The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(103)

Today was the first time she’d ever come to her mom for advice. If she was already losing her mind, it couldn’t hurt to try talking to ghosts.

She parked the car on the road and crossed to her mother’s grave. The vase was empty. No flowers. No scarf tied around it. A few fallen leaves carpeted the ground and lay scattered on the headstone.

“Hi, Mom.” Steffi sat cross-legged at the base of the marker, tracing the carvings that spelled out MARCH 17, 2001. She touched her forehead to the cold stone and closed her eyes. Something bad has happened. So bad I don’t even remember it. I’ve tried all night, but it’s like a heavy, smoky veil is guarding the memory. The idea of it is terrifying enough, so it’s probably better not to remember it.

She opened her eyes and stared at her mother’s name—MARGARET CATHERINE LOCKWOOD. What if Ryan’s right and I hurt myself or someone else during one of my zone-outs? And what if I can’t have sex without getting violent or crazy or sad? I’m so mad at him for going behind my back and forcing this on me. And from now on, he’ll look at me and imagine what happened. He’ll never see me as me again. He’ll think I’m broken. Violated. Soiled.

Absently, she hugged her knees to her chest. I was so happy before yesterday. Why did he have to ruin everything? What do I do, Mom? I can’t stand this pain. I lose no matter what I choose. You were so brave when you dealt with your cancer. I wish I were more like you and less like Dad.

She lay on the grass, touching the headstone, watching the swirl of clouds pass overhead. A few birds flew by. A hundred yards away, she noticed another mourner visiting a loved one, looking for solace.

But there wasn’t solace here. No answers. Only bittersweet memories and wishes that would never come true. She didn’t know what she would do with her new reality, but there were deadlines and bills and obligations that didn’t care about how lousy and confused she felt.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to expect her mom or anyone else to hand her an answer. Like most things in life, she had to make her choices on her own. Other people’s opinions wouldn’t change the fact that she alone would live with the consequences. She smoothed her hand over the headstone one last time. Bye, Mom.

As she pulled away from the cemetery, she thanked God she had demolition work to do today. Few things offered as productive a way to unleash a lot of emotion as smashing through walls.





Chapter Twenty-Two

That evening, Steffi removed the final lower cabinet from the kitchen wall in the bungalow. Her phone vibrated on the counter. She’d answered none of the many messages Ryan had left for her throughout the day. Her graveside chat hadn’t provided any answers, so she still had nothing to say.

Even if he spoke the truth, she wasn’t ready for it. She didn’t want to remember. And she sure as hell didn’t want anyone else to find out. It would be bad enough knowing that every time Claire and Ryan looked at or thought of her, the first thing they’d think about would be rape. That made her want to vomit again.

She worked feverishly now, doing her best to preserve some of the cabinets for recycling while ignoring the manila envelope he’d left on the counter. The screen door clattered as autumn breezes blew through it, but none of them cooled the sweltering bungalow. She peeled her sweatshirt off, but that didn’t help much, either.

A Limp Bizkit song began playing on the Bluetooth speaker she’d brought. She cranked the volume to drown out her thoughts and began headbanging to the heavy beat as she swept debris from the floor. She bagged up the unsalvageable splintered cabinets and dragged them outside to the small rented dumpster.

No moon tonight. Just pinpricks of light against a black sky. Beyond the trees were the glassy waters of the sound. A route to sail off to someplace new and start over. A place where she had no history to overcome.

While she heaved the first bag over the edge, footsteps and a snapped twig behind her made her freeze, breath burning her lungs.

I’m alone.

Please, God.

Oh God, a gun. A gun.

Be still.

Don’t die. Don’t die.

“Hey!”

At the sound of the male voice, Steffi spun and swung the bag of broken wood, clocking Benny in the head.

“Jesus!” he yelled from the ground, grabbing the side of his head.

“Oh God, Benny!” She collapsed beside him, crying. Adrenaline surged through her limbs until she trembled. “I didn’t know it was you. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“What the hell, Steffi?” He pushed her away when she tried to see the lump forming on his temple. “I called your name twice.”

She couldn’t stop crying, even though she never cried in front of her brothers.

“You’re crying? I’m the one who’s hurt,” Benny groused.

The leafless trees in the yard surrounded her like prison bars. Tears of shame choked off her words. Bone-deep fear—the thing she hated most—gripped her stomach and clenched hard. Ryan was right. She was a danger to herself and others.

“Sis, settle down,” Benny said when she failed to pull herself together, misreading her misery as stemming solely from hurting him. “I’m okay. I just came by to razz you for blowing off my training run tonight. Dad said he hadn’t seen you in days, either.”

“I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes. Then another wave of tears crested and broke open. She couldn’t control the wellspring of emotion.