Run, Rose, Run(78)

“But—but you were acquitted?” AnnieLee’s voice was a whisper.

Ethan smiled grimly. “Yes, or else I wouldn’t be here. But the case was never solved. And I carried that…stain. People didn’t look at me the same after that. And it just felt like my whole life was gone.” He took another drink. “I guess because it was. Like it was blown up by a bomb.”

Ethan got up from the bed and went to the door. He was going to leave before she asked him to. “So that’s what I had to tell you,” he said. “I’m going to go now.”

But AnnieLee said, “No,” and she came over and stood beside him. She reached out and took his hand. Hers was so small, hardly bigger than a child’s. But her fingers were warm and strong, and they squeezed his tightly.

“I know,” she said. “I mean—I knew all this before.”

He turned to her in shock. “What? But how?”

“Ruthanna told me,” AnnieLee said. Her eyes searched his face. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t her story to tell. But I asked her. I asked her to tell me where you came from.”

Ethan didn’t know whether to feel relieved or furious. How could Ruthanna tell—and how could AnnieLee pretend she didn’t know? “And it doesn’t matter to you?” he asked.

“Of course it matters,” she said. “It matters like crazy, because it was a terrible thing that happened to you. And it was an even more terrible thing that happened to her. I’m so sorry, Ethan. I know you can’t ever get over something like that.” She pressed her free hand against his heart. “But it was never going to scare me away.”





Chapter

67



Ethan stepped back from the doorway. “Maybe it’s time you told me your story,” he said quietly.

AnnieLee pulled her hands away, as if he’d suddenly burned her. She turned and walked unsteadily into the bathroom, where she splashed more water on her face. Were revelations tit for tat? Was that how he thought things worked? Did he really want her to dredge up the stinking muck of her past?

She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t.

Whoever said time heals all wounds is full of shit, she thought. Those wounds were still there, buried beneath scar tissue and denial. Ethan had his scars—sure. But hers were so much worse.

Where was her damn whiskey?

In your guts—that’s where, she told herself. That’s why your glass is empty.

AnnieLee didn’t know how much she’d drunk, only that it was too much. There was no Jack left in the minibar. She reached in and got rum.

Just in case, she thought.

Then she straightened up and looked at Ethan Blake. “It’s funny,” she said. “You might think there’s no way things can get uglier, but somehow they always can.”

Ethan frowned in confusion. “Are you talking about this? Now? Us?” He gently took the rum bottle from her hand and set it on the dresser. She didn’t protest.

“No,” she said. “I’m talking about me. Back then.” She flopped down on the bed. She was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But Ethan had been honest with her, and she knew she had to give him something in return. It wasn’t ever going to get easier.

Her fingers picked nervously at the comforter. “I guess I should tell you that I’m not from Tennessee,” she said. “I’d never set foot in the state until I showed up last spring. So in case it isn’t obvious, Old Mud Creek doesn’t exist. Little Moon Valley, either, though it sounded so nice I sort of wish it did. I lived on a hilltop, though—not in a valley. Nothing but trees all around, and a stream that ran down to the Little Buffalo River.” She closed her eyes. “God, I need some water.”

She heard Ethan leave the room, and then a moment later he nudged her arm. “Here,” he said. “Drink it all.”

She sat up, opened her eyes, and took the glass from him. “How bad’s my head going to hurt tomorrow?” she asked.

“Depends,” Ethan said. “Keep talking.”

“Where was I?”

“You were telling me where you grew up,” he said. “And you were about to tell me how.”

She found a loose thread on the comforter and began to tug on it. “It’s going to sound like a real familiar story,” she said, “but there’s nothing I can do about that. I can’t make it into a clever song. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Then she got up and began to walk back and forth beside the bed. “My dad left when I was seven. You would’ve thought aliens abducted him, the way he vanished. He left everything: his tools, his guitar, the motorcycle he built from parts. Hell, they even found his car two hundred miles away in Texarkana, so I guess he left that, too.” She eyed the rum on the dresser and then thought better of it. “I was almost too little to grieve, you know? Or maybe I just don’t remember those nights I cried for him. Anyway, my mom remarried, and things were all right for a few years. But Clayton, my stepdad, started to get mean. By then I had two little half sisters running around barefoot and dirty, and it was my job to keep them from getting lost in the woods or drowning in the creek. I was sixteen when Clayton decided I had to teach them, too, because he said that school would corrupt us.” She pulled her hair out of its bun and then twisted it up again. “He was pretty sure we were corrupted anyway, though, and he thought the best way to rid us of sin was to beat it out of us.”