autopilot.
Nadya filled a paper bowl and held it out to me.
A dozen sets of eyes bore into my back.
“Here. Eat.”
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” My lips pinched tight and rolled in over my teeth.
“Oh. Come now. Try it.”
Tendrils of steam carried heady spices into my nose and my traitorous stomach groaned.
She nodded. “Eat.” Nadya watched me like farmers watched kids picking strawberries, as though I’d come to take something of hers.
I accepted the offering. Golden-brown battered fish and corn bread weighted the little paper bowl. She tucked a fork and napkin into my fingers, lingering her touch a split second too long.
“Thank you.”
Cross moved two pop-up chairs into the circle. The others made room to accommodate us. As I passed through the circle, everyone smiled, bowls and cups in their laps. I took the seat beside Anton.
Cross headed for the buffet table and returned on my heels with two cups. “Coffee or punch?” He looked younger in worn-out jeans and a hoodie. He could pass for any frat boy on a bender at Red’s if his eyes weren’t so intense.
I settled into the chair and examined the cups. “You mean you don’t know?”
A low chuckle rolled around the circle.
Anton elbowed me. “Drives you nuts, right? He looks at someone for five seconds and he knows their life story. I spend months with people and can’t see what’s right in front of me.” His straight, white teeth glowed in the low light. There was something sad in the statement, despite his megawatt smile.
Nadya reclaimed her seat. “It’s not polite to show off, Cross.”
“I wasn’t.” He handed me the punch. Apparently he didn’t know everything.
His lack of inflection both worried and comforted me. Maybe he was broken too. If he was, I’d understand, but I wouldn’t tell him. Too many people tried fixing me. Most justified their intrusion under the guise of love, but fixing wasn’t love. Fixing was like saying, “I don’t like you this way. Let me change you into something that makes me more comfortable.”
I pressed my fork into the cornbread and touched it to my lips. The bread was as rich and buttery as it smelled. I tried another bite.
One of the acrobats leaned over the arm of her chair, invading Cross’s personal space. She and the other girls wore jeans and sweatshirts like Cross. They all seemed too young to travel the country without parents. “So, Mercy. It’s not often Cross brings a girl home for dinner.”
Silence fell over the various conversations in our circle.
Apprehension coiled in my stomach. I set the fork into my paper bowl.
Cross turned his eyes on me.
“So?” Her bright blue eyes and fair skin set her apart from the Lovell clan. Her Southern accent sounded more like mine than anyone else’s in the circle. She was newer than the latest website update. I hadn’t seen many girls prettier than her.
I winced mentally at the irrational pinch of jealousy.
The girl on her left leaned elbows on knees, looking around the first girl. Cross had just named them all. Why didn’t I remember their names?
“What made you follow him here? Was it his winning personality, or his wild charisma?”
I stole a glance at Cross. “I wanted to meet you.”
Both girls sat straighter. “Me?”
I balanced the bowl in my lap and steadied myself. “No. Yes. All of you. I have questions.”
The man on Anton’s other side groaned. “Here we go. What are you writing, a report? You want to know if we tell fortunes or make Gypsy curses?”
“What? No.” I turned back to Cross in a panic. If they got up and left before I explained, I’d have snuck out for nothing. I focused on Cross. Though, I’d probably wonder about Gypsy curses later. “The last time you were in town, my sister died.” The words were out before I had time to plan them.
He blinked.
Stunned silence weighted the air. My limbs twitched to run. Run home. Run away. Run until the last three years disappeared and Faith was with my mom in the kitchen making dinner.
Cross’s large hand pressed mine to the arm of my chair. I blinked through unshed tears. When would the intensity of her loss diminish?
The man I’d upset for no reason kicked back in his chair on the other side of Anton. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
I pulled in a shuddery breath and steadied my voice. “You wouldn’t. It’s okay. I wondered if any of you were with the show that year and if I showed you a picture, would you remember her?” I dug a folded snapshot from my pocket. “This is Faith. She was seventeen. She snuck out and came to the river three summers ago. She didn’t come home.”
The pain in my heart seared my thoughts. I gripped the arms of the chair.
Cross took the picture and passed it around the circle, starting with the acrobats. “What happened?”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “I don’t know. She drowned. She said she was going to meet friends at the River Festival. She didn’t come home. I thought maybe one of you remembered her or saw someone she was with that night.”
Cornbread churned in my gut. Exactly why I didn’t eat.
Faith’s photo drifted around the circle, moving from hand to hand at a crawl. Each person took their time with my request. Appreciation bloomed in my heart.
Cross released my hand. “The Lovells were all here that year. Most of the others weren’t. I wasn’t.”
Anton stretched his thick legs toward the fire and crossed his booted feet in front of him. “Mouse was here. Trina had just left. We had another set of acrobats then.”
I rubbed my palms over my knees. “You get a lot of turnover for a traveling show.”
Anton blew out a long breath. “You aren’t kidding.”
Nadya and Nicolae stood, breaking the circle of chairs. “We’re going to get the guitars,” Nicolae said.
Nadya’s sad smile hurt me. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
I bit into the thick of my lip and ducked my chin.
The Lovells’ daughter, Rose, watched her parents leave. She cleared her throat. “I think I might…” She held Faith’s photo in her fingertips. “I’m not positive. It’s been a long time, you know?” Her focus moved from me to Anton. “I’m not sure.”
I scooted to the edge of my seat. “What do you think you remember?”
Rose hesitated. Her sleek black hair was styled in heavy curls like a retro pinup girl. Brightly colored tattoos of roses on thorny vines covered her neck and the skin exposed by the scooped neckline of her dress. She blinked heavily lined eyes. “I don’t want to give you wrong information. This is too important.” Her ruby-red lips shone in the firelight.
“Anything you remember could help. I need to know what happened. Please.” My voice cracked on the final word.
“I think she was with a handful of locals at the carnival. They came to see the family. We had a party. A big bonfire with lots of food and wine. If this is the girl I’m thinking of, I saw her a few times that week.”
“Was she drunk?” My parents had never said anything about Faith having alcohol in her system.
Rose shook her head. “No. If she’s the girl I remember, she was vibrant, gorgeous, and happy.”
The cup slipped from my hand. Cross righted it on the ground and left it at my feet.
Tears stung my eyes. “She was happy?”
Rose nodded. Her gray eyes flicked from my face to Anton’s. “Unless I’m thinking of someone else, yes. She was bubbly and witty and kind of a nut.”
I laughed. One tear rolled over my cheek and I caught it with my sleeve. “She was a nut. What else?”
Rose shrugged. Crimson nails accented her henna-wrapped hands. “That’s all. Except I’m very sorry she’s gone.”
Cross set his cup aside and stood. “I should get you home.”
Faith’s photo reached Anton, the final member of our circle. He looked intently at the photo and then at Cross. “You two just got here. Nadya and Nicolae went for the guitars. You should play for Mercy.”
“Not tonight.” Cross pressed a palm between my shoulder blades and I stood. He was done playing host to my inquisition.
Anton handed me Faith’s photo. His gaze lingered on her face.
“Do you remember her?”
He released the photo into my grip. “It’s been a long time.”
Cross nudged me through the campsite, herding me onto the road, away from his family. I’d crossed a line, I guessed. Still, I’d learned more about the weekend Faith died. She’d been drinking and laughing with friends. I wasn’t a licensed therapist, but that didn’t sound like a weekend ending in suicide. Drinking was a component I hadn’t expected, though it wasn’t out of character. Faith had lived bigger and louder than this little town could accept. People watched her everywhere we went. Faith had been a force of nature. She’d felt things deeply. She was an artist. Her drawings were powerful. Explosive. Sometimes, when she drew, she wouldn’t talk for hours. I’d worried about her leaving for college that summer. How she’d change. Who she’d confide in. What would happen to me without her? I’d promised to visit every weekend as soon as I turned sixteen. At fourteen, I’d wrongly assumed I’d have a car by then, but that was in another life.
A thousand maybes fired through my head. Maybe her drowning was an accident. Maybe the gossips were wrong and the coroner was right. Maybe she’d bobbed off her waist-length hair as a statement of independence instead of a cry for help. Maybe the drinking was for fun, not because she was hurting. I forced emotion aside. I couldn’t fall apart before I got home. There were too many maybes. Enough to drown me too.
I dragged fingers through the ragged black of my hair. If Faith had been out having fun the way Rose described, why weren’t there any witnesses?
Cross watched me as we walked. His gaze warmed my cheeks. “You okay?”
Wind beat my hoodie, throwing the hood against my head. “My dad knew she was drinking.”
“Probably.”
I kicked a patch of stones into the road. “He’s the town preacher. Why didn’t he use that as a life lesson? Alcohol kills.”
Cross barked a short humorless laugh. “Raised by the preacher.”
I sighed. “Now what? My dad’s a pastor. What does that say about me?”
He slowed his steps and cut across the field beside my house, avoiding the streetlight. “You know what goes hand in hand with religion? Guilt. Shame. Defeat.”
I bristled. “You mean hope, faith, and joy.”
“Not always. Not when you lose your sister.” He turned to me and stared. Without warning, he wrapped two long fingers around my wrist. He pushed the sleeve up with his free hand. “You did this because you blame yourself for something. Now I know what.”
I jerked my arm free and yanked my sleeve down. “Stop it. I’m not some puzzle you can solve.”
He widened his stance. “You cut yourself to get relief from the pain of something too big to handle in any other way. I know plenty about that. About pain.”
I stormed past him. “You don’t know anything about me. Don’t touch me again.”
“I know you don’t eat when you’re hungry because it helps you refocus the pain, especially after you stopped cutting. Saying ‘no’ gives you a small measure of control when you want to punish yourself.”
I kept moving. “How do you know I stopped?”
“The scars are old. Healed. Hey, you know it’s not your fault your sister died, right?”
“Shut up.” I slogged through the rain-soaked grass. My arm stung from his touch. No one touched my scars. Every individual mark was a match on my skin. My chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. People always asked about the scars. No one dared touch. They were grotesque external reflections of my obvious internal condition.
“You didn’t kill your sister.” His footfalls pounded through soggy grass behind me. “You’re still hurting over something that can’t be changed. Will you stop running away, please?”
I spun on him, fists clenched. “What do you care? No one asked you to care. So knock it off and go back to your life. Leave me alone. Forget we met.”
Cross stepped into my path. He gripped the hem of his sweatshirt and peeled it over his head, dragging a white T-shirt along with it. He hooked the fabric behind his head without pulling his arms free. His elbows pointed skyward for two long beats. A dozen random lines marked his chest and stomach. His skin was taut over a lean-muscled frame.
I pulled my gaze away and cleared my throat. “What happened to you?”
He replaced his shirt. “I used to pick fights I couldn’t win for the ass beating. I wanted to feel something. Is that why you don’t eat? To feel something?”
My mouth snapped shut.
Cross frowned. His heavy hooded eyes drew level to mine. “Everyone’s got a sad story, Mercy. I don’t want to change you or save you, or whatever you think. I told you, I’m not good with people. Words aren’t my thing, but I like being around you and we’re staying here for a month. We don’t usually stay anywhere this long. We could be friends. I think you might be like me.”
Images of his scarred, shirtless torso cluttered my mind. I rubbed my eyes. He was too close. His cologne was everywhere. Feelings ambushed me on every level. I stepped back. “In what way do you think I’m like you? Do you mean broken?”
Cross took a matching step back, palms up. “I didn’t mean to get so close.” He scrunched his eyebrows. “I’m not broken, not yet. Neither are you. We’re just a little dinged up. Slightly damaged.”
I pulled in a deep breath for bravery, unzipped my hoodie, and freed my arms. Why not? My mind scrambled to rationalize the sudden desire to reveal my secrets. In a few minutes, I’d climb through my bedroom window and never see him again. It would be nice for one living person to know my story. Plus, he wasn’t in any position to judge me or spread gossip about me. Moonlight filtered through swaying branches, showcasing my favorite worn-out concert shirt and half my scars. His eyes widened and then narrowed as he took in the ugly marks on my skin.
“I made the first cut a few weeks after we lost her. She drowned in the river and washed ashore the next morning. I thought I’d die with her.” I swiped renegade tears with the pads of both thumbs. “My parents called her death an accident, but I couldn’t believe she’d be so careless. Of course, now I know she was drinking. Later, kids at school said she probably killed herself, but I couldn’t believe she’d do that. I wanted to join her but couldn’t. I was consumed by this…unbearable pain. I needed a distraction to dull the heartache. Cutting worked. You have no idea how much.”
I replaced my sleeves and tugged the zipper on my hoodie to my chin.
Cross gave one stiff nod. “I’ve never been that close to anyone. I’m sorry you lost her. I can’t guess what that was like.”
And I couldn’t explain it because there weren’t enough awful words in any language to make him understand. “I covered for her that night.” My voice croaked. “I covered so she could sneak out. While she was drowning, I was lying to my parents about the shower I’d left running. I told them Faith was taking a shower.” I huffed a weary breath and shook my hands out hard at the wrists. “I lied because she asked me to. If I’d told them the truth, they might’ve saved her.”
Cross extended a palm. He opened and closed his fingers. I set my wrist in his hand and swallowed bile. I might as well have been naked before him. Nudity would’ve left more hidden. His fingers probed the sensitive skin of my wrist beneath my sweatshirt. “How long did you do this to yourself?”
“A few months before anyone noticed. Then almost a year longer. My whole family lost it when Faith died. Mom hardly left her bed. Dad stayed at church all the time praying. Then…” I pulled in a long breath. “Mom followed Faith three months later. I guess she couldn’t live without her.”
Cross pulled my wrist around his waist and patted my back. His frame was rigid but reassuring. It had taken three years and a complete stranger to get what I’d needed. Someone who didn’t judge.
He waited for me to move away, letting me decide how long our contact lasted. Parts of me wanted to latch on. I hadn’t been hugged in three years.
A deep tenor rumbled in his chest. “None of these things are your fault. Your mom made her decision and it had nothing to do with you. Suicide is selfish and desperate.”
My fists landed against his chest. “I needed her.”
“And she couldn’t deal. That was her choice. You couldn’t have changed it. You were the kid. She was the mom.” He pulled back and examined my arms in the moonlight, pushing the fabric higher this time. Rough fingers traced the lines. “You cut for months before anyone noticed?” His voice grew coarse and uneven.
“My family was a bit preoccupied. We lost a child and a mom in three months. Dad, Pru, and I were all alone. I was only fourteen. Pru was twelve.”
“So, your dad grieved for months before he noticed you weighed less than a middle schooler and cut yourself?”
Exhaustion weighted my limbs. “He did the best he could. My physics teacher saw the scars during lab, and I spent a year with a state-appointed counselor. Most of the marks are barely noticeable.” I pulled the cuffs of my hoodie over my hands, hiding my arms fingertip-deep in the material.
“How many?”
“Scars? I don’t know. Dozens. Only a few are bad. I quit a long time ago, okay? It’s over and you can forget you know.”
Cross scrubbed a giant palm over his face. “Dozens?” He swore and turned in a circle, probably looking for an escape route.
