The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(79)

Dred smiled and closed his eyes. Eventually, the sound of snoring came from his side of the car.

As road signs for Pahokee appeared, a familiar tightening started in her stomach. Never in a million years had she expected to come back here. In fact, it had been on her list of places to avoid at all costs.

When she reached the entrance to the trailer park, she pulled over to the side of the road. The car jolted to a stop.

Dred woke up with a start. “What’s up?”

“We’re here,” Pix said, rubbing the sweaty palms of her hands along the top of the jeans.

Dred sat up and ran his hands over his face. He looked at the clock. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep all the way here.” He checked out the surroundings.

“It’s okay. Although you snored. A lot. And mumbled. And your coffee went cold.” Pixie smiled, but it didn’t reach the corners of her eyes and she knew it.

“Hey. It’s going to be okay,” he reassured her.

“We don’t know that. What if she’s still with him? What if he’s there?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. Or I will.”

They stepped out of the car and walked down a long dusty road that was heavily potholed. The trailer park was rundown, but the plots were tidy enough.

Dred squeezed her hand. “You okay, Pix?”

“Yeah. I’ll be better when this is over.”

They arrived at her old trailer, so familiar yet chillingly foreign. The beige and turquoise paint on the outside looked new but ugly. The rotting handrail on the wood steps leading up to the door had finally broken. “I don’t think I can do this. We should go, Dred.”

“If you really want to, then I’m right with you. But”—he pushed her hair back behind her ear—“we came all this way. I’m here. Nothing can happen to you. I promise.”

Emboldened by his words, Pixie knocked on the door. She waited, but nobody answered. She knocked louder this time. Again, no answer. Without thinking, she tested the handle, but the door was locked.

With a heavy heart, she stepped back down the steps and into Dred’s arms. He held her tight against his chest. She felt safe with him.

“Hello, can I help you?” The voice came from behind her.

Pixie stopped breathing for a moment. She hadn’t heard that voice in over six years.

“Oh my God,” her mom said, dropping the bags of groceries in her hands. “Sarah-Jane. Is that you?”

Pixie left the safety of Dred’s embrace and stepped toward her. All the words she’d planned on saying escaped her. Her mom was not only alive, but she looked healthy.

“Mom,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

Her mother sobbed and hurried to her, throwing her arms around her tightly. “Oh, my baby girl. I thought I’d never see you again. I missed you. So much. I didn’t know what happened. When I came home that night, neither of you were home. I am so sorry, Sarah-Jane.”

Pixie tentatively placed her hands around her mom’s shoulders. Too many years of hurt and anger bubbled under the surface for her to fall into a heartfelt reunion. Her mom’s selfish actions had placed her at risk. And too many times her mom had ignored her cries for help.

“Can we go inside and talk?” Pixie asked, noticing Dred picking the groceries up off the ground and scooping them back into bags.

“Of course,” she replied, wiping under her eyes, smearing the heavy mascara she wore.

The trailer looked different. It was tidy. The tiny kitchen counter was empty. There were no dishes piled by the sink, the air wasn’t permeated with the suffocating smell of tobacco. Thankfully, the awful stool Arnie had made her . . . well, it was gone. She led her mom to the sofa, and encouraged her to sit.

Dred placed the groceries on the table and sat down on the only other chair in the room.

“Let me look at you,” her mom said, taking hold of her hand. “You grew up so perfect, baby girl.”

Pixie hated it that the praise meant so much. Her chest inflated traitorously like a helium balloon at the comments. She needed information, and the sooner she was out of here, the better.

“Mom, this is my boyfriend, Dred. Dred, this is my mom, Helen.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Travers,” he said politely.

Helen nodded. “You, too, Dred.” She turned back to Pixie. “Why are you here? What have you been doing all these years?”

Pixie wasn’t ready for small talk. “Mom, what do you remember of the night I left?” Helen’s hand shook in hers.

“Not much, I’m ashamed to say. I remember Arnie was having a card night. I was pissed because he’d been out fishing all day. And he’d left all his stuff out on the counter over there.” She tilted her head in the direction of the sink. Pixie remembered, but that mess had saved her, because that was where she’d found the fishing knife.

“I’m sorry, Sarah-Jane. I’ve been clean for four and a half years, and have been trying to get sober for longer than that. But those days are hazy at best. All I know is when I woke the next morning, Arnie was still gone and so were you, I kept thinking you’d both come back. But you didn’t. I was frantic and started asking the neighbors if they’d seen anything. One of them said Arnie helped a guy that sounded a lot like Brewster into his truck and drove off. And I dealt with it how I’d got used to dealing with things. Drugs.”