The Wrong Family(68)

But no. This time, it wasn’t her fault. Winnie had stolen someone’s baby and raised him as her own. Juno had merely stumbled upon the information and acted like any normal person would, doing the right thing. The same went for Terry, who had made the choice to come to the Crouch house rather than going to the authorities. There it was.

She opened her eyes, dropping her hands to her sides. She needed to get out of the house, get away from these poisonous people. She was no longer in prison, and she didn’t have to stay here. She made it three steps when she thought of the open window in Sam’s room. Casting a cautious glance toward the stairs, Juno slipped into Sam’s room again. Her eyes scanned his desk for some sign of what had been happening in his head before he escaped. His backpack was gone. She opened his dresser drawer; she knew he kept his money rolled and secured with a rubber band. Juno had mused over it the first time she’d seen it, the way he stashed his cash.

What if he’d overheard what Terry Russel had said to Winnie? Could he have left the house before Dakota arrived? Her breath vacuumed in as she considered the possibility that Sam had run away instead of running for help. His roll of money was gone from its spot. That’s when her heart really started hammering. Gone. She didn’t care what happened to Winnie, and she didn’t much care what happened to Terry Russel, either. Juno had chosen her side long ago. Sam was who mattered. Her feet started moving, shuffling at first and then running.





      31


WINNIE

Once Winnie’s ankles were tied, Dakota firmly seated her on the floor and turned toward Terry. She stared at the back of his head, wondering where her brother had gone, and if someone could just...change overnight. But it hadn’t been overnight, though, had it? Dakota knelt in front of Terry, blocking Winnie’s view of her terrified face for a moment. They’d known that Dakota had problems, and Manda had been warning them for years about how serious they’d become, but the family hadn’t listened hard enough, had figured that Dakota was Manda’s problem now. When Dakota stood up, the floral scarf was slung over his palm and Terry was licking her lips, staring up at him like a cornered animal.

“Who is your grandson?” he asked her. His voice was rough, husky, like he’d just woken up from a nap. Winnie envisioned the first night he’d come to stay with them, how she’d found him sobbing like a baby on the couch. There was no trace of that man now.

She stopped struggling to listen.

Terry’s eyes didn’t waver when she said “Samuel.”

Winnie could feel the sweat gathering between her breasts and on her forehead. Dakota gave a loud smack of his lips, before casting a glance over his shoulder at her. Winnie didn’t like what she saw in his eyes—or maybe it was what she didn’t see that frightened her, the absence of her brother.

“Samuel...?” he repeated. He said it with a slight sneer, like Terry might be the craziest person in the room.

“She stole another woman’s baby and passed him off as her own,” Terry said. “Go ahead, ask her.”

Winnie screamed against her gag, her rage channeling a demon-like cry. They both turned to look at her. Her brother’s face was impassive as he looked at her.

“That true, Win...? You steal someone’s kid...?”

Winnie yelled around her gag until her throat was burning, but Dakota seemed to be done looking at her for now; he was focused again on Terry with rapt attention.

“That sounds like something you’d do, Win. Remember when we were little, and you stole the puppy from the neighbor’s yard and brought it home?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. That had happened over twenty-five years ago. The story had been told over and over by her siblings, each version painting Winnie like some sort of remorseless sociopath. She’d just been a kid, seen a puppy launching itself at the side of the fence to get to her, and had...taken it. She’d made a mistake. Dakota wasn’t being serious, he couldn’t be.

She tried to yell at him, but she couldn’t form words. “The kid’s not here,” Dakota said, still looking at Terry. “But even if he were, what would make me believe a wild story like that, even if it does sound like Winnie?” His voice had the tone of a man speaking to a misbehaving child. The hairs on the back of Winnie’s neck stood at attention. That didn’t sound like Dakota at all.

Over Dakota’s shoulder, she could see Terry’s eyes ticking back and forth like a metronome. She was working on an angle, Winnie realized, and before she could blink a second time, Terry was spinning it.

“Did you ever see her pregnant? Your...sister?”

Winnie froze. When Terry continued, she sounded breathless, winded by her lies.

“She wanted a baby very much, didn’t she? She was probably jealous when everyone else her age started having them.”

Dakota stood up suddenly, towering over Terry Russel and rolling his neck from side to side like he had the world’s largest crick. He considered her for a moment and then said, “Now that you mention it...”

Terry’s face transformed from hopeful to triumphant, while Winnie’s tears began a slow leak down her face. Her throat was raw from screaming against the gag, and there was an ache in her chest that was paralyzing in its enormity. Terry told Dakota her story in a clear, calm voice, painting herself as the distraught, concerned mother whose daughter had gotten involved with the wrong crowd, the crowd that had eventually swept her away from Akron, Ohio, toward greener grass in Washington. Her sweet Josalyn had landed pregnant and destitute in Seattle. Enter Winnie.