“Just go.” I brushed past him. “I can get home from here. Thank you for letting me ask your family about my sister.” I spun and walked backward a few paces. “Now that I know she was with friends, I’ll check with some of them and see if they can give me more information.”
Cross pressed his palms to his hips. “I can help.”
“No. It’s fine. You’ve done enough.” He’d seen too much. Heard too much. Fight or flight bubbled inside me. My every fiber begged to run.
He moved forward and I froze. Moonlight streamed over his sharp, angular features. His jaw ticked. “I want to help. We’re here for four weeks. I’m supposed to play at Red’s Friday night and hopefully the next two weekends. The Lovells have a couple performances scheduled in the area and a big show during River Festival at the end of the month. It’d be nice to have a friend here since we’re staying so long. I can help you pull some threads while we’re here. I have a good idea where to start.”
My mind stuttered to a stop. He was singing at Red’s on Friday. I wanted to hear that. Maybe I could sneak out one more time.
If Dad caught me with someone from the Lovell show, he’d be furious. I didn’t want to let him down the way Faith and Mom had. Faith’s death might have been an accident, but she’d snuck out that night and never returned. He deserved more from me than obstinacy and betrayal.
I angled my head. “What do you mean? What thread?”
“I want to talk with Rose again. She and Anton might think of something significant that can help you.”
What if there was more to know? What if Rose opened up to Cross when he got back? Curiosity popped and snapped in my mind. Possibilities unfolded. Maybe I could really know what happened to Faith. Spending the month outside investigating with Cross instead of at home locked inside my head sounded good. “Okay. You can help.”
“Good.”
“Good.” I walked through wet leaves, measuring my steps to last as long as possible on the too-short walk home. “What are you performing at Red’s and why don’t you know if you’ll be there for the next two weeks?”
Cross worked his jaw. “I’m a songwriter. There’s a national competition that travels to small town honky-tonks, looking for undiscovered talent. Songwriters get a chance to have their lyrics heard.”
My eyes stretched wide. “This is big.”
“Yeah. I can’t screw it up.”
“You get to come back each week if your song wins? What happens at the end of the three weeks?”
His chest expanded before a gust of breath rushed out. “If I make it through all three weeks, I’ll get an invitation to perform in Memphis for a panel of record execs, maybe artists. No promises though, not even then, but it’s a chance I’ll never get again.”
“Wow.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I stopped short. “Hey, can you sing? If you can’t, does that hurt your chances at moving through the rounds?”
“Depends on how good the song is.”
I wasn’t sure which question he’d answered.
My restless mind circled selfishly around the information I’d shared. What would he think of me tomorrow? His scars were battle wounds, survival marks. Mine were cuts of desperation and weakness. He and I weren’t alike. He’d realize that soon. Anton said Cross saw everything.
We moved in silence across overgrown grass. At my tree, I gripped the base and set my shoe on the first hunk of wood. “Thanks again.”
Cross nodded.
My shoe slipped.
He smiled for the first time all night. “Here.” He clenched my waist in his oversize mitts and lifted.
My feet floundered along the tree trunk seeking purchase. “I didn’t want the punch.”
“You didn’t need the coffee.”
I glared down on him.
He frowned. “You need rest. Get some sleep.”
I caught the lower branch and swung myself up, retracing my earlier steps to the attic window. My phone buzzed.
“I’ll talk to Anton and Rose tonight.”
I toppled through the window with the grace of a hippo. My phone buzzed again.
“Talk to your little sister. I bet she’d like to be included.”
I turned onto my knees and peered through the glass at the dark lawn below. No one was there. The whole night could’ve been a dream.
Except I had texts to prove my sanity and a clear memory of Cross’s reclusive smile.
Purpose
I dozed off and on, tormented by dreams and worry. The purple twinkle lights I’d bought two Halloweens ago and hung from my rafters gave a comforting hue to life. As daybreak arrived, a flurry of questions circled in my mind. The world was different. After Pru’s stunt with Jason and the Lovells’ reemergence, anything was possible. I should’ve hidden under the covers until college, but at six-fifteen I headed downstairs for coffee, eager for the day. The tiny sapling of hope Rose had supplied at the campfire grew by the second. What if the grieving fourteen-year-old me had been right to question Faith’s death when no one else had? What if today I learned something significant about the night she died? What if she wasn’t alone? What if her death wasn’t an accident? What if it wasn’t suicide?
Everything could change today.
I cracked eggs into a red ceramic bowl and added milk. Piles of chopped veggies waited on the counter. Nervous energy accomplished many things before seven AM. I wiggled the silverware drawer open and dug for the whisk. The stubborn old drawer needed to be oiled or rebuilt or kicked. No whisk. Pru made breakfast one time all year and put everything away in the wrong places. I pressed the drawer shut and hunted through the kitchen for the whisk. Nothing was where Mom had kept it.
Pru dragged into the kitchen and dropped onto a chair at the table. She sat, forehead down, moaning about the injustice of her life.
I slid a cup of coffee in her direction. “Shut up.”
She rolled her eyes up at me, resting her chin where her forehead had lain. “What’s your problem?”
“Where’s the whisk?”
She pointed.
Gah. Stuck in the utensil holder with spatulas and bowl scrapers. Jeez. “Thanks.” I beat the eggs with some seasonings and veggies, then poured them in the pan. “Hungry?”
Pru slapped the table. “What. The. Hell.”
I clutched a spatula to my chest and spun on my heels, ready to defend my sister.
She glared. Her hair and makeup looked photo shoot ready, despite the cranky expression on her tanned face.
My shoulders slumped. “What happened?”
“You. What’s going on with you? Why are you happy?”
I angled my body away, pushing eggs around the pan. “Nothing’s going on.” Was I happy? I didn’t want to crawl back into bed yet.
Pru jerked to a stand and walked to the door. “Whatever. Don’t tell me. I’m going to my room.” She ran headlong into Dad.
He braced his palms on either side of the kitchen doorway and looked over her head at me. “Good. You’re cooking. Make as much as we’ve got. Company’s on the way.” The scowl on his face aged him a decade.
Pru folded her arms. “What’s going on?” She looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Right.” She rolled her eyes and huffed.
I turned the eggs and waited for an explanation from Dad. “Really. I have no idea. Dad?”
He scooted our chairs around the table, making room for extras we never used or needed. “You probably noticed the signs going up around town. That godforsaken sideshow is back and we won’t stand for it. If it wasn’t bad enough they signed on for the River Festival, they came four weeks early.”
Pru retook her seat at the table, eyes twinkling. “Who won’t stand for it?”
Dad dipped into the basement and returned with folding chairs. “Anyone with any sense and two good eyes. Mayor Jesep, Father Frank, Sheriff Dobbs, and I are drumming up a group of townsmen to have a talk with that motley crew. Perhaps they’ll see sense and leave. If they’ve got business at the festival, they should come back then. No need to stay here all month. Nothing good will come from that.”
I turned off the stove and pushed the eggs onto a platter. “You’re asking the Lovells to leave town?”
“Yes.” Dad’s voice boomed with hostility.
Pru batted wide blue eyes. “Why?”
Dad huffed and rubbed his forehead. “They aren’t welcome here. The last time they came…” He puffed his cheeks. “The Lovells are trouble. Neither of you are to attend the River Festival this year. Until we get rid of the Lovells, you’re to avoid them completely.”
Pru laughed. “Because they’re trouble? That’s kind of weird and vague.”
He thumped his palms against the table and leaned near her mocking face. “Those nomads drag their hedonism, immorality, and free-for-all attitudes around the country, enticing young people into all forms of debauchery.” His rant ended with a pointed stare. At me.
Pru scoffed. “What’d you do, Mercy?”
“Nothing.”
She raised her palms to the sky. “Whatever.”
I set the platter on the table and shot her my best innocent face. I barely left the house these days and no one knew I’d slipped out last night. I’d checked on them before getting into bed. “This isn’t about me.”
Dad pulled in a long, impatient breath. “I want you to stay away from them. Both of you. Understand me?”
I sighed. “Dad.”
“I mean it, Mercy. You’re forbidden from going anywhere near the Lovells. That includes the boy who returned your wallet. I saw the way he looked at you. He’s one of them and he’s off-limits for friendship and anything else he has in mind.”
The doorbell rang and Pru sprang from her chair. “I’ll get it.”
The crazed look in Dad’s eyes subsided. He clapped my shoulder. “Make all the breakfast we’ve got. I’ll get more groceries this afternoon.”
The fact he realized we’d need more groceries was a shocking improvement. Maybe he’d just needed purpose all this time. Maybe I had too.
A moment later, the mayor’s and sheriff’s voices sounded in the entryway, along with some elders from our church. I grabbed the carton of eggs from the refrigerator. The doorbell rang again and new voices entered the mix. I stopped counting at four doorbells and seven voices.
Breakfast was ready in fifteen minutes. Scrambled eggs, biscuits, sausage links, fruit, and cheese. The offering was too small for the number of guests but would easily have fed our family for days. I slipped an apple into my hoodie pocket and cleaned up as slowly as possible. For the first time in her life, Pru volunteered to help dry dishes.
Dad blessed the meal and the meeting. He also prayed to purge our town of the unrighteous.
Pru elbowed me as she texted.
I shushed her so I could eavesdrop. My phone buzzed. A new message from Pru.
“What. The. Hell?”
I scrubbed the frying pan a little harder. She had that question right.
Pru tensed at my side. My phone buzzed again.
“Did the sheriff just say the Lovells killed Faith?”
My head snapped around.
Sheriff Dobbs leaned both elbows on the table. A crumbled napkin dangled from his fingertips. “I’m not saying I understand what your family’s been through, but I know my family feels your pain. We’ve been through hell these last three years. Brady never got over Faith’s death. Hell, he gave up a full ride to Penn State that year. He had a future until that night. You lost a daughter, but those damn Lovells ruined my family too. Brady’s depression ruined my marriage. Mark’s as mean as a snake. We’re all changed. Those sideshow freaks need to go.” He wiped his mouth roughly with the wadded napkin. “They had a part in your Faith’s death. There’s no other explanation for it. As the sheriff in this town, I can’t sit here and treat them like guests, knowing they got away with murder.”
The wet spatula fell from my fingertips. Suds dashed my bare feet. Pru dropped to her knees. My ears rang. Wet fingers bumped my arm as she dropped the fallen spatula into the sink behind us.
Dad’s face went as white as the empty plate in front of him. Pru didn’t look much better.
“Girls, may we have a moment, please? We have some tough issues to discuss.” The determined look on the sheriff’s face said this wasn’t a request.
I followed Pru through the kitchen and family room and then out the front door.
She sat on the steps and leaned her back against the porch railing. “Did I wake up in an alternate reality? Is this like a horrible prank or some kind of intervention? Because none of this is funny.” She rubbed her arms, despite the rising July temperatures.
I paced the porch’s edge. “Everyone blames the Lovells for Faith’s death.”
“Duh.” Pru twirled a streak of blue hair around one fingertip.
I slid down the porch wall until the wooden planks stopped me. A painful epiphany jolted through my bones. All the years of gossip and nonsense. All those Gypsy-lover jokes and stupid-ass comments about spells and curses. I’d assumed they said that stuff because Faith was at the river and so were the Lovells. “Rose said Faith was at a bonfire with them. She said Faith had a couple drinks with the Lovells and a few friends.” Faith’s friends knew more than they’d told Sheriff Dobbs. Unless they’d told him more and Dad never told us. Of course he wouldn’t. He kept everything from us.
Pru’s blue ringlet stopped midcircle. Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me? Who the heck is Rose?”
I jumped to my feet before adrenaline shot me to the moon. “Come on. We need to talk.”
She huffed and levered her body off the porch step. “Finally.”
I glanced over one shoulder. Dad hadn’t told us not to leave the house today. We jogged down the steps to the sidewalk and headed for the cemetery. My heart rate settled as we moved. Fresh morning air cleared my head. I’d never gone anywhere alone with Pru before. “When did you put blue streaks in your hair?”
“Last night. Dad didn’t notice.”
“He will. He’ll hate them. Don’t worry.”
She stuck out her tongue.
I smiled.
“Mercy, I think something’s wrong with your face.”
I bumped into her and she stumbled. “Shut up.”
“Hey!” She sidestepped a puddle. “Knock it off.”
Blue hair wouldn’t be okay with her color-guard coach, but it fit her personality. “I like the blue.”
Her eyes lit up. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
Pru was two and a half years younger, unfathomably prettier, and just as tall as me. Despite our age difference, she could pass easily for my age. No more pigtails and nightgowns. I’d missed a lot while hiding in my room.
She shoved a piece of gum between her lips and waved the pack at me before pushing it back into her pocket. “Are you going to tell me what you know now?”
We crossed the street and passed a number of shops opening their doors for business. The line at White Water Coffee spilled through the door and onto the sidewalk. Pru waved to everyone and smiled. I dipped my head and prayed for invisibility.
I squinted through extra-bright sunlight. After too many days of rain, the glint off puddles and store windows blinded me. Birds and children filled the sidewalk, squawking and howling. Parents pushed strollers in droves, leaving trails of toddler-dropped muffin crumbs behind them.
A wide shadow covered Pru’s feet, and she stopped short. Mark Dobbs, my first kiss and current nemesis, blocked our path. The girl on Mark’s arm looked like a tourist in heels and hairspray. Her frozen coffee had a big red straw and an American flag on the cup.
Mark balked. “Mercy?” He blinked, clearly stunned to see me out with Pru.
Pru stepped in front of me. “Move, Mark.”
“Wait. It’s not often I see the Queen of the Dark out in daylight. It’s not even Sunday.” He grimaced, as if I’d done something to offend him and not the other way around. His overtanned shoulders stuck out from beneath a ribbed black tank top, showcasing his beloved biceps. Black and white basketball shorts hung to his calves. His dad was right on two counts. Mark had changed that summer, and he was as mean as a snake.
People stared. Pru turned red. “Move.”
He’d jumped on the name-calling crusade when other kids said awful things about Faith. I’d withdrawn from life and he’d blamed Faith for dying. When I slid deeper into myself, dropping color guard and my friends in favor of solitude, the crusaders had taken it as an invitation and unleashed their wrath on me. Apparently, bullies had more fun picking on live targets.
Mark turned his cocky head when the sidewalk crowd parted. Two guys in dark glasses and ball caps pressed toward us. My heart drummed, from joy or concern, I wasn’t sure. Cross arrived first. He stepped between Mark and me. Anton moved in beside Cross. Neither guy appeared to notice Mark or the girl. “Coffee?” Cross extended two cups to Pru and me.
Pru grabbed hers with a wide smile. I accepted the other.
Anton passed the cup in his left hand to Cross. “What’re you two lovely ladies up to this morning?” His deep baritone lifted a small smile on my cheeks. So far, Anton seemed as harmless as anyone I’d ever met but he looked like a freight train. It was kind of funny.
“Hey.” Mark stepped around Cross, towing the blonde with him. “We were talking.”
Cross lifted his chin a fraction of an inch. His deep-set eyes locked with mine. “You want to talk to him?”
“Nope.”
Anton turned on Mark with a smile. “Later, man.”
Emotions rolled over Mark’s face. The line of people waiting at White Water Coffee gawked. How would big-talking, fat-headed Mark Dobbs handle a confrontation with someone his own size and one quite larger? A fistfight on the street before lunch? Not very impressive. Especially not when Anton inevitably handed his ass to him.
The sign over Red’s fluttered in the wind and recognition dawned on Mark’s dumbfounded face. He threw his head back and laughed like a hyena. “Oh.” He slapped his thigh. “That’s perfect. Hysterical and really, really sad, but perfect. You always were just like your sister.” He shook his head and sauntered off, looking mighty proud of himself. “Wait till your daddy hears about this.”
Pru squinted at me, shading her eyes with one hand. “What?”
“Us.” Anton moved behind me, blocking the sun from Pru’s eyes. “He meant us. I knew your sister.”
* * * *
The four of us settled around a picnic table at the pavilion near the cemetery. Warm winds swept through the willows and cattails along the river.
I folded my legs on the narrow bench and chipped green paint off the wooden slats with my fingernails. “Are there two other people somewhere waiting on these coffees?”
Cross rested his elbows on the table beside me. “Nah. We were headed to your place with them.”
Pru blew a long raspberry. “That’s not a good idea. Dad’s hosting a planning party for his how-to-run-the-Lovells-out-of-town movement.”
Anton nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“That’s it.” Pru set her coffee down and looked at each of our faces. “I need a whole lot of answers. I got caught with my pants down on the worst day of the year and my whole world imploded. It’s like I woke up in Wonderland this morning.”
I smiled. It was the same thing I’d thought yesterday.
Anton snorted, but it didn’t stop Pru’s rant.
Pru pointed at me. “She’s smiling. I have no idea what that’s about. Dad’s lost his ever-loving mind. He thinks your sideshow somehow killed our sister. Oh, and it brings ‘trouble’ to the town.” She formed air quotes with her fingers. “He and his old-man crew are probably polishing their pitchforks as we speak. Mercy’s hanging with me on purpose and two hot guys bought us coffee. I don’t get it.” She raised both eyebrows. “Explain.”
I filled in the details as quickly as possible, avoiding the hard words like “death” and “suicide.” I concentrated on the dash of hope that had woken me before the roosters and focused on new possibilities. Faith wasn’t coming back, but it hurt less to think I might get some answers about the night she died.
Pru mulled over the mass amount of new information for an entire thirty seconds before her questions started again. “Dad knows Faith and her friends partied with you guys that night? Is that why he wants your family gone?”
Cross waved one finger. “Not me. I wasn’t part of the team that year.”
“Whatever.”
His eyebrows crowded together.
I bit back a laugh.
Pru turned to Anton. “You were with her though. How much did she drink? Were you swimming? Was she? Where was her boyfriend?”
The guilt in Anton’s eyes worried me.
Cross shifted on the bench beside me. He tipped his coffee toward Anton. “Tell them what you told me.”
Anton looked across the field to the cemetery. His all-black ensemble reflected his mood. He folded his hands on the table and wet his lips. “We came to town a few days early for our performances at the River Festival that year. I met Faith and some of her friends at the Festival one night. We hit it off.”
Pru interrupted. “She had a boyfriend.”
“Had.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No.” Anton squirmed. “Faith said they broke up the weekend before. She said he’d had enough waiting.” Heavy emphasis on his final word.
A long beat of silence followed the statement.
Pru’s eyebrows tented up. “For sex?”
Anton averted eye contact with everyone. No big guy on earth ever looked more uncomfortable. “Yeah. I’d just lost another girlfriend, so we were pity partners.”
Pru raised her hand. “When you say you lost another girlfriend…”
Cross snickered. “She left the show a couple towns before yours. It happens. The kind of people who join traveling sideshows aren’t always cut out for long-term commitments. He didn’t, you know…hurt her or anything.”
Pru nodded and raised her hand again. “And when you say pity partners…”
“Pru!” I kicked her under the table.
“Well.”
Anton’s face pinked. “We complained to one another and shared a bottle of homemade wine. That’s it.”
Cross stretched his neck and sighed. “They shared it in his camper. Alone.”
“When you say it…”
I lifted my hand to Pru. “Stop.” I walked around the tables to clear my head. “You were the last one to see her alive?”
Anton shrugged. “Maybe.”
My lungs flattened. “What maybe? Did you walk her home?”
“No. I fell asleep.”
Cross met me across the pavilion. “He passed out. It wasn’t his first bottle of wine that night.”
Pru laid her hand on Anton’s arm. “You’re sad? Is it because Faith never made it home? Do you think you could’ve changed that?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know anything happened to her until last night. Mom woke us all at four, ready to hit the road by dawn. She gets these feelings sometimes, and we honor them, no matter the request. That was one of those nights.”
Pru plucked the material of his shirtsleeve. “What kind of feeling?”
My breathing stopped. His face twisted with emotion I couldn’t name.
“Well?” Pru pressed.
Anton looked at Cross before answering. “Mom gets weird sometimes. She gets happy out of the blue and something good will happen, or she gets sick and withdrawn or she aches. At times like those, we pull up camp and leave.”
“Is she psychic?”
“Pru!” The venomous look on Anton’s brother’s face at the campfire rushed into my mind. He’d been livid, convinced I’d come to ask them about Gypsy curses or something. “Stop.” Maybe there was a reason to ask.
Pru jerked her hand from Anton’s arm and grabbed her cell phone. “Dad’s calling. What do I do?”
Anton, Cross, and I responded in sync. “Answer it.”
She walked a few paces away and answered.
I caught Anton’s attention. “Sorry. She doesn’t know not to ask.” Not that it would stop her.
Anton examined his pant leg, smoothing his palms over the material. “It’s okay. Tom’s the one who gets bent about our ancestry. I know it’s weird we travel and live privately in a world where the population shares its collective breath online. We’re a dying breed.”
My cheeks heated. Cross had asked me to be his friend so he’d know someone in town, but I hadn’t understood the stakes. My gaze drifted to Cross’s careful stare. A month must feel like a lifetime to people without roots. I was certain in that moment. I wanted to be Cross’s friend.
“I think it’s honorable your family carries on the traditions of your lineage. I barely know my family outside West Virginia.”
Anton adjusted his position at the table. “It’s not a tradition as much as a compulsion. Roma travel because they come from a life and time when they didn’t have homes. They traveled Europe in search of work. When the work dried up, they moved on. My parents traveled with their grandparents. They have hundreds of stories from their childhood and they try to recreate that time for us. They don’t care how much everything else changes. Our parents came to America as teens, already married. When they arrived, some family members found jobs and bought property. A few couldn’t stop traveling.”
“Like your parents.”
“They were too young to buy property. We traveled with my grandparents and a circus family from Indiana when I was young. Eventually, we branched out on our own, but my parents never gave up on the notion of following the work. They never bought a home. Never settled.” He lifted tired eyes to the sky. “We are travelers because it’s our way.”
I breathed in the sunny summer air, accepting the resignation in Anton’s voice. He didn’t like their ways, but he loved his family. The divide between Dad and me came to mind. Maybe it was the humidity from extended rains, but the air seemed heavier, headier, kissed by wildflowers and thick with possibilities.
Cross pressed a hand against my shoulder. “Pru’s taking all the information pretty well. How are you doing?”
I pursed my lips. “Our dad blames the Lovells for Faith’s death. For Mom. For the mess we became after that night. The sheriff and some other town officials do too. I had no idea until this morning. I’m not going to lie. I’m confused. This is hard to process. You should’ve heard them.”
“Hey.” Anton twisted free from the picnic table. “I think I saw Mouse by the coffee shop. I’m going to go check it out. Meet me later to jam?”
Cross nodded. “Five o’clock at Red’s?”
Anton smiled. He shook my hand, waved a two-finger salute to Pru, and left.
I frowned. “Did he say he saw a mouse?”
“Yeah. His sidekick, Mouse.”
Huh. “Is she small?”
Cross’s lips twitched into a lazy half smile. The split second move revealed a dimple in one cheek. Dimples didn’t go with the persona I’d pinned on him. “Nah. She’s quiet. Like a church mouse.”
Pru strode across the pavilion floor. “Who?”
Cross squared his shoulders. “Anton’s woman, Mouse, is quiet…like a mouse.”
“Gross.” She turned her face away. “He has a girlfriend?”
“Yes.” I groaned. “And he’s at least six years too old for you.”
“Whatever. Dad said come home and never leave again.” She popped a hip. “What else were you two talking about?”
Cross tilted forward at the waist, fingers wedged in his pockets. He rocked on his heels. “I’m playing at Red’s tomorrow night. You should come listen.”
Pru bounced. “Excellent. Playing what?”
He looked at me for a long beat before turning his attention back to her. “Guitar. I’m a songwriter. A talent scout’s coming. It could be my big break. We came here early so I could make this show.”
Pru clapped silently. “We’ll be there.”
I sighed. “What happened to going home and never leaving again? What about the old-man mob and the pitchforks?”
She beamed.
Cross nodded. “Great. I’ll walk you as far as Main Street.”
We headed back across the field in a row with Cross at the center. Pru supplied the conversation in her typical interrogation format. “What kind of songs do you write?”
“Country mostly.”
“Poems?”
He cleared his throat with a rasp. “Never.”
“Songs are like poems.”
He snorted. “No.”
“Is Cross your first or last name?”
“Neither.”
“Oh.” She dug in her pocket. “You like my sister.”
He slid careful eyes my way without speaking.
“Knew it.” She freed her phone and scrolled through texts. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Lorraine saw Jason with Marcy Tucker this morning. Asshole.”
Cross tapped his temple with one silent finger.
Pru growled into her phone. “Effing snake!”
He bumped me with his elbow. “Told you.”
“Yep.”
Cross hadn’t argued when Pru said he liked me. I shook my hands out at the wrists. I’d think about that later. I had a more immediate question. What kind of feeling did Nadya have the night Faith died? Whatever the feeling was, it was enough to wake a dozen people and insist they leave town. I needed to talk to Nadya.
Some People are Broken
Housebound again.
I’d lost days in my room, unaware of time. Why couldn’t I manage one afternoon without losing my mind? Questions roared through my restless mind. What had Anton meant, Nadya had a feeling and insisted they leave? A bad feeling? Had she known something would happen to Faith? Had she seen something happen to Faith? Maybe the feeling was unrelated. She could’ve foreseen a better campsite in the next town if they got an early start.
I opened a search engine and carried my laptop to my bed. Settling against the pillows, I began my ritual. It’d been years since I exhausted this particular vein. My fingers fell against the keys in a rush, opening multiple windows and refining the terms. Roma Gypsies. Gypsy abilities. Gypsy psychics. All the things I’d dismissed as junk two years ago.
“Mercy?” Dad’s voice carried up the final set of stairs.
I slapped the laptop shut and shoved it under the pillows beside me.
“Mercy?” He stood in the doorway. “You okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
He motioned through the doorway. “May I?”
I nodded and sat upright, pulling a small pillow into my lap for protection. My heart ached preemptively. He never came to my room. Something was wrong. Again.
Dad examined me. “You look shaken.” His gaze drifted to my arms.
“I’m fine.”
“You heard some things at breakfast you weren’t meant to hear.”
I pressed my lips together before speaking. “I’m not made of glass. You can tell me things. I need to know things.”
“You know too much about all the wrong things.”
His thinking was royally screwed.
“Dad. I’m seventeen. I’m leaving next month, and I’ll be on my own for four years. You can’t shelter me anymore. I mean, what do you think will happen? Do you think on my eighteenth birthday or my first day of college or some other random moment in time, I’ll magically transform into someone who can handle all the things you keep from me now? You have to give me a break. Trust me with things. I’m tougher than you think.”
His lips curved down at the sides. Worry lines creased his brow. He thought I was fragile. He thought I would break like Faith and Mom.
“You think Faith killed herself.”
His mouth opened and shut. His cheeks flushed pink then red. “Her death was an accident.”
I scooted to the edge of the bed. “How do you know?”
Dad cleared his throat, drawing attention to the bright red skin of his neck. “Because all teenage deaths are accidents. They could all be prevented.” He pressed his lips together. “I know you think we’re wrong to chase people away from here, but St. Mary’s is a respectable town. We have no crime. A near hundred percent graduation rate and no tolerance for Gypsies. I won’t lose another daughter, Mercy. There are plenty of people in this town who see the Lovells for what they are. Dangerous. Gypsies prey on those who are hurting and they’ll eat you alive.”
Pru sauntered through the doorway. “Good grief.”
Dad’s head snapped around to face her. Defeat crossed his brow. “You’re not leaving here the rest of the summer. I’ve been absent from your life for far too long, and the Lord’s brought that readily to my attention. It’s no accident the Lovells returned on the day you lost your mind, bringing that boy to your room. I see I’m needed at home, and that’s where I’ll be.”
The smile melted off Pru’s face. “What?”
“I want to spend more time with Mercy before she leaves, and I think you could use some discipleship. If you didn’t have the sense to see through that boy’s motives, then I’ve failed you. It won’t happen again.” He straightened his spine. “I’m working from home until the Lovells have gone.” An awkward smile changed his features. “Look alive, ladies. There’s change afoot. The Porters are finding redemption.”
Pru looked from me to Dad. “I’m already redeemed.” It sounded more like a question.
Dad’s small smile was a mix of pride and humor. “Perhaps.”
I squeezed the pillow in my lap. “You blame the Lovells because Faith snuck out to be with them, not because you think they hurt her, right?”
“The Lovells were here ten days and then vanished the night my baby drowned.” Pain glossed his eyes. “The sheriff was right. Innocent people don’t flee a crime scene. That troubles me.”
I jumped before he retreated. Dad never said this much about Faith’s death. I had to act fast. “Sheriff Dobbs blames them. Is it because they left or was there something else? If you know more than you’re telling, please tell me.” My voice cracked.
The muscle in his jaw ticked. He ran his fingers through the hair above his ears. “I don’t know what happened that night, and I can’t change the past, but I surely can stop it from repeating. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen preparing Sunday night’s sermon.”
Pru was silent until Dad’s footsteps faded into the kitchen. “He thinks they killed her.”
My mouth dried. I’d never be able to say those words with such recklessness.
She paced the floor. “The way the Lovells left makes them look guilty. What are we going to do now?”
“I want to research more about Roma.”
“To see if they’re psychic? I did that too. The whole Internet contradicts itself.” Pru climbed onto my bed and adjusted the pillows for a backrest. “You need this for research.” She handed me my hidden laptop and punched the pillows into submission. “Much better.”
I opened the lid. “I don’t believe in magic or psychics. I just wondered….”
“I know.” She motioned me to go on with my search.
Having a little sister under my feet was a lot different from following an older sister around. I was on display for her viewing pleasure. Her wide blue eyes blinked. Waiting.
