Everything I Left Unsaid(95)

“It was actually pretty cool.” He smiled, with what she guessed was modesty, like she was about to be real proud of him. “The Bassett Gazette has this widget thing—that’s what they call them—on their website and it shows a map of the United States and on that map are little pins that track the places where people are logging on to the website. The gal I talked to at the office was real excited about it, said it showed that there were people all over the state reading their newspaper online. And there was this one dot…this one little dot that I started to follow. You know where that dot went?”

Sick to her stomach, she nodded. She thought she’d been so clever.

“It went around in circles for a while. And then it went north to Pennsylvania and then back south. And then it just stayed in Cherokee, North Carolina. Over and over again. Every few days it’d show up. Cherokee, North Carolina. Every week. Once a week. Tuesdays. That’s the day you liked to go shopping.” He said it like he was offering her proof of his affection. A nosegay. A dead bird dropped at her feet from his bloody jaws. “You thought I didn’t notice. But I did. You liked to shop on Tuesdays. So, I drove out here. I saw where you signed in for computer time at the library—Layla McKay. That’s your cousin, right?”

In one of the historical novels she’d read, there was a character who had a falcon. And Annie had loved the descriptions of how the guy flew his falcon and cared for it, the bells and the gloves and the little pieces of meat in a bag attached to his belt. And she’d thought, reading it, how great it would be to control something so barely domesticated. Something so very nearly wild.

But at this moment she realized how the falcon must have felt. So free one minute, wings spread, the world a retreating landscape below. The next, hooded and chained. Captured. Freedom a memory.

“I stayed there for a week, hanging out at the library. The grocery store. Driving by all the motels and…nothing. I heard about this trailer park out here and came out to investigate and I ran into this man, Phil, at a gas station. He told me all about the park. And when I described you, he told me he thought you might be here. You’re like his wife’s friend? I’m afraid Phil doesn’t like you much.”

God, brought down by Phil. How pathetically fitting.

“What do you want?” she asked, unable to pretend any longer.

He looked at her like he was surprised, his mouth gaping open, his translucent eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “I want you to come home,” he said. “I want you to be my wife again.”

“What does that even mean to you, Hoyt? Your wife? You don’t love me—”

He stood up from that chair and she shrank back in her seat.

“I apologized for what happened before you left. I can’t do any more than that. It’s time for you to come home now. You’ve had your fun. People are asking about you and I’m getting tired of the sideways glances. Everyone thinks I’ve done something to you. The police came out to the house two weeks ago. The police, Annie. It’s too much.”

He touched her hand before she could jerk it back. It was worse when he pretended to care. Or maybe he did actually care and he just didn’t know how to do it right.

“We can go back to church.”

Annie blinked up at him, unsure if he’d actually said that, or if she was hearing things.

“Annie? Would you like to go back to church?”

“Yes…of course,” she breathed. Three years ago she would have wept in gratitude. But she was not fooled now. He would let her go to church, once, maybe twice, and he’d find a way to take it away from her all over again.

“And then we’ve got to talk about selling that land to Encro.”

And there it was. That was really why he wanted her home. The land sale to Encro for more windmills. He couldn’t do it without Annie’s approval. That’s why this little scene was happening. “It’s time, don’t you think, that we thought of our future?”

My future is as far away from you as I can get.

“I forgive you for stealing from me, Annie. The money, the gun. It’s forgiven.”

Oh my God.

The gun.

The gun in her bedside table.

Did he have it? Was it still there?

She tried to show him nothing. Not one thing.

“I…I need to change my shirt.” Her spattered and torn sweatshirt was ruined with blood; it would never come clean. She’d had a few shirts like that at home. Clothes that made their way into the rag bag, or the garbage because the truth of her life was sprayed all over it.

Annie got up on shaky feet, her hand braced on the wall as she walked down the short hallway to the bedroom.

Please. Please be there. Please be there. That gun was her only chance.

She closed the door behind her and then, dizziness and headache aside, she nearly leaped over the bed to the small beside table and yanked open the drawer.

It was empty. Sobbing, she searched it, pulling it all the way out, but everything was gone. The books. The gun. The article about Ben. Everything.

She collapsed against the wall and fell to the floor.

The bedroom door creaked opened and Hoyt stood in the doorway. A blond devil. Her gun, like a toy in his great big palm.

In his other hand were her books. The sticky notes from Dylan. The artifacts of her rebellion. Of her entire life here.