Real Bad Things(98)
“No!” Familiar lies she’d heard before and knew not to believe. “No, I’m not leaving! I don’t believe you.”
He gripped her face again. “Listen to me.”
“No!”
He gripped harder until she stopped. “Listen to me. You’re going to leave. You’re going to get into Georgia Lee’s car, and you’re going to leave Maud. You’re not going to come back. Not ever. You and Georgia Lee. You’re going to find a new town. You’re going to start all over. You’re going to grow old together. You’re going to have a beautiful life. Promise me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to end this nightmare. “No.”
“Jane,” he whispered.
Finally, she opened her eyes. “I promise.”
His eyes watered, and he smiled. “I love you, ’kay?”
The words she’d longed to hear, had never heard from him because that’s not what brothers and sisters did unless it was too late and there might not be another chance.
As he whisked her away, toward the door, she shoved her fists to her eyes like a child and began to sob.
Before she could pause to think or feel, he rushed her out the door, and then she stumbled down the porch. At the car, she threw her suitcase and the plastic bag of electronics into the back seat and then herself into the front seat. Stunned, she stared ahead of her at the trailer.
“What happened?” Panic surged in Georgia Lee’s voice. “What did she say to—”
Georgia Lee’s terror shook Jane out of her current state. She blinked back the tears. Wiped her face. Turned to Georgia Lee. Cleared her throat and said as calmly as she could, “Start the car. Now. Get us the hell out of this godforsaken town.”
Georgia Lee put the car in reverse and looked behind her to see more clearly. When Jane looked up, she saw Jason there on the porch.
He waved, like they were happy relatives parting ways after a long-overdue but bittersweet reunion.
Later, tucked safely away from Maud in the security of another town, in Georgia Lee’s arms, Jane would begin to tell her what she’d seen. What Jason had done. But then she would reconsider and decide that belonged to her alone. Not even Georgia Lee. She didn’t want to watch her face, see or hear the confusion when Jane relayed the last words Jason would ever speak to her.
How Jason had told her, as calm as he’d ever been, “Run, Jane.”
Then he had gripped Jane’s shoulders and cut his fingernails into her skin before whispering, “Run.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the readers. I owe so much to you.
I’m so grateful to the folks at Thomas & Mercer for their passion and thoughtfulness, including Grace Doyle for the enthusiasm, Nicole Burns-Ascue for the deadlines and structure, Sarah Shaw for author-handling me, Brittany Russell for publicity, Rex Bonomelli for the amazing cover, Dave Andrews for audiobook expertise, Andie Davidson for enduring my commas, Susan Stokes’s eagle eye, and all the folks I haven’t met who are working hard behind the scenes to make this book the best it can be. But mostly, a gigantic thank-you and one thousand praise hands emoji to Jessica Tribble Wells for her shared creative vision and unfailing support for this book.
Many thanks to my agent, Chris Bucci, who took a chance on a story I thought would have to be shelved, brainstormed edits with me, and never doubted its ability to reach readers. Thanks as well to Allison Warren and Shenel Ekici-Moling at Aevitas.
Thanks to Katrina Escudero at Sugar23 for saying the nicest things and telling me to dream big.
Thank you to everyone at my day job, especially Adam Fisk, Aaron Stallings, Max Furst, and our fearless leader, Mike Oh. You’ve made it possible for me to avoid being a starving artist, create space for my writing, and are also just very nice people, for which I’m endlessly grateful.
Thank you to the Encyclopedia of Arkansas, an invaluable resource for all my stories.
The highest of fives to the Novel Incubator community, led by Michelle Hoover. To current students and alum who make me feel like a rock star: my fragile ego thanks you and blesses you with good book fortune. Special shout-outs to the following folks who have improved my writing and extended kindnesses over the years: Susan Bernhard, Marc Foster, Stephanie Gayle, Carol Gray, Kelly Robertson, Emily Ross, R. J. Taylor, and Milo Todd.
A big toast to my Shay’s Pub Thursday-afternoon “writing” club: Rachel Barenbaum, E. B. Bartels, Michele Ferrari, and Elizabeth Chiles Shelburne, my longtime critique partner and southern sister.
Thank you to the crime fiction (and adjacent) community, who welcomed this genre-confused author into their ranks at various festivals, conferences, and events. I’m ever grateful for the introductions and invitations they extended that helped me in big and small ways: E. A. Aymar, Daniel “Cuz” Ford, James D. F. Hannah, Gabino Iglesias, Eryk Pruitt, Alex Segura, Shawn Reilly Simmons, and Kristopher Zgorski.
My Bouchercon “Branson” buddies who provide the best of text: Amina Akhtar, Matt Coleman, S. A. Cosby, Penni Jones, and John Vercher. And of course, my fellow “Bad Gay” P. J. Vernon. To say that this book would not be what it is without you is an understatement. My friendship with you is one of the best things to come out of launching my debut.
I’m hashtag blessed for friends old and new who make this weird-ass timeline more tolerable: Greg Adams, Natalie Baumgardner, Henry Burden, Janet Reindl Edgar, Maria Ferlick, Walter Gadecki, Pearly Leung, Jenna McAuley, Brian Olson, Gina Sartori, Christel Shea, Amelia Thomlison, Tim Wisniewski, Jennie Wood, and Alice Wu. With special thanks to Cindy Nguyen, who endured me when I asked her to read a draft and enumerate all the ways I could fail. Nobody beats your meat!