“Fine.” Site after site depicted the unfair treatment of Roma. The term Gypsy was thrown carelessly around the Web, used derogatorily to describe many of the traveling groups. Wiccan sites proclaimed Roma yielded uncanny abilities, but few expounded on the meaning. I closed the windows a few minutes later.
“Find anything?”
“Not really. I used to get lost for days in that search. Talismans, incantations, fortunetelling… Dad taught us it’s all lies bred from evil. I don’t think the Lovells are evil.”
Pru rolled onto her side and smiled. “You mean you don’t think Cross is evil.”
“I don’t think any of them are evil.”
“Good. So, we can go watch him sing tomorrow night?”
She was so much like Faith. “Didn’t you hear Dad? You’re not allowed to leave for the rest of the summer and he plans to be home. Forever.”
She blew out a breath, vibrating her lips together. “He can’t stay here forever. He’s got pitchforks to polish.”
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Cross.
“Want to see a man eat fire?”
“No.”
“A woman swallow swords?”
Pru crowded over my shoulder. “What’s he want?”
“Who?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The only person I’ve seen text you?”
I moved the phone between us.
“Pass.”
“Come on.” Pru bounced beside me. “He wants to see you. Maybe you can talk to Nadya.”
I could talk to Nadya. What would I say? Anton told me you made them leave town the night my sister died. I couldn’t tell her the town thought they’d hurt Faith. If I approached her as an accuser, she’d never let me come back and they weren’t in town for long. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me when we met.”
“You met her?” Pru slapped my arm. “When?”
“How about tiny dogs in tutus?”
Pru nudged me, nodding wildly.
“Fine.”
“Knew it. I had you at tutu.”
“Shut up. Watch for me.”
I climbed off the bed and grabbed a brush. Pru bounded toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped, stunned. “I’m going with.”
“No way. You’re the decoy. If Dad’s babysitting you, he can’t be stalking me. I can’t talk to Nadya with him following me.”
Pru leaned her back against the doorjamb, shoulders slumped. “I used to pray he’d come back to us. I didn’t think he’d be such a pain in the ass if he did.”
I snorted. “Go. Tell him I’m visiting Faith and Mom.”
She rolled her eyes and disappeared down the steps.
My brush halted in my tangled black tips. I’d just asked my little sister to cover for me while I visited the Lovells. Just like Faith.
* * * *
Cross was leaning against the St. Mary’s Campground sign. He twirled flowers in his fingertips. The material of his black shirt clung to his shoulders and the angles of his chest. His waist looked narrower in dark jeans and daylight.
He pushed away from the sign when I got close enough to hear him speak. “This is for you.”
I accepted the gift. “You made me a flower wreath?”
Cross wrinkled his nose. “No. Rose made you a flower halo when I told her you were coming. She thinks they’re good luck or something. She wears them when we perform.”
“Or practice?”
“Yeah, but during performances, she wears the flowers on her clothes or around her wrists.”
Rose had beautiful floral tattoos on her neck and throat. “For luck. Got it.”
I situated the little wreath on my head and wiggled it. Thank goodness I didn’t have a mirror.
“Try not to look like that when you see Rose.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I adjusted my sour expression. “Better?”
A voice bellowed in the distance. “Cross!”
One of Anton’s brothers waved his arms overhead.
Cross looked me over. “Ready?”
Not at all. “Yep.” I followed him across the field to the largest trailer. Tinny music lifted on the breeze, carried from behind the giant motorhome on our right. Cross slipped between the vehicles with me on his heels.
Anton and his brother stopped talking when we arrived.
Cross rubbed his palms together. “You guys remember my friend Mercy.”
Rose waved from the bottom of a human pyramid. The young girls I’d met at the campfire balanced on one another, contorting their bodies in impossible ways. Rose hovered at the base, arms wide. “Beautiful!” She clapped and the girls sprang free of one another. They wore matching black corsets and fishnet stockings. A satin ruffle formed a short tail over their mostly exposed bottoms. Rose’s fitted black dress clung to her curves and dipped low over her cleavage. Gold satin lined her enormous ruffled cuffs and the exaggerated collar standing at attention behind her brightly painted neck.
Sheaths of black and gold satin stretched from poles and trailer tops, blocking the sun and adding to the strange atmosphere. I was underdressed.
Anton carried flaming batons to a man in black dress pants and no shirt.
A woman wearing a floor-length ball gown twirled swords over her head. Her silver dress reflected rainbows of sunlight. A split on one side climbed the length of her long legs to her hip, revealing red panties as she moved. Most of her raven hair piled high in an updo. A handful of select pieces curled down to her elbows. Ruby-red lips and thick black eyeliner gave her look a dangerous edge. That and the swords.
Cross touched my hip with his fingers. He pointed to the acrobats. “You remember Rose. The girls are Camille, Violet, and Gem. The man with the fire is Collin. Daisy is the one with the swords.”
The music’s pace increased. Daisy spun with the swords, dancing and bending with the rhythm. The Lovells formed a silent semicircle. My heartbeat matched pace with the unusual song. Daisy’s skirt swung wide as she lunged and dipped. The swords never slowed.
Cross watched me.
I quieted my voice. “She’s amazing.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s a ninja.”
A smirk crossed my face. Daisy adjusted her stance abruptly, poising a sword over her head. Her free hand moved seductively over the curves of her body from chest to hip before joining the other overhead.
“What’s she doing?”
Cross lowered his lips to my ear. “She’s going to swallow the sword.”
My eyes stretched wide. I couldn’t look away. “You said there were tutus.”
Cross chuckled. “You don’t have to watch.”
The sword lowered between Daisy’s shiny red lips. My heart skittered to a stop as the shiny metal blade grew smaller and smaller, disappearing inch by inch into Daisy’s mouth.
Hair on my neck and arms stood at attention. Across the makeshift circle, Nadya and Nicolae stood behind Rose and the acrobats. My skin burned under Nadya’s gaze. She rubbed her thumb over a large blue stone hanging from a chain around her neck. Silver bangles lined both her forearms, jingling like wind chimes against the backdrop of music on unseen speakers.
Clapping broke out. Daisy bowed low, lifting the sword at her side. Her eyes moved to mine.
A wide, warm arm snaked around my back and pulled me away from my place in the crowd. “Let’s walk.” Cross swept us through a line of black satin curtains and away from his family. He dropped his arm the moment we passed through the barrier.
My mouth was dry and pasty. My tongue was too big for speech.
“Sorry about the dogs. Daisy was working with them when I texted you.”
Air moved painfully through my chest as Cross led me to the river. I made a sharp turn before we arrived at the riverbank. “What was that about?”
Cross followed me to a picnic table under the shade of a giant oak tree. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was about.”
I sat on the table and planted my feet on the bench. “So, you saw it too? Nadya and Daisy watched me like I was the villain in their story.”
Snapping twigs turned me from Cross’s apologetic expression. A few feet away, a girl bent sticks in half. She moved closer, barely making eye contact. “I break things so people notice me.” She dropped the broken sticks and dusted her palms together. “I didn’t want to sneak up on you.”
Cross sat on the table beside me. “What’s going on, Mouse?”
“I saw you two walking and thought I’d say hello. What were you talking about?”
I looked at Cross for advice. Mouse was a little intense for such a quiet thing.
He shrugged. “Nadya’s not herself today.”
Mouse’s mouth twisted. “It’s her.” She locked her gaze on me. “You know Nadya doesn’t like settled people.”
I frowned. “Settled people?”
She moved closer. Her hair fell away from her cheek as she turned. The skin between her throat and cheekbone was twisted, puckered, and gnarled. Her cheek was unnaturally colored and undeniably burned. “Sometimes Anton falls in love with girls on the road or ones who join our family for a while. Nadya never approves.”
I narrowed my eyes. “She doesn’t like me because I’m Cross’s friend? He can’t make friends outside the show?”
Cross nudged me. I glanced at him in warning.
Mouse climbed onto the table beside me. “You like him and he likes you and she knows. Nadya knows all kinds of things.”
A strangled sound dropped from my lips.
“Knock it off, Mouse.” Cross sat taller at my side. “Now you’re being rude. You’re making Mercy uncomfortable.”
She inched closer to me on the table. “Settled people and travelers don’t mix.”
I bristled. “I’m not trying to mix.”
“And I’m not a traveler.” Cross’s voice was deeper than usual.
Mouse sighed, tipping her face skyward. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
That sounded like a threat. “Do you remember my sister?” I leveled my stare, waiting for Mouse to look my way.
“Sure. She liked Anton.” Her dark eyes turned to mine. “She wasn’t like you. She was sad.”
I laughed. “You didn’t know my sister and you don’t know me.” I was the sad one.
Cross stood and reached for my hand.
Mouse looked expectantly at him.
I placed my hand in his and moved to stand in the grass with him. “Did Nadya hurt my sister because she liked Anton?”
Mouse smiled. The scars on her face gathered and bunched with the motion.
Something was deeply wrong with this creature. Cross’s hand moved protectively to my hip.
“Well?” My voice jumped in volume, startling me.
“Nope.” Mouse let the “p” pop on her lips. “Nadya never laid a hand on her.”
“Who did? Do you know? What do you know about Faith?” A tremor in my hand climbed my arm to my chest. “Did someone hurt my sister?”
Cross clutched my hand and pulled.
I slapped his hand, prying at his skin with my fingers. “Answer me!”
He dragged me away from the picnic table as tears filled my eyes. “Stop. Let me go!”
Mouse tilted her head like a confused puppy as Cross forced me away. She lifted and bent one finger in a tiny wave. Her smile vanished, leaving only the blank expression of a mental patient.
“What is wrong with her?” Sobs racked my chest. She’d taunted me about the most important thing in the world. What did I do to provoke her?
Cross wrapped me in his arms, pushing me farther from the table behind us. “Don’t let her bother you. She’s warped. She hates when one of us gives anything or anyone our attention. If she didn’t enjoy my music, she’d probably burn my guitar.”
“Did she mean that? Does she think someone hurt Faith?”
“She doesn’t mean anything she says, Mercy.” He gathered my wrists in his hands and lowered himself into my line of sight. “She’s broken. Do you understand? She can’t be fixed.”
I wiggled free of his grip and stepped away. “Yeah. Got it. She’s crazy. How far would a crazy person go to keep Anton away from my sister? What happened to all those other lost loves of his? Did they leave the show by choice or by force? Where are they now?”
Cross blinked. Shock erased the confidence from his face. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should find out.”
I turned my back on Cross and the campground. Fury and frustration weighted my chest. My feet couldn’t relocate me fast enough. I never wanted to see Nadya or Mouse again. Ever.
Cross didn’t follow me.
Will Morris
I slept for fourteen hours after unloading the day’s crazy onto Pru. We had dinner with Dad and I fell asleep before ten. At noon Friday, Pru kicked my bed a hundred times.
“You missed breakfast.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Dad cooked.”
I peered through puffy lids. “What?”
She collapsed beside me. “Yeah. He even wore an apron. He asked me about color guard.”
I lifted onto my elbows. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. First, I had a Bible study with him while you went to the river yesterday, then we prayed for you before I went to sleep last night. He knelt beside me at my bed. The whole deal.”
“He prayed for me?”
“Yeah. And me. And the family. Hungry people. The town. Forest creatures, you name it. I have bruises on my knees.”
“Sorry. I guess I was really tired.”
She pushed hair off my face. Fear marred her pretty features. “You used to sleep like that all the time. So did Mom.”
“I know. I was just tired. Don’t worry. I’m okay today.”
“Yeah?” Her sculpted eyebrows rose in unison.
“Yeah. I’m good. I’ve got plenty of questions, but I’m good.” Part of me wanted to punch Mouse all over her head but, aside from that, I was good.
“Excellent. Then we’re on for Red’s tonight?”
I fell back against the pillows. “I don’t know.”
“You said you’re fine.”
“I am.”
She bounced off the bed. “Great. Dad’s got a meeting with the old-man posse after dinner. He’ll be out for a while.”
“Great.”
* * * *
Pru yelled through her eternally open doorway. Again. “What time is it?”
Gah. “Check your phone.” Or your laptop. Or your, I don’t know, watch.
Pru groaned. “Dad looked good when he left tonight.”
“Yeah.” Less crazy eyes. More pastor-like.
“Maybe one of the more sensible minions pointed out the Lovells will be gone in a month. He could save himself the ulcer and avoid them.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” A month was a long time to deal with your enemy. Every day of school after Faith’s death had felt like a week. Every week had been a month. Every month an eternity. I scrubbed shaky hands over my face.
She was right. Dad had avoided Pru and me for years and we lived with him. For Dad, avoiding the Lovells should be cake.
The steady ka-thunk-thunk of a ball hitting Pru’s wall and floor beneath me had gone from repetitive white noise to maddening. I turned up the music and stared at my reflection. Purple crescents lined my eyes. My cheekbones were too high. My shoulders were too sharp. Cross thought I didn’t eat on purpose. He was wrong. I didn’t have an eating disorder. I didn’t care if I was thin. I saw the unattractive reality in the mirror, not some pudged-up mental fabrication. He said I wanted to feel hungry, for punishment. The truth was I’d lost my appetite when Mom left and I hadn’t gotten it back. My stomach churned with nerves too fierce to digest anything. I feared the reemergence of every meal I’d had for years.
I lived with the anxiety of a thousand unanswered questions and the shame and guilt of knowing I’d played a role in my family’s suffering. In my suffering. In Pru’s loss. I shook hair around my face. The same thoughts had circled in my head for three years. During my worst days, the hunger pangs and noises were reminders I’d survived, and I didn’t hate feeling something besides emptiness, but I wasn’t punishing myself. Not with food.
“Let’s just go.” Pru’s voice shot through me.
I jumped back and tangled my feet in a pile of clothes. “Don’t you knock?”
“Your door was open.”
I sat on the bed. Hold it together, Mercy.
Pru always looked calm and in control, like the way I always looked ready to flee. Her irritated tone and ball bouncing told me she was nervous, even if she hid it well.
She kicked her way through the mess on my floor, climbed onto my bed, and folded her legs beneath her. “Why aren’t you dressed?” Her tan legs looked too long for her small body. The jean skirt and white baby-doll shirt looked cute together. She’d curled her hair and loaded up on the makeup, shading and enhancing her natural features until any cover model would be sick with envy. On her, makeup looked natural, like an ad for healthy skin. When I dared more than mascara and lipstick, I looked like an animation.
I fell back on my bed. “I am dressed.”
“No. You’re wearing worn-out jeans and a hoodie. Again.”
I dragged a pillow over my face.
She yanked it off. “Listen. I’m sneaking out to this town’s only honky-tonk with my big sister and she’s not going in worn-out jeans and a hoodie. It’s July.”
“The wind and rain cooled everything off.”
The bed wobbled as she hopped off. “Maybe, but it’s still July.”
Something landed on my chest. I lifted it for a peek.
She wrapped red nails around her hips. “At least wear that so you look less emo.”
“A Johnny Cash T-shirt? That’s your big wardrobe advice?” I rolled onto my side.
