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  I couldn’t think straight. The image of his eyes burned into my memory, and the smell of the rubber was forever ingrained in me. The fear of what he would do to me for leaving him there punched me in the stomach. I knew we should go back. I knew we should call for help. Not because I wanted to help him, but because I was scared of my punishment if I didn’t. He would make me pay.

  He would make all of us pay.

  But the damage was done. He’d seen me. He’d watched me leave. I wouldn’t survive what I just did. My fate was sealed. But I didn’t stop pedaling.

  We made our way to Jackson’s house, then cut through the field, not slowing down until we reached our safe place.

  Although, I knew I wasn’t safe.

  I would never be safe.

  Not now.

  We dropped our bikes and darted into our shed. The hot air was sweltering in the closed space. We were both breathing heavily and dropped down onto the dirt.

  “I can’t…I can’t believe we just left him,” I spoke through ragged breaths, trying to collect my thoughts.

  “He didn’t deserve help.” Jackson’s voice remained much more even than mine and without a hint of fear.

  “But he’s going to hurt me for leaving him there. It’ll be worse than anything he’s ever done before.” I rubbed my finger over the fresh scar on the top of my leg as I curled up, pulling my knees to my chest.

  “No, he won’t.” He scooted closer to me and draped his arm, dripping with sweat, over my shoulder.

  Tears slid down my cheeks, the reality of what we had done sinking in. “Yes, he will.”

  “Rach…did you see him? There’s no way he’s going to survive that. Not by the time someone finds him. He’ll be long gone before that happens.” He tried to reassure me, but I couldn’t believe him.

  Pure evil didn’t give up that easily.

  I couldn’t be lucky enough for him to die. He would live simply to make sure he punished me for this.

  We didn’t speak another word. I stared straight ahead while I heard the flint of Jackson’s lighter spark, and then the smell of his cigarette engulfed our shed.

  But I couldn’t move. I stared straight ahead.

  For the next fifty-two minutes, I remained completely still.

  Until I heard the sirens in the distance.

  “Have a good weekend, Rachel!” Amie waved with her perfectly manicured fingers, and her silver bangles dangled with each movement as she walked past my desk.

  “Same to you!” I took a moment to make eye contact with her before turning my attention to the appointment book in front of me. I was pretty sure I made the last of my calls for the week but wanted to double check—just in case.

  “The cleaning service will be here in just a few minutes, honey; get out of here. I’m sure you’ve taken care of everything.” She smiled over her shoulder before opening the door to the parking lot.

  “I just want to be sure.” I stared at the notes and check marks next to each appointment next week.

  “I don’t know what I ever did without you.” Those were her last words before she dodged out of sight.

  But she had no idea how thankful I was for this job. It made me happy, and it gave me a purpose. Sure, I just set appointments and answered phones, but I knew it did some good. Even though Amie was the miracle worker, she assured me almost daily that we were a team. But her job really made the difference in those children’s lives. She specialized in helping kids deal with trauma and post-traumatic stress. I watched the changes in their expressions over the months she worked with them. It was a beautiful thing to witness. I only wished I had someone like her to help me all those years ago when I needