Every Single Secret(42)
Like, right now, how a small, dark part of me pictured myself folding Heath into my arms, pulling him close, just so I could hurt him back.
I let my finger, which had been drifting along his stomach, drop to a lower spot.
“We shouldn’t—” he began, but I shook my head.
“You’re a lucky man,” I said. “You’re getting a do-over.”
I took him by the waist, rotating him toward the same wall where he’d just had me pinned. I pressed him against it.
“But I’m in charge now.”
Friday, October 19
Night
By the time I stumble into the little town of Dunfree, it’s dark. I feel like I’ve been jogging for hours, but it’s probably only been forty to fifty minutes at most. I’m freezing, all except my feet, which feel like they’re on fire. My throat is raw with thirst.
Dunfree’s main street is punctuated by street lamps and newly planted maple trees with a few red leaves still determinedly clinging to the spindly branches. Its crown jewel, if you can call it that, is a one-story stone-and-green-metal city hall, squatting halfway down the street. Anchored on either end of the street are two home-style restaurants called, respectively, Mama June’s and Paw-Paw’s. On the drive up, Heath and I ate at Paw-Paw’s.
I wander up and down the sidewalk, from one end of the street to the other, but the green truck is nowhere in sight. For the moment, I’m in the clear.
The sidewalks are crowded with people, and it dawns on me that I’ve hit the Friday-night dinner rush. I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I am desperately thirsty, but I have no money, no wallet, no nothing. I push open the door to Mama June’s (colorful flyers, jangling bell) and wander in, stopping short in the middle of the bustling dining room. There are several boxy old TVs sitting on precarious-looking shelves in each corner of the restaurant, replaying an old Georgia football game. I spot a half-empty glass of water on an unoccupied table, but just as I edge my way over to it, a waitress appears and sweeps it and the rest of the dirty dishes into a plastic tub.
I veer into the bathroom and, at the lone sink, flip on the faucet and duck my mouth under the stream. I gulp and gulp until my stomach begins to cramp and I worry I may vomit. The sound of toilets flushing makes me jerk upright. When three women simultaneously emerge from the stalls, I shut off the faucet, wipe my mouth with my sleeve, and back against the wall.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday, October 17
Two Days Before
We ate the lunch that Luca (appearing, then disappearing, before I could catch sight of him) left outside our door. White-bean, bacon, and kale soup, with a slender loaf of crusty bread. Outside, the temperature had dropped dramatically, the cold seeping in through the cracks of the windowpanes. But we were comfortable. Even though it was a small gas affair, the fireplace still packed a wallop. I tried not to notice the way the black fiend’s face glowered out at me from the flames.
After we’d finished eating, Heath swirled the ice in his glass. “I don’t know how else to say this, Daphne. I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve got to stop apologizing. Seriously. It’s done. Over.”
“But we can’t pretend like it didn’t happen,” Heath said.
“I’m not pretending. I just don’t think we have to talk it to death. As a matter of fact, Dr. Cerny even agrees that talking isn’t what keeps a relationship together. He told me that, just today.”
“When did you see him?”
“Earlier. Just briefly, before we . . .”
He nodded. “Hm.”
“And you can wipe the smug look off your face,” I said. “He wasn’t therapizing me. I’m just saying that, although I want to hear about your childhood and everything you went through, there are some things—some parts of us—that we just have to accept.”
“He wasn’t in here, with us. He didn’t see what I did to you.”
“You got carried away, but I’m fine. And it’ll never happen again.”
I took a deep breath. I was sitting calmly, across the table from him. In one piece, not obsessively counting or displaying any discernable signs of a mental breakdown. But was I really fine? So much had happened since we’d gotten to Baskens, so many things had begun to shift and upend between us, I wasn’t sure if I knew what us meant anymore.
Heath moved to the mirror over the dresser, stroked the two days’ growth of beard. It gave him a rugged look. Wild and untamed. Normally I would go to him and pull him close, rubbing my skin against his, but my body wouldn’t move. I touched the tender spot on the back of my head and pressed it gently. Pain radiated over my head, but it helped me focus on where I was. The fiend behind the flames caught my eye, and this time, I glowered back at it.
After Heath left for his final session, I changed into workout clothes, grabbed a bottle of water from the lunch tray, and headed outside. I needed to fill my lungs with sharp, cold air. Shock my fuzzy brain into clarity. A hike up the mountain would be the perfect thing. Maybe I’d run into Glenys again. Maybe I’d just go ahead and finish my story, tell her the things I couldn’t bring myself to tell Heath, and I would finally feel my soul loosen just the slightest bit.
On the way up, memories filtered back to me. Of Mount Olive Christian Academy, where they sent us ranch girls and the boys from Maranatha Ranch, near Warner Robins. The school sounded fancy, but it was really just an old remodeled roller-skating rink off an industrial highway, with a couple of rickety trailers out back that served as extra classrooms.