“That and a button-down.” Her cheeks darkened. “I know you like long sleeves.”
“Right.” I forced myself to open my closet and look again. “I’m not wearing that tonight.”
Pressed against the back wall of my closet, with other things I never planned on wearing, was one shirt I didn’t hate. The tank top was silver and the billowy long-sleeved black cover up with a plunging neck and little silver ball-shaped buttons was still in fashion. I dropped the hoodie behind me and pulled on the new tops. The blouse had sheer sleeves and satin trim, perfect for hiding scars and staying cool.
Pru plucked the hem of my blouse. “Cute. Do you have nicer jeans?”
“No.”
“You’d probably fit in mine. Hang on.”
I fell into the chair at my vanity. This was a bad idea. Sneaking out in scrubby clothes was one thing. Getting caught dressed up at a honky-tonk was a whole other level of trouble. For what? What was the point of going tonight? We weren’t getting new information about Faith. We’d agreed to go watch Cross sing. Why?
I raked a brush through my hair, hating the grown-out tips but unable to let them go. They’d come to symbolize the pain I was in when I’d dyed the streaks into my hair. Cutting them felt like saying I was over it, all better, good as new. That would always be a lie.
I fumbled with three strands of hair, adding a headband style braid.
Pru’s bare feet slapped up the steps. “Here. Try these.”
I kicked off my low-rise, boot-cut comfort and wiggled into the tightest jeans in history. “They’re too long.”
“Not if you wear a little heel.”
I stared. Sweat pooled in my palms and dampened my neck. “I don’t want to be fixed, Pru.” I wedged my body out of her jeans. “I don’t want to dress up and play normal. I’m not normal. I’m damaged.” Cross’s words came back to me like a smack in the face. He was wrong. “I’m broken. I don’t want to do this.”
She snatched her jeans off the floor. “Do what? Live? Mom and Faith died, and now I have to let you go too? You just started talking to me! Put your ugly-ass, threadbare crap back on then, because we’re going. You’re not broken, Mercy. You’re just sad and stubborn as hell, and it’s time you get on with things. This might be the last time we have together before you leave next month.” Her cheeks turned bright red. “For the record, you can’t play with me and put me away when you’re finished like I’m a little doll. For three years, you walked around pretending I wasn’t here. Then, two days ago, you finally saw me and here I am.” She slapped her chest and a red mark appeared. “I’m right here and I need you. I’m not going back to two days ago.”
My lips parted in shock. She slammed my door and pounded down the steps. I groaned and face-planted on my bed in defeat.
* * * *
We waited until after ten to make the walk to Red’s. Cross texted me a few times when a singer impressed him or embarrassed themselves, but he never asked if we were coming. Pru and I stuck to the shadows as we walked and hoped for the best.
“He texts you a lot.”
I walked faster. “He said he wants a friend.”
“Right. Hot guys are always looking for more friends.”
Was he hot? Mysterious, yes. Brooding, odd, abrupt? Definitely. His dark, serious eyes came to mind. He was a little hot.
At the corner of South and Main Street, I gave Pru one last chance. “It’s not too late to go home and forget about this.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why? Are you nervous?”
“A little. We don’t know where Dad is. We might run into him, and you’re in enough trouble already.”
Her bright blue eyes glazed over. “Not Dad, you moron. Cross. It’s your first date.”
Oh.
Oh. My stomach knotted against my spine. “This isn’t a date.” I didn’t date. Every guy in town steered clear of me for a reason. Some thought I was crazy. Others figured I was next in line to kill myself. The last time I’d had a date I was Pru’s age and it was a flop. Didn’t matter. Rumors had power.
The stoplight changed and Pru stepped into the crosswalk. Music wafted through the night, spilling from Red’s open door. The shops on Main Street closed at nine, but Red’s and White Water Coffee stayed open late.
“Mercy? Can I ask you something?” Pru’s voice was small, tamped. She waited at the curb for me to catch up.
“What?”
“Why’d you research the Lovells if you believed Faith…you know…” She let the sentence hang, sucking oxygen from the night until my lungs ached.
The world shimmered in my periphery. I pressed a palm to the light pole. Would the word suicide, even when it was only implied, ever hurt less? When would I become desensitized like kids who played violent video games or watched too much news?
I sipped the cool night air to steady my thoughts. “I just wanted answers. I didn’t care where they came from. I hoped the kids at school were wrong. Dad never let me ask about it, so I thought, maybe… Then after Mom…” I swallowed a painful rock of emotion. “I wanted someone to tell me something, anything about that night, but they were gone.” Which reminded me. “Anton said Nadya made them leave the next morning because she had a bad feeling. Mouse said Nadya knows everything. What do you think about that?”
Pru gathered a fistful of hair over one shoulder. “I think it’s creepy. I hope I never run into Nadya or Mouse. How about you? Do you think one of the Lovells could have hurt Faith?”
“Murder?” The word was a whisper on my tongue.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe. I always figured it was true when the kids said she was just like Mom.” Her eyes shined with unshed tears. “I wasn’t close to Faith like you were, but I was close to Mom. She never let me feel left out when you and Faith went places or didn’t want me around. When Mom left, it was like I wasn’t enough of a reason to stay.”
I touched Pru’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
She shook me off. “It’s fine. I survived, but whatever happened to Faith changed everything.” She wrapped thin arms around her waist. “I’d like to think at least one of them didn’t leave us on purpose.”
“Me too.”
She pulled her lips to the side. “What if Nadya knows something? Maybe she saw something bad that night. She might not have had anything to do with it, but what if she was a witness? The Lovells don’t seem like the type to make police reports.”
As much as I’d hoped Faith wasn’t suicidal, I’d never suspected foul play. Not really. Everyone loved Faith. She was sweet and kind and fun. My toes curled in my shoes and my fingernails bit into my palms. What kind of monster would hurt her? “I don’t think the Lovells would hurt anyone. I think they’re a weird family and Dad’s friends are desperate for someone to blame. Still, I should definitely ask Nadya about that night.”
Anton walked onto the sidewalk outside Red’s crowded doorway. Pru and I froze. A little brunette stared up at him. Her words were swallowed up on the twang of guitars and laughter of passing women.
I grabbed Pru’s hand. “That’s Mouse.”
Pru shoved her fingers between overglossed lips and whistled loud enough to turn a dozen heads. “Guess I’m meeting her.” She waved a hand overhead. “Anton!”
I elbowed her ribs and hissed. “Shut. Up. Are you trying to announce our arrival? Dad could be out here looking for the Lovells, and we’re on lockdown, remember?”
Anton smiled. His straight white teeth glowed in the neon light of Red’s Open sign. He moved in our direction, towing his creepy friend beside him. “Mouse, this is Mercy and her sister, Pru.” He swept one wide arm around her waist. “Ladies, this is Mouse.”
Pru straightened at my side. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Mouse’s gaze traveled along the sidewalk and as high as Pru’s knees before falling again.
I extended a palm in her direction. “We’ve met.”
Mouse raised her gaze to mine. Fear and curiosity burned in her small, dark eyes.
Anton looked from me to Mouse in confusion. Microphone feedback screeched through the night. An announcer’s voice recapped the showcase so far and listed the names of songwriters still to come. Cross’s name wasn’t on the list.
Anton looked over his shoulder. “We’d better get inside. Cross is looking for you guys. He didn’t think you’d come. I guess he owes me a drink.”
I lifted my palm. “Here I am.” Never mind the fact Cross was almost right.
“Well, get in there before you miss him.” Anton rubbed his palms together. “He’s up soon. If he finishes in the top three this time, he gets a thousand dollars and an invitation to perform again next week for a five-thousand-dollar prize. Third week winners get ten grand and a trip to Memphis. He’d get some one-on-one time with a record executive too. He probably told you all that already, huh?”
Pru raised an eyebrow.
“He told me about the trip to Memphis.” Not the money. Holy cats. He could leave here with sixteen thousand dollars if he won every week. I could pay half my freshman tuition with that much money.
Anton rocked on his heels, looking proud. “This competition’s been to two dozen honky-tonks this year. I’ve tried to get Cross in at every event, but we’re always too far away to make it, or we get there and the docket’s full. This is the kid’s big chance to get his stuff heard. It wasn’t easy getting here, but I did it. Nadya fought us when she learned the River Festival was moved a month out.”
The River Festival had moved to the end of July a year after Faith’s death. No one thought it was right to celebrate the river on such an awful anniversary. The change stuck.
Pru edged forward, craning her neck for a peek over the crowd in front of Red’s big window. “Is he any good?”
“Yes.” Mouse’s small voice sent chills over my arms. Where was her weird little smile and blank stare tonight? Her name was fitting. She made it easy to forget she was there until she spoke and I remembered she was a vindictive jerk.
Pru didn’t respond. She pushed away from us until she was enveloped in the crowd.
“I’d better follow her.” I excused myself and slid between packed bodies at the door. “Pru. Wait.”
I stumbled behind. As she wound through knots and clusters of people with ease, I bumped my hips and toes into everything in sight and a few things I didn’t see. “Pru.”
Her hair bounced over her shoulders in the corner where stools lined the bar. A few moments later, I claimed the last little red seat beside her. “Finally!” She spun to face the stage, leaning back on her stool, elbows wedged on the mahogany bar behind her. “That girl didn’t look insane.”
“She is.”
Cross waved at me across Pru’s lackadaisical pose. His dimple sank in, dragging down a couple days’ worth of stubble. “You came.”
I bobbed my head, speechless. His fitted gray shirt looked soft enough to run my fingers over. The ink on his neck drew my attention. I fisted my hands in my lap. The lighting cues over the stage several feet away threw shadows across his cheeks and easy smile. He looked at home perched on a bar stool beside Pru. The frustration normally etched on his brow and carried in the tension of his jaw and shoulders was gone.
He tugged one of Pru’s blue streaks. “Blue, huh?”
She froze under his touch. “Yeah. Dad hates it.”
He laughed.
“Will Morris!” A voice echoed through speakers everywhere. Arms and drinks rose into the air along with wild applause.
Cross slid from his stool and hooked a guitar strap over his head.
Anton passed me and sat in Cross’s empty seat on the other side of Pru. His giant palms beat together. “Whoo-hoo!”
Pru snapped into action, whistling and fist pumping.
Cross sauntered forward as if he’d made the trip a hundred times and took a seat on stage, stuffing the ragged bar stool beneath him. “Thank you.” He adjusted the mic stand and spoke to the band behind him in musician code. The heels of his boots locked behind the rungs of the stool. The material of his jeans pulled tight across his thighs, accommodating the new position as he settled the guitar on his lap. His fingers splayed over the strings and he looked across the sea of faces before him.
I leaned over Pru and tapped Anton’s massive biceps. “Will Morris?”
“You didn’t think his real name was Cross, did you?”
No. Pru had already asked. I glanced at the stage. “Why do you call him Cross?”
“Nicolae named him Cross when he came on the road with us because he never smiled. He always looked cross.” Anton barked a laugh and called the bartender for a round of drinks.
The bartender winked and pushed two glasses of dark liquid to Pru and me.
“On this guy.” Anton pointed a thumb to his chest.
Pru beamed. “Coke?”
The bartender laughed and moved away. “Yes. Unless you have proper ID, soda’s the best I can do.”
“Sweet.” She jammed a little red straw into ice cubes and spun on her stool.
I’d opened my mouth to warn her about accepting drinks from strangers when a voice like none I’d ever heard broke through the hoopla. People stilled around me until only the guitar and an intoxicating voice of molasses and honey remained.
Pru released her straw. “Holy hell. That’s hot.” She stared openmouthed at the stage.
His voice was a low lament. His words a heartbreaking tale of pain and loss. The guitar swaddled each note, lifting the words until the refrain ended and a second verse began. Slowly, the song shed its darkness, morphing into something celestial. Into prayers of hope and redemption.
Wow.
Pealing laughter and applause exploded around me. Too soon, he sauntered off stage looking sad and strong. The glint in his eye said much more.
The crowd parted for Cross as he landed palms on the bar beside me. “What’d you think?”
Words rambled out before I thought them through. “I think you’re remarkable.”
He nodded and somehow his crazy smile widened. “I accept.”
Laughter bubbled up from my chest and I was seventeen again. Alive. Happy. Not tormented and consumed by things I couldn’t change. Music was like that. Comforting. Energizing. Understanding. Cross’s song made me want to climb a mountain or at least out of the abyss.
A sharp chirp of sirens roared down the street outside. Red and white lights carouseled over the windows as cruisers barreled past.
Pru leaned around Cross, whose too-thick body was wedged between our stools. “What do you think that was about?”
I didn’t care.
Cross tipped his head back, draining the remains of his drink. The sweat-dampened material of his shirt clung to the planes and angles of his chest and torso. Images of what lay beneath the thin material swam before my eyes. Irrationally, I longed to see it again. I shook my head, rejecting the idea I could sympathize with groupies. A few slow blinks later, I regained my sensibility.
“Hey.” He dropped his face closer to mine, covered in the guarded expression I’d come to respect. “I don’t suppose you’d care to share what’s on your mind right now.”
I lifted my chin, guilty for staring at him, but unembarrassed. “Nope.”
“If I guessed, would you admit I was right?”
“You’re quick to assume you’d be right.”
“Maybe.” His eyes searched mine before their focus slid to my mouth and lingered. The thin silver ring at the corner of his bottom lip fascinated me. Stage lighting reflected in the shiny surface. I longed to touch the ring, to test the reality of it. The small silver jewelry seemed out of place on Cross’s unshaven face. His lips were wide and wet with whatever he’d drained from the glass moments before. I’d botched my first kiss years ago. I’d blamed Mark’s braces. Kissing a guy with a lip ring required a skillset I didn’t possess. Not that I’d ever kiss anyone with a lip ring.
I licked my lips, overcome with a sudden case of nerves and a butterfly infestation. “And if you’re wrong?”
He leaned forward an inch. His warm breath was sweet on my skin. “If I’m wrong, I’ll never try this again.”
I uttered a ridiculous sound and he moved back an inch.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume anything.” His features darkened. “Really. I would never.”
The dumb strangled sound came out again. What did I intend to say? Oh my Lord, I was a walking tragedy.
Cross jumped free of my personal space when a giant hand landed on his shoulder. Anton loomed over him, hand clenched on his shoulder. “There was a fire. Let’s go.”
“What?” I followed them through the parting crowd. Pru wound her fingers into the material of my shirt, calling out questions as we moved.
We were on the corner before Anton stopped and recapped a series of text messages from Mouse.
“Someone started a fire at the river. There’s damage to my trailer and the acrobats’ camper. We lost the prop van and most of the supplies in Nicolae’s truck.”
“Oh no.” I pressed shaky fingers to my lips, still tingling from the rush of fire Cross breathed over them.
Pru moved closer to Anton. “So Mouse went home?”
I thought of the scars on her face and Cross’s comment, “If she didn’t enjoy my music, she’d probably burn my guitar.”
Anton sighed. “She goes to bed before eleven most nights. She’s not much of a partier. You two better get home too. I don’t know what’s happening, but we need to get back and you don’t need to be involved.”
Cross stepped into my space, so near that our shoes bumped. His fingertips grazed my hips. “I’ll text you when I know something. Sorry about earlier.”
I nodded and he was gone. The guys jogged into the shadows, cutting through yards, heading in a straight path for the campgrounds.
Pru dragged me toward home. She hissed into my ear as we moved. “Do you think Dad and the old-man crew did this?”
It made more sense than Mouse ruining her family’s things or damaging her boyfriend’s trailer.
I shook my head hard, needing my words to be true. “No. He wouldn’t. Dad wouldn’t.”
Would he?
How many times had I uttered the same thing about Faith and our mother? They wouldn’t do what they did, but they were gone. There wasn’t much my family could do to surprise me anymore.
Sister Kisser
Despite the texts from Mouse to Anton, I sent up silent prayers for everyone’s safety. My idea of safety was probably different from hers. Personal experience dictated I should assume the worst until evidence confirmed otherwise. Emergency vehicles were an anomaly outside the Fourth of July parade. Seeing them tear through town at midnight sent a shiver down my spine. We stopped at the end of our driveway. Shadows trickled from our neighbors’ homes, tying robes around their middles and shuffling toward the commotion at the campgrounds. Families blended into a mob on the corner, appearing and disappearing as they passed through cones of lamplight.
Darkness engulfed our house. “I’m texting Dad.”
Pru gasped. “Why? He’s not home.”
I ran my thumbs across the screen. “I’m testing him. Maybe we have time to check on the Lovells.”
Pru edged closer, watching my screen as I typed.
“What’s going on? We heard sirens.”
“Now we wait.”
Pru chewed the polish off her nails. “Cross’s voice is major sexy. Did you see the girls’ faces in there? Did you know he could sing like that? How old is he?”
I clenched my phone to my chest. “He’s nineteen.”
My phone vibrated. “It’s Dad.”
“Nothing to worry about. Go to sleep. I’ll be home soon. Check on your sister.”
My heart raced in relief. “What do you think? Can we make it to the campground and back before Dad gets home?”
Pru dropped her hands to her sides. “What’s he mean? Check on your sister? For what? He took my door! What does he think I can do without a door?”
“Pft. Oh, I don’t know. Sneak out?”
I formed a quick response text.
“Pru’s with me. Was anyone hurt?”
“No. Lock the doors. Stay inside. See you at breakfast.”
Pru read the texts and huffed. “Wow. Blown off by Dad. How’s that feel?”
Like every day of my life.
She grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s go.” Pru darted through the night toward the river, cutting across lawns and leaping over flower beds.
I stayed on her heels, fizzing with nerves and energy as our footfalls beat a rhythm in the night. What would we find when we reached the campground? Would Dad be there?
What were we thinking?
Pru was fast, and my lungs burned with the effort of matching her pace, a sensation I’d all but forgotten. My muscles stretched and flexed in familiar lopes, the way they had when I ran with Faith and trained with the color guard. The unthinkable occurred to me as I jumped a fallen bicycle in the Murphy’s backyard. I missed running.
Two men with cell phones dithered outside a ranch home on Sycamore. Prickles of paranoia coursed through me, and I hunched my shoulders, hoping Dad wouldn’t pop up and drag us home in front of half the town.
Even as exhilaration wound through me, the liar in my head did her best to change my mind, carry me home, and cover me in bed. The stubborn new ember of hope in my gut pushed me onward, across moonlit fields and toward the river where Faith died. The same place my friends’ loved ones were endangered tonight. I wasn’t there for Faith when she’d needed me. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The moment I was safe in bed, I’d think about all the unearthed feelings accosting me these past two days. It had taken three years to settle into an easy numb. Then a few Lovell trucks rolled into town and my life changed. Again. Personal experience had proven changes in my life to be dangerous and wholly unpleasant. I should be running toward home instead of the river.
Silent red and blue flashes washed over the grass beyond the St. Mary’s Campground sign. Pru crept beneath the reaching fingers of a massive willow, and I ducked in behind her. Dad and his breakfast posse stood near the sheriff’s cruiser twenty yards away. I could hit Cross’s camper with a rock from our hiding place. My cheeks burned with the knowledge Dad could find us in the one place he’d forbidden us from going.
In the distance, a pair of officers spoke with members of the Lovell Sideshow cast and crew. The rushing river, gorged by several days’ rainfall, silenced their voices. Scents of earth and ash hung in the air. Small puffs of smoke rose above a ruined stack of boxes and luggage.
Pru angled around the tree for a better position. “What are they saying?”
“I don’t know. Do you see Anton or Cross? Maybe I should text them.”
I squatted beside Pru and peered through the willow’s viney limbs. Several campers jockeyed around the squad cars for good rubbernecking positions. Raging waters had ruined the local night fishing. Gawking at fire victims worked well as an alternate way to pass the time, I guessed. Awful. I turned in a circle, counting the number of other trailers in the campgrounds. Could a fellow camper have set the fire? How many others opposed the Lovells’ presence?
Americana-themed twinkle lights on trailer awnings swayed in the wind. Music droned from distant radios. Only a few trailers stood at the river on my left. The Lovells made up most of the campers on my right. I made one more visual sweep of the area, looking for what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe a man carrying a flamethrower. Something small and red caught my attention at the popup trailer farthest from the Lovells’. Jason’s unmistakable red basketball shoes glowed under swinging awning lights. “Pru?”
She grunted, waddling through pine needles like a giant sandy-haired duck, chewing her nails.
“Did I tell you what Cross said about Jason and his family?”
She rolled her eyes. “Here we go. He’s a player and I’m going to get hurt if I keep seeing him. Skip it. I’ve heard this before.”
“And?”
“And I’m a sophomore in a town hurting for boys in my demographic.”
Right. “Good.”
“Wait. Why?”
Her wide blue eyes narrowed. She twisted at the waist, looking in the direction of the red shoes. Pru shot to her feet. Her head jammed into the prickly limbs, and they tangled into her overdone curls. Her hands fisted at her sides. “I can’t believe him.”
I touched her shoulder and stage whispered over the river’s constant roar. “You can’t make a scene here. Later. Okay?”
Jason’s bleach-blonde make-out partner climbed onto his lap. Oh, for goodness’ sake.
Pru dragged her heated gaze from him to me. “Dick.” She dropped back into a squat and wrapped protective arms over her knees, pulling them to her chest.
“Yeah.”
The willow’s branches rustled behind us. I held my breath as I turned. Not a single decent excuse for why we were out past curfew lurking at a crime scene entered my mind.
Cross ducked his head and folded his body into a seated position beside Pru. “Did you see your boyfriend?”
She pointed an angry finger at Cross’s nose and clamped her mouth shut. Apparently, even Pru knew her limitations “We’re not talking about that.”
His cheek lifted and dropped. Cross bumped his shoulder against hers. “That guy’s a dick.”
She smiled. “I’m going to egg his truck later. I can’t believe I’m on lockdown and he’s out here with some trailer trash. No offense.”
Cross brushed a hand over his lips. His shoulders bounced slightly. “None taken.”
“I hope you came with useful information. I’m feeling cranky.”
I cut in before Pru got any louder. “Is everyone okay? No one was hurt in the fire?”
He nodded. “Everyone’s fine.”
Pru looked over her shoulder and frowned. Her little figure collapsed backward onto the ground, planting her jeans onto wet ground. She yanked up a handful of grass. “I’m glad everyone’s okay. Any idea what happened?” Her eyes slid my way. Did our Dad do this?
Cross adjusted into a squat. “No. Mouse said she was watching television and smelled smoke. She thought the crew had made a fire. We stay up playing cards or singing most nights. She went to take a look and discovered the flames.”
Pru huffed. “I thought she had a headache or a bedtime or something.”
I cringed. “How’s she doing? A fire is pretty rough.” Considering the marks on her cheeks, she must be terrified.
Cross stared through the dangling willow limbs toward his friends. “You mean because of her scars?”
I nodded. He wasn’t looking, but I hoped he knew.
“Mouse is tougher than she looks. She’s a survivor.”
“What scars?” Pru asked.
Cross focused his attention through the limbs. “She was in a fire when she was younger. She has scars on her face, neck, and hands, probably other places too. It happened a long time before she joined the group. The Lovells found her wandering the streets late at night and took her in. She didn’t speak and she was scarred so they didn’t take her to the police in case she had been abused. They kept her with them and made calls to authorities asking about a missing girl with scars. The police had no reports that matched. They stayed in the city for months before they left.”
Pru wrinkled her nose. “I think that’s called kidnapping.”
Cross pressed his lips into a tight white line. “I thought the same thing when I met her. Then again, I left with them too.” He shook his head. “I joined up when I was sixteen. Mouse wasn’t much younger when she came to them.”
The look on Pru’s face spoke volumes. I had no right to say anything about Jason when my new guy friend was a runaway and an accomplice to a kidnapping.
“So they collect kids?”
“No.” Cross grimaced. “Once Mouse trusted them, she talked. She told them about being an orphan and living with other abandoned kids in the poorest section of Cleveland. There was a fire one night and she woke up in the hospital. No one else survived. They moved her from place to place when she was healed, but foster care is a flawed system, and she was traumatized for years.” He rubbed heavy palms up and down his arms. “It’s a cruel world. Being a little girl with scars like hers had to be unthinkable. I don’t blame her for taking off and I don’t blame the Lovells for taking her in. Her parents abandoned her. The system failed her. Hell, no one was even looking for her.”
I bit my lip against the building arguments. Dad would’ve found her a proper home, but that time had passed. Mouse was at least eighteen now, maybe twenty.
I couldn’t reconcile the Lovells’ behavior. There had to be a better answer. What if someone was looking for her? “I’m surprised the Lovells didn’t turn her over to child services.”
Cross shot me a look of exasperation. “Me too, but they didn’t. They do things their way. Mouse never wanted to leave, so I never pushed. Hell, I was a kid when I came on board. Who was I to judge? Besides, back then I worried they’d change their mind about me. Send me back to the system.”
Pru nodded slowly. “How old is Anton?”
Jeez.
“Twenty-one.”
“And Mouse?” I asked.
“Twenty.”
Pru stretched her legs out before her and clasped her knees in her palms. “Anton’s dating a younger woman.”
I groaned. “She’s not that young. She’s older than me.”
Cross smirked. “They aren’t really dating. It’s complicated. Mouse is overinvested because she’s always looking for someone to belong to. We were friends when I came on board, but she was needy and I’m not what she needs. I’m…”
“Damaged?” I asked.
A ghost of a smile passed his lips. “Yeah. She gave up after a year or so and started following Anton instead. He’s too nice to put a stop to it. Honestly, I think he’s glad for the company. Romance never quite works out for him.” He looked my way. Had he asked about all those lost loves? Did Anton know what happened to them? “He’s always looking for what his parents have. I guess it’s hard to meet another Roma traveler when you’re traveling. Meanwhile, he and Mouse are getting to know each other better.”
Pru stiffened. “Shh.” She pointed to Dad and his lackeys leaving the scene. “We need to go.”
I dusted my palms. “She’s right. We’ve got to go. Sheriff Dobbs is one of Dad’s posse members. His oldest son, Brady, was Faith’s boyfriend. I guess her death ruined their family too. We need to get home before they see us here or know we’re gone.”
Cross lifted his hand. His fingers wrapped around mine. “Wait.”
I held my breath.
“Anton’s coming.” He released my hand as the branches of the willow swayed.
Anton swatted the skinny limbs. “What are you doing under here?”
Pru scowled. “We can’t hear anything. What’s happening out there?” She pointed to Dad. “That’s our dad, Pastor Porter. Did he say anything to you?”
Anton leaned against the tree trunk. “I heard him tell the sheriff he’s taking those three guys home.” He turned to Cross. “Sheriff Dobbs will get back with us after the fire department finishes their report. The crew’s on edge. They’re ready to fight anyone getting too close to the trailers. Collin’s setting up night patrol shifts to make sure it doesn’t happen again. The official cause is fireworks.”
I frowned. “Fireworks?”
“Someone set off a bunch of bottle rockets under the trailers and on the luggage racks. The reports won’t say arson, but I don’t see how bottle rockets could cause all that damage. Won’t matter. I bet the verdict will be kids goofing off. Accidental. Some lame cover-up like that.”
Pru moved to Anton’s side.
“Let’s go.” I kicked grass and pebbles. “Dad’s on his way home.” My heart raced. Accidental. Some lame cover-up like that. We’d heard that before.
Anton shrugged. “I don’t know where the other guys live, but he has to take them home first. Can we talk a minute?”
I bit my tongue against a building tirade. If Dad caught us, I’d never see Cross or Anton again. Not to mention I wouldn’t get any more answers about Faith’s last days here. I’d be grounded much longer than the Lovells were in town. I wouldn’t get to question Nadya.
Anton’s jaw twitched. He cracked his knuckles and toed the dirt. “I wasn’t completely honest about Faith and me.”
The river grew quiet. Crickets quit chirping. My ears rang. “What do you mean?”
“I met Faith the day we came into town. She’d just broken up with her boyfriend, and I was hanging signs on telephone poles for our show. She let me buy her a coffee and we talked about your town. I was eighteen and lived on the road. She was seventeen and had never left St. Mary’s. She fascinated me.” He swallowed. “I ran into her again the next day, and we took a walk by the river. We kept running into one another and talking. She met the family. She snuck out a lot that week.” He smiled. “Then I saw her at the River Festival, and she was upset. She’d had a run-in with her ex-boyfriend. She wanted to get away, so I invited her back here with me. I knew the crew had a bonfire going. She agreed and we shared some wine. Traded broken-heart stories.” He chuckled without humor. “I really liked her.”
I pulled in a sudden breath. My eyes stung from the intake. I’d stopped breathing while he spoke. “What happened?” I croaked the words.
“She and Rose made friends. She let Mom read her palm. She watched the cast practicing for our big show in Cincinnati the next weekend. She seemed fine. Happy.” His head dropped forward. “I misread the signals. Too much wine. Not enough life experience. I tried to kiss her and she bolted. I blew it. She spilled her heart out to me about the way her ex pressured her for sex and then I tried to touch her too. It was a stupid move, and I regretted it for a long time after we left here. I’ve thought of her often, but I’d forgotten exactly what she looked like until you showed up with that picture.
“When I heard about the songwriting contest in St. Mary’s this year, I pushed hard to get here. I figured she’d be home from college and we might meet again. I planned to apologize, maybe catch up on the past three years.” A sad smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “Some people come into your life for a minute and leave a long-term mark. You know what I mean? News that she died…was a lot to take in. I needed time to process.”
Pru squeaked. “You kissed my sister?”
My lips burned where my teeth sank too far into the flesh. Was this happening? “We’ve got to go.”
I waved my palms at Anton and Cross. “I need time to digest all that. Plus, I really don’t want to be grounded until eternity. Let’s go.” I kicked Pru’s shoe.
