Glow (Glimmer and Glow #2)(52)

Alice leaned back on the couch. “You really did get to know Cunningham,” she said, stunned by his concise knowledge of the psychological workings of the criminal’s mind.

He grimaced. “It wasn’t pleasant, listening to that * go on about himself. I had to make myself what he needed: an avid listener to his bravado. He was a slimy, dangerous braggart,” Dylan muttered, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

“And yet you went like clockwork to visit him in prison,” Alice said softly. “Thank you.”

He rubbed the side of his head distractedly, brushing off her praise. “I was worried about telling you all this. I know it must come as a shock, that Cunningham knew Sissy.” He exhaled heavily and leaned back next to her, their shoulders touching.

“It does and it doesn’t,” she said hollowly. “Does it surprise me that Sissy would associate with scum like Avery Cunningham or that she would take me in under such . . . sleazy circumstances? No. Not really. She collected people all the time. She liked having all those people addicted to her product, pulling up to her trailer day and night, knocking on her door. Needy people. Desperate. Sissy didn’t do relationships in the classic sense of give and take, but she loved having people seek her out. Dependent on her. She was a born drug dealer. She probably thought she’d hit the jackpot taking in a child, having something so completely at her mercy. Another human being who would be”—her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath—“utterly dependent on her to survive.”

Dylan winced and shut his eyes.





ELEVEN


For a moment, they sat in silence. It took Alice a moment to comprehend what she was feeling. Everything she’d said to Dylan was true, but it didn’t stop the hurt that went through her: a terrible, cringing shame. This had been the reason she hadn’t allowed herself to question how she’d ended up with Sissy. She’d been unconsciously fending off this pain.

If one of Sissy’s whacked-out “friends” had asked her to keep a puppy as a favor, she probably would have. Sissy could be loud, outgoing, and friendly when she wanted to be and when her latest batch of meth was particularly good. She’d have fed that puppy sporadically, bragged about how much the puppy loved her, and kicked it when it got in her way. For days on end, she’d forget the puppy even existed until it suddenly showed up in front of her blurry-eyed stare.

That’s what Alice had been all these years: a puppy dropped on the front door of a drug addict. At least previously, she’d lived under the misperception that she’d come from Sissy’s body, that she shared some kind of primal link with her. But no. She and Sissy were strangers that fate had tossed together into a trailer for fourteen years of Alice’s life. Sissy didn’t belong to her any more than Alice belonged to Sissy.

It was an awful truth . . . a severing one. What Dylan had told her sickened her . . . but it had liberated her, too.

“Why didn’t they turn me in for the reward money? That seems out of character for the Reed clan,” Alice said darkly.

“I’m not sure. Maybe Sissy didn’t have all the details as to your identity at first, but as time went on, she started to put two and two together, given the news reports and what she knew about Cunningham’s character. She certainly knew what she was doing, disguising your hair color all those years. Either way, she had to realize from the beginning you belonged to someone else, and that she was keeping you illegally. Maybe Cunningham threatened to implicate her in the kidnapping and held that over her head.”

“Sissy definitely wouldn’t want the police nosing around our trailer.”

“Even if any of your uncles were like Al, and they came to suspect the truth, they must have realized they could very easily be implicated or even blamed for the crime. From what I understand about the Reed brothers, I doubt the police would have any trouble believing they were either involved, or actually the main perpetrators.”

“I can believe Sissy would do it. But Al. That he never told me the truth for all of those years, that he played along. That . . . sucks.”

Hurts.

“I thought he cared about me, even if it was just a little,” she finished.

“Well, he didn’t sell you out for the reward money. Maybe he really did consider you family. That must mean something. People are strange. Complicated,” Dylan added, reaching for her hand. He grasped it in his encompassing, warm hold and settled it on his thigh. “That’s one lesson life has taught both you and me. People can be cruel, petty, self-involved, and yet they can suddenly do something that makes you see their humanity. Sometimes I think it’d be better if they didn’t, because it would be easier just to straight up hate them that way.”

Alice turned her head, staring into his eyes. She knew he was ambivalent about his mother, who had been a prostitute. His mom hadn’t planned for or wanted Dylan, and typically treated him with disgusted anger, or merely discounted and ignored him. Dylan had been left to fend for himself in a cold mean world.

Yet Dylan had loved his mother, too, and wanted to be loved by her. It was human nature, to crave connection, nurturance and approval from a mother or father figure. Alice knew that lesson all too well.

She released her hand from his, leaned toward him and pressed her palm to his heart.

“I hate Sissy for what she’s done to me,” she said shakily, staring at Dylan’s chest. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive her. But I don’t hate Uncle Al. Sissy was the worst among them. She was always the instigator. She’d whine and complain and manipulate until they finally did whatever it was she wanted, just to shut her up. As weak and ineffective as she seemed on the surface, she was the leader of them. She was the Queen of Passive-Aggressive Land. Al’s and my other uncles’ worst fault was weakness, but Al stood up to her the most. Almost every time he did stand up to her, he’d do it for my sake.” She grimaced, lost in painful memories for a moment. “At least if Sissy were in prison, she’d be away from the drugs. She might live a few years longer away from the poison. Same for most of my uncles. But I don’t want to see Al locked up,” she admitted miserably. She was suddenly having trouble meeting Dylan’s stare. “That makes me weak, too, doesn’t it?”