Cross stood and stepped into my path. His soulful brown eyes said things I didn’t have words for, like how I shouldn’t worry and how it mattered to him that I did. “Can I text you later?”
I nodded. My stubborn tongue weighed a ton. Memories of Cross’s breath on my face at Red’s rushed through me. Images of Faith crying wrecked my heart.
He touched my shoulder with long, confident fingers that burned a path down my arm to my elbow. The thin fabric of my shirt did nothing to stop the snap of my skin under his touch.
I sucked in a small, shuddered breath. “I’ll talk to you later, Cross.”
He held my elbow another long beat before he stepped away.
Pru shoved free of the willow with me behind her.
I stopped short outside the limbs. “Anton?”
A low rumble came through the branches.
“Thank you for your honesty.”
I grabbed Pru’s arm and we ran full speed until our feet hit my bedroom floor.
She collapsed on my bed and knocked her shoes onto the rug. “Anton knew Faith.”
I leaned against my bedroom door. “Yeah and he was the last one to see her alive.”
Resolution
Pru snapped my iPod into the speaker and looked through my playlists. “Do you have something against current titles?”
I ignored her and tapped my fingertips over the keys on my laptop. Taste in music was one of many things we didn’t have in common.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m bringing up Faith’s blog.”
Pru bounced to my side. “Shut up. She kept a blog? Why didn’t I ever find it?”
I turned in shock. “You looked for her online?”
“Well, yeah. If it wasn’t for the Internet and local gossip, I’d never learn anything around here. How do you think I learned about sex?”
I slapped a hand over my mouth and shut my eyes. “You didn’t type that into a search engine.”
Pru cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. I did, and it was disgusting. Luckily, I hung in there long enough to revise my search a few times. Eventually, I found an educational site for fact gathering, but I got the gist of how sex looks from all the popups.”
A deep belly laugh rumbled through me. “Oh my goodness, that’s horrible.” Tears swept over my cheeks. The laughter continued. “What did you think? How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” A snicker broke through her sincere expression. “What did I think? Are you kidding? I was scared to death. Some of those women were really bendy.”
“No.” I swung my chin left and right.
“It’s true. I made a weekend of researching the topic. By the time we went to church on Sunday, I was certain the doors would lock behind me.”
Laughter pinched my sides, and I pressed my palms against both ribs. “Stop. It hurts.”
“Yeah, that was almost as bad as when I got my first period.”
I moved one hand to my chest. “Oh, no.” Mom had been gone by then. “Pru.”
She waved a hand in front of the laptop screen. “Don’t worry about it. I figured it out. My laptop and I have had many grand adventures. Between health class, Google, and my girlfriends, I got through it.”
I leaned my shoulder against hers. “I should’ve been there for that stuff. I’m really sorry.”
She shrugged. “You’re here now. So, show me the blog.”
I hit Enter and Faith’s blog came to life. It was a free blogger site, personalized by our sister. One of her drawings served as the avatar. “She didn’t fill in any of the personal details. I think this was meant to be private.”
“How’d you find it?”
“We shared a room and I’m nosy.”
Pru touched the header on the screen. “In Place of Never?”
“Yeah.”
“What does it mean?”
I’d read every word on every page a thousand times. “I think it means she had dreams bigger than West Virginia. She kept poems here and pictures of her art, but she didn’t write regular entries. No commentary. Nothing about her or her life here. Nothing about us. She lists favorite quotes and passages from books she read. It’s very vague and artsy.”
Pru shoved me out of the way. “Let me see.” She scrolled to Faith’s first entry and moved forward through time. “She started this six months before she died?”
“Yeah. She started on New Year’s Eve and stopped…July first.”
“Does Dad know about this?”
I snorted.
“Right. Never mind.” She clicked through the photo gallery. “Her drawings were kind of dark.”
“Powerful,” I corrected.
Pru moved through the quotes. “She was a feminist. Do you think that was why she cut her hair?”
“I don’t know.” Faith had never asked for my opinion about that. One day she’d come home from school with half her hair and behaved as if it wasn’t a big deal. “She said she donated it to Locks of Love.”
“Do you think she was making plans to leave us?”
I didn’t know if she meant for college or for forever, and I couldn’t answer either question. Pru didn’t press for an answer. I reread Faith’s words over Pru’s shoulder. She highlighted a short entry. “Is this about Brady?”
I leaned forward, focusing on the passage I’d never thought significant.
You weren’t supposed to be here.
You weren’t supposed to leave.
I wasn’t supposed to love you.
Nothing’s as it seems.
“She and Brady were together. This was written in May. I don’t know.” I tapped the date stamp.
Pru’s eyes widened. “Maybe they broke up and got back together and she never told anyone?”
I strained my memory while Pru read on. Faith had had more secrets than I realized. The poem could mean anything. The words were sad. “Mouse said Faith was sad.”
“Newsflash. Mouse is insane.”
Agreed. “Oh.” I straightened. “This one repeats every few weeks. She added a line sometimes or changed something small, but it has the same title as her blog. I used to type it to feel close to her again. It was her first entry, so I think it’s a poem of resolution. It’s pretty.”
Pru centered Faith’s words on the screen.
In Place of Never
In place of never, I will find my truth. I will conquer and divide. I will challenge all the lies.
I will turn darkness into light. I won’t fear the fight. I will lay up my treasures. White wings. Heart of feathers.
I will explore things unknown, discover things unseen.
I won’t listen to the venom. Won’t drift away in silence. Won’t beg them for acceptance.
In place of never, I will live today.
Transform my loss to love, ascend with you, meet you, know you.
We’ll have forever soon in heaven above.
Pru settled back on her heels. “Ascend with who?”
“God, I guess. I think this is a poem about new beginnings. It was New Year’s Eve. It was her senior year. She was making changes. Look. Laying up treasures. ‘Fight the fight.’ That’s from the Bible.”
“I know. Don’t you think this sounds a little like a good-bye?”
I hadn’t. “No. I think it sounds hopeful. It sounds like she’s found strength to do things differently.”
“What things?”
I flopped back in my chair. “I don’t know. It’s a poem. I think it sounds strong.”
“Maybe.” Pru crowded me out of my chair at the computer. I moved to the bed to think about her interpretation of Faith’s poem.
I jumped when headlights flashed over the house and settled in the driveway. I peered down at the top of Dad’s car. “He’s home.”
The front door opened and snapped shut, echoing through the silent house. Dad climbed the steps on heavy feet and stopped at the second floor. “Pru?”
She darted into the hall outside my door. “I’m with Mercy.”
Pru and I had washed our faces and combed our hair the moment we got home. We’d stuffed our clothes in the laundry to subdue the subtle scent of ash and outdoors clinging to the fabric. Our new look and wrinkled pajamas gave the misconception we’d shared a lazy night of indoor punishment.
The stairs groaned under heavy feet. Dad’s cheeks were flushed and his hair stood at odd angles from the night’s wind. He expelled a long breath at my threshold. “May I?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Dad walked into my room for the second time in years. He’d helped set up the bed when I refused to sleep in my old room, but he hadn’t returned until yesterday. “I thought you’d both be asleep.”
Pru and I stared.
A measure of confusion wrinkled his brow. Sadness tugged his lips.
I rolled off my bed and planted my feet on the floor. “Are you okay?”
He released another long breath. “I haven’t seen you two together like this before. It’s nice.”
Pru nodded. Her fingers wound in the hem of her shirt. “Thank you for taking my door.” She slid her gaze from Dad’s face to mine. “I think it let Mercy in.”
A lump wedged in my throat, and I willed back tears. My emotions were a dam with a puncture. It wouldn’t take much to send me over the edge. The past two days were more than I’d expected. More than I thought I could manage. I was a time bomb.
Dad crept around my room, touching concert posters and stacks of paperbacks. He traced a picture of Faith and Mom with his fingertips. “They were beautiful, weren’t they?” His lips quivered. “Just like the two of you.”
Pru looked at me.
I squirmed. “Dad?”
He scrubbed a heavy palm over his face and moved back into the doorway. “I’m glad you’re together. You should get some sleep.”
Pru followed him into the hall. “What happened tonight?”
“There was a small fire at the campgrounds. Probably a combination of careless kids and fireworks. Nothing for you to worry about. No one was hurt, though I hear the Lovells’ gear was damaged in the fiasco. They should be leaving now.” Dad nodded in approval. “Never underestimate the power of prayer, girls.”
I squared my shoulders, daring to ask the question on my heart. “Those men who came over for breakfast wanted the Lovells to leave town. No one we know would do something like this intentionally. Right?”
He moved onto the first step. “Of course not.”
I relaxed a bit, feeling silly and guilty for asking. “Right. Sorry.” I raised an apologetic smile. “You guys worried me. Those men wanted the Lovells to leave as much as you do. The sheriff thinks the Lovells had something to do with what happened to Faith… Daddy.” My voice cracked with desperation. “What happened to Faith?”
Pressing the matter was stupid. When I’d asked too many questions before, he navigated the situation by avoiding me. I didn’t want to lose him again, but I had to know. If I had answers before I left for college, maybe life would be different.
Emotion fell from his features, replaced in a blink with his usual contempt. “Stay away from those Gypsies, Mercy. They’re trouble. They’re traveling locusts that drop into town, take what they want and move on. Do you understand me?”
Pru’s face wrinkled into a guffaw. Her cheeks pinked beyond the hue of her pajamas.
I clenched my jaw and measured my breaths. Ignored again. He never answered our questions, no matter how direct. The man who’d taught us not to judge had labeled an entire group of people he’d never met as locusts. How was that for hypocrisy? Words piled on my tongue, unable to spill. What happened? What did he know that was so awful he refused to tell us?
When Dad turned away, I lurched forward a baby step. “Why do you blame the Lovells?” I pleaded with Dad, while sending silent prayers for intervention. Answer me.
His body stiffened, but he didn’t turn. “She snuck out to be with them that night. She snuck out all week for them. But you already knew that.”
I gasped. He knew. All these years, he’d known I’d covered for her, and he hadn’t said a word. He’d let me curl up in my guilt and fade away. Where was his forgiveness of my sin? I was just a kid then, younger than Pru now. Fourteen was too young to bear that agony alone, and he’d let it suffocate me.
He thumped down the steps and Pru followed.
My lungs burned for air. Would she blame me now too? “Pru.”
She looked like someone had slapped her.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room. I need my bed and my iPod.”
“’Kay.” I slipped back into my room and latched the door. My heart pounded recklessly against my ribs. Dad’s words played on a loop in my head. Running through the night with Pru had invigorated me. Hearing Cross’s song intoxicated me. Dad’s truth freed me. He knew I was guilty, and for that I was strangely released.
I sat at the vanity and stared at my reflection. I was alive. I thought I’d died with Faith and again with my mom, but I hadn’t. The emotional cocktail in my heart confirmed it. There was more to me than sadness, and I wanted to live. Resolution formed in my broken heart. Faith couldn’t tell her story, so I’d tell it for her. I’d force the truth out of hiding. Someone knew exactly what happened that night and I wasn’t afraid to push until they told me what they knew. Dad could keep his secrets. I’d talk to everyone. Her friends. Her old boyfriend. Every Lovell at the campgrounds. I’d interview the entire town if I had to, but I wouldn’t leave for college without telling Faith’s story. I owed her that.
The scars on my arms ached and itched to be opened. I rubbed my palms over them until a red friction burn emerged. The familiar coil of longing stirred in my gut. I could release the pressure so easily. I scratched the scars harder with my fingernails. Pressure filled my chest. I could make one cut and release all the things overwhelming my brain. I could free them. Free me. A deluge of tears fell over my lids, blurring my sight and scorching my cheeks.
I pressed my palm over the scars and sobbed. I couldn’t do that anymore. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t. I didn’t cut anymore.
Oh, but why? Why didn’t I cut anymore? Relief was so close, so easily gained. The tears fell faster, piling on my thigh. I blinked through the pain and grabbed a notebook and pen from the floor. This time I had another way to channel the excess. I started a list.
Truth about Faith
I tapped the pen against my vanity. Who saw her that weekend? The names floated forward from memory. As the list grew, the stinging in my arm faded. Instead of the usual wave of guilt from making a new cut, a surge of determination coursed through my veins. The list gave me purpose. I could make a difference. I had a mission.
What the Stars Saw
Fourth of July was a big holiday for the town, and our church had a covered-dish party in the parking lot every year. Kids got glow sticks and sparklers. Moms made enough food and dessert to feed anyone who stopped.
I plugged in my purple lights and brushed my hair. Fireworks popped and burst in the sky beyond my window. We’d avoided all the hoopla for years, but Dad had renewed purpose. He’d woken us at five and insisted we carry pop-up chairs to the parade route. I’d pleaded a headache and stayed in bed plotting. Pru hadn’t been as lucky. She and Dad had gone to the parade and brought hot doughnuts home from one of the vendors for breakfast. Dad had eaten two donuts while Pru filled me in on the color-guard gossip before he’d pulled her away for lunch. They’d stopped at home and left again at dark.
My phone buzzed on the bed behind me and I jumped.
It was Cross. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You want to talk?”
I bit my lip.
“Okay.”
I held the phone close to my chest and waited for his call. Instead, my hand vibrated with a new text.
“I’m coming up.”
Wait. What? I dropped the phone and ran to my window, straining to see through the darkness. Trees swayed in a warm summer breeze. I wedged a book in the window frame to keep it open and sat on the floor, resting elbows on the window ledge. Wind rumpled my hair. I breathed in the night and wiped furiously at my face, regretting the removal of my mascara and lipstick.
A small shadow moved across the lawn below and my heart leaped. I leaned my head and shoulders through the open window, watching the shadow grow until I recognized Cross. He jumped at the base of my tree and grasped the limb overhead. His arms and legs moved in perfect synchronization as he made his way to the roof outside my window. How could someone twice my size be so lithe?
His face popped into view a moment later. “Hey.”
Emotions vied for position in my heart and head. A bolt of electricity shot through me at the sight of Cross outside my room. The thrill collided with a freight train of fear and anticipation. What if we were caught? If we weren’t caught, what might the night hold? “Hey.”
I shoved the window higher and swung my legs over the frame. Thanks to the cotton shorts I’d slid into for pajamas, my creepy pale skin glowed in the moonlight. Cross held the window until I was free. I eased the book back into place. “Come on.” I inched across the roof and settled on warm shingles over the back porch. “Pru and Dad are at the church.”
Cross rocked back on his heels, folding into position beside me. “I saw them.”
“Yeah?” I locked my fingers around my knees and tugged my freakish white legs against my chest. “How was your day?”
He watched me with too-observant eyes. “We went over to Marietta for a show. We worked around the loss of equipment. I don’t think anyone noticed. Did you like the pictures?”
I smiled. Between Cross and Pru, I hadn’t felt alone. My phone had buzzed all day with new information and sneak snapshots, or goofy videos. “Yeah.”
“What’re you doing tomorrow?”
As I sat beside him in the dark, my heart swelled. What if I’d chosen to cross the street when I first saw Cross and Anton outside Red’s that morning? Where would I be right now if I’d made a different decision? I inched closer to him, borrowing his heat and hating the answers to both questions. “Church. You?”
“Practice. Can I meet you somewhere afterward? Maybe you’ll let me buy you lunch or at least a drink with a flag on it?”
I laughed. “Oh, absolutely. Can I get an obnoxious striped straw?”
He managed to look offended. “You think I wouldn’t spring for the big straw?”
Wind blew hair into my face. I rubbed sweat-slicked palms over my thighs and down to my ankles. “Are you practicing your songs or your act with the Lovells?”
“Both.”
I was alone at night on the roof with a gorgeous, forbidden guy. My heart beat loud in my chest. Blood thrummed between my ears making me light-headed and half mental. If I rolled off the roof, I’d probably die happy. I forced my attention straight ahead so as not to test my theory. “I liked your song.”
His boots scraped over gritty shingles. “Thanks. I’m in for next week.”
I twisted to look into his eyes. “Really? That’s amazing.”
He smiled. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. Every week will get harder. Next week I’ll need a song good enough to beat all this week’s winners.” He groaned. “There were some great lyrics. I can’t believe they picked mine.”
I could. “Your song was really good. For a guy who claims he’s not great with words, you certainly can put them to music.”
His cheeks darkened. A blush? Was Cross capable of blushing? My cheeks warmed in response.
He ducked his head. “Thanks.”
I looked away, gathering my calm. “So, what happens if you go all the way with this? What about the Lovells?”
“I don’t know. They’re my family, but I’m not a traveler. I want to write songs and work in the music industry. I’d like to have roots one day. This could be my best opportunity to do that.”
I crossed my arms over my knees, pulling them tighter against me. I spread my fingers over my biceps, wishing my shirt covered more skin. “I’m going to Tennessee next month. If you make it through all three rounds, maybe I’ll see you there.”
His narrow eyes widened. “You’re leaving home?”
“College.” I didn’t want to go, but Dad insisted I get an education and a fresh start. He’d forced the applications on me months ago and secured the necessary recommendation letters for his alma mater. “Tennessee Temple.”
Cross’s lips parted. A smile split his face and his secret dimple caved in. His tongue poked the tiny silver ring at the corner of his mouth. “Really?”
“Yeah. Is that far from Memphis?”
His usual controlled expression returned. “Far is a matter of perception. Tennessee Temple is on the other side of the state. Maybe a five-hour drive. That’s nothing to me. Why?”
I shook my head too quickly and averted my gaze. It was silly to hope we could stay in touch when summer ended, but what if we did? What if I could keep him in my life, however superficially? “Curiosity.” I needed a subject change. Not a problem since I had at least a hundred more questions. “You never told me what you do for the Lovells. Do you sing?”
“Nah. I do a little of everything. I help the crew. I spot the acrobats during practice. I put up flyers. Whatever they need.”
I chewed my lip. “But do you have an act? I saw you on the banner outside Red’s, and you had a guitar. The crew wasn’t on the sign. Only the performers.”
Cross sighed. “I read people.”
Not what I’d expected. “Like a fortune teller?”
He smiled quickly before stuffing the look away. “No. Not like that. I tell them things they already know. I watch and I listen. I tell them who they are, what they do for a living, things like that. Blows everyone’s mind. For a long time, vigilance was self-preservation. Too many years in the system taught me to pay attention.”
I remembered his scarred chest and ached to hug him. “The system. It was pretty bad, huh?”
Cross looked to the sky. “I spent sixteen years in foster care.” He looked my way and I nodded in encouragement. The line of his jaw tightened. “My mom was a drunk. She wanted me but wouldn’t stay clean, so I wasn’t available for adoption by some rich family. Instead, I was forced from one suck-ass foster home to the next. I changed schools more times than I could count. I was ignored, starved, beaten up by older kids, abused by foster parents, and left for dead once. I had a…hard time dealing with that life.”
“I’m sorry.” The words weren’t enough, but they were all I had. Memories of all the people who’d told me the same thing after we lost Faith and Mom ran through my mind. I’d hated them for such a stupid sentiment. I rubbed grit from the shingles with my palm.
“The system’s full of bad situations. Maybe there’s good in there too, but I never saw it. When I was six, I was starved and locked in a room by a couple who used the foster-kid money to buy drugs and throw parties. I spent the whole damn summer up there, and it was hot. I got out after the police busted up one of the get-togethers and found four emaciated kids in the attic. In junior high, I played the role of punching bag for my foster mom’s boyfriend. In high school, I made it out of the system by way of juvenile correction when I beat my foster dad unconscious.”
My stomach rolled against my spine. The look on Cross’s face dared me to ask. “Why?”
“I came home late one night and caught him standing over a girl’s bed in the next room. His pants were undone and she was twelve.”
Bile burned my throat.
“He told me to keep moving. Said it was none of my business, and part of me wished I could walk away. That house was the best one. We were always fed. Our clothes were clean. Hell, I was passing all my classes.” His eyes slid shut for a long beat. “I couldn’t walk away from that girl. I was sure it wasn’t the first time he’d visited her at night and it wouldn’t be the last, so I made a decision. I defended the defenseless. I didn’t even know I could hurt a grown man before that night. It was like all those years of bad caught up with me, and I got carried away.”
“What stopped you?”
Cross turned sad eyes on me. “She did. The little girl clawed at my arms, crying and begging me to stop hurting her daddy.” His Adam’s apple bobbed long and slow. “He was her dad.”
The words stole my breath. My dad would never hurt us, not intentionally. Avoiding us was unkind, but hadn’t I done the same thing for years? Withdrawing was easy. Seeing your loved ones hurting was hard.
“I can go if you want.” Cross’s voice was rough and gravelly.
“No. Stay.” I pressed my palm over his, the same gesture of comfort he’d shown me at the campfire. “Tell me more about your act with the Lovells.” I’d process the awful things he’d told me later. For now, he needed to know I didn’t blame him. “When you perform, do you get to wear a shiny robe or a turban?”
He shook his head. “It’s okay to want me to leave.”
“No.”
“I just told you I’m dangerous. I hurt someone.”
The pain in his eyes said he hurt far more than the monster he’d attacked. “No turban? How about a crystal ball?”
He exhaled. “Mercy.”
“You protected someone.”
He looked into the night. “My act isn’t much, but it impresses people. They think I’m a mind reader or something mystical. The costume helps, but I don’t do anything amazing. The truth is no one pays attention anymore. It’s a lost art.”
“You do.”
His fingers touched my forearm and I forced myself still. “I do. Like this. Your arm’s really red.” He pierced me with a curious gaze, not the accusation I expected. “Pru said you spend most of your time in your room, but you snuck out, went to a bar, and crashed a crime scene. You learned some tough stuff about Faith. It’s been a big week for you. You doing okay?”
I rubbed my arm. He’d called Faith by her name. He hadn’t called her “your sister.” Faith was real to him. Not a memory or a sad story. I warmed to him for acknowledging that.
“Hey.” He curved his hand around my arm, covering welts I’d scratched over my scars. His cool, steady fingers soothed. “We’ll figure out what happened to Faith and get you some closure. Next month, you’ll start a new life in a new place and it will be whatever you want it to be. That’s the beauty of traveling.”
I sniffed. “What if I’m like them: Mom and maybe Faith? What if I try and fail? What if it turns out I’m a helpless, depressed, cutting waste and I finally give up too? What if it’s in my genetic makeup and there’s nothing I can do because I’m doomed?”
Cross released my arm and dragged me against his side, draping his arm over my shoulders. He dipped his head close to mine. “You’re none of those things. First, you aren’t convinced Faith went willingly into the river. She was upset with Anton and her ex, but that’s not proof of suicide. People don’t make choices that big on a whim. Second, you aren’t like your mom. She gave up. You haven’t. You’re still here because you want to survive. For what it’s worth, your mom’s choice isn’t a reflection on you either.” His voice quieted on the last word.
Oppressing silence flattened my lungs. I pulled back an inch to read his expression. The wind stilled. My heart thunked weakly.
He squeezed my shoulder before letting his hand fall away. “I told you my mom was a drunk. She wouldn’t give up custody of me because she loved me. She wanted me, but it was selfish because she couldn’t take care of herself, so I went to foster care when I was little. I was young enough to get adopted then, but Mom held on to me. She kept drinking. She was too selfish and sick to do anything else. The bottle will kill her eventually, if it hasn’t already. People don’t think of mental illness or alcoholism as diseases, but they are.” He blinked glassy eyes. “Our moms loved us, but they weren’t strong enough or healthy enough to do anything other than what they did. It doesn’t mean they didn’t love us. It means they weren’t well.”
I leaned forward and buried my face into my hands. Soft gasps bloomed into the crescendo of an ugly cry. He didn’t need to see this. No one had ever told me it wasn’t my fault. No one had ever said Mom loved me but was weak. No one had ever said she was sick. I was Faith’s sister and she’d left me. I’d catered to Mom for months while she was sad and she’d left too. What was the common denominator there? Me. Always me. I’d closed myself in the attic to protect everyone else. I couldn’t know who would stay and who would leave, so I’d shut them all out.
What if none of it was about me?
The ache in my chest was raw. It had to be about me. Didn’t it?
His fingers stretched across my back, spanning the width of me. “Shh.” He stroked my hair and curled his body around mine, pulling me against his chest. “You needed time to process, Mercy. No one can blame you for that. Grief is personal. You get through it, not over it. You want to know another reason I know you aren’t suffering from an inevitable suicide?” He touched my scars. “Stopping this isn’t easy. You did something almost impossible. That takes serious conviction. If you can overcome cutting, you can do anything.”
I wiped my eyes and settled my breathing. “I’ll always have scars.” They’d haunt me forever. Come with me to college and into the workforce. My personal badges of weakness.
He ran the pad of one thumb under my eyes. “We all have scars. They aren’t always visible, but they’re there. Life’s hard on everyone, no matter what people show the world. Don’t be ashamed of these. Scars are proof of healing. Scars say you survived.” His fingers drifted over the white lines on my arm. “If you hate them, I know a good ink guy. Get a couple tats to cover them.”
A surprise laugh popped out. “Oh, yeah, right. My dad would kill me if I got some pretty tat sleeves to cover the scars. He’d die. Another failure on his parenting achievement list. My body’s my temple, you know.”
Cross’s gaze slid appreciatively over me. “I can see that.”
My muscles tensed. I plucked hair away from my face, and the wind carried it into Cross’s eyes.
I laughed. “Sorry.”
He bunched my hair into a ponytail with one hand. “You know, once you’re eighteen and living on campus, you can make new rules. If you decided on a few tattoos, what would you get to cover these?”
“A cross.”
“I’m honored.”
I scooted back an inch and my skin chilled in the absence of his touch. “No, really. I think a cross would say everything about me. I’d choose that.”
His tongue pushed the little lip ring again.
I lifted a finger. “Did that hurt?”
“Yeah.”
The intensity of his stare pierced me. Every fiber of my body burned. “Can I touch it?”
Cross leaned in, slow and easy, giving the damaged girl plenty of time to run. He stopped near enough for his breath to fall on my cheek. “Yeah.”
I tipped my chin, swallowing memories of the one and only kiss I’d ever attempted. No matter how awful this kiss went, Cross wouldn’t fault me. I was almost positive he’d protect my feelings if I failed. Maybe he’d teach me so I wouldn’t fail in the future. Heat rose up my spine.
I braced for impact.
Featherlight lips touched mine, and all thoughts slipped away. His lips pressed and released mine. There wasn’t an impact. No fumbling teeth and tongue moment. He pulled back a fraction of an inch. “Was that okay?”
I nodded and wet my lips, unable to formulate words. My chest rose and fell in quick punches. That wasn’t a kiss. Was it? If that was kissing, then what did I call the facial collision I’d endured under Mark’s tutelage?
Cross touched his lips to mine once more. This time the pressure increased. His hand cradled the back of my head and his fingers tangled in my hair. His free hand caressed my cheek, tilting my chin and deepening the kiss. My lips parted on instinct and he caught my lower lip between his. The gentle suction sent electricity through every cell in my body. If this was kissing, why did people ever stop?
Before I was ready, he released me, kissing my cheek and my forehead, then settling back to look into my eyes.
I felt light enough to hover. “That should’ve been my first kiss.”
“What?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.
I covered my tingling lips with one hand. “Remember the creep outside Red’s yesterday?”
“The douche with the bleach blonde on his arm? Sure.”
I smiled. “Mark Dobbs. He’s the sheriff’s son. Faith dated his brother, Brady, and I went with her to their house a lot. Mark and I spent too much time together that summer. I was fourteen. He was an asshat.”
“Ah, a love story.”
“He was nicer then. We kissed once. It was a terrible experience, but we were young. A week later Faith died, and I holed up in my room. At first he tried to coax me out, and then he turned on me. He told everyone in school he dumped me because I was crazy.”
“Because that makes perfect sense.”
I laughed again. “Right.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to beat him up for you?”
Laughter bubbled from my chest. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Cross nodded and stood. “Point to his house.”
I tugged on his pant leg. “Sit down before you roll off the roof. How would I explain that?”
“A better question here is would you nurse me back to health if I broke something?”
“No.”
He rubbed his chest with one hand as he sat. “Ouch.”
The light banter warmed my insides. He’d kissed me and looked happy. He’d opened up to me about his life. No more brooding face or serious scowl. In that moment, he looked the way I felt. A smile tugged my lips. I’d kissed a guy I met only a few days ago. Now, that was a precollege adventure for sure.
Wind tossed leaves onto the roof and I kicked them off. “No nursing for me. I’m going to study theology.”
Cross examined my face. “Really? Theology?”
I nodded. Pride welled in my chest. “Yeah.”
His eyes narrowed for a long moment. “Okay.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “You only kissed that guy once?”
I formed my most solemn expression. “It was really very bad. You shouldn’t blame me for not trying again.”
For the first time, Cross looked baffled. “Nobody else?”
“No. After that, I hid in the attic for about three years.”
“That was a seriously bad kiss.”
“Truly awful.”
“Then what happened?”
My gaze moved from his quizzical face to the sky. “Hope.”
Cross laced his fingers with mine and lay back on the roof. I relaxed beside him, tucking my head against his ribs. Gray clouds drifted through treetops. Stars winked down from the black velvet sky. “Hope is a powerful word.”
The most powerful one I knew.
I tugged our entwined fingers. “You should come to church with me tomorrow.”
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my wind-chilled skin. “What would your dad say?”
He’d hate it. “He taught us everyone is welcome in church.”
Cross rolled onto his side and looked into my eyes. “I have practice in the morning.”
“Another time then.” We had a few more weeks together. So much had happened already.
His warm fingers touched my cheek. “I should go. Your Dad and Pru will be home soon.”
“Okay.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead before standing. I rolled onto my back and watched him disappear into the tree. A muffled thud and several footfalls later, there was silence.
I had no chance of sleeping after that kiss, but I did have a plan for after church tomorrow. First stop: Brady Dobbs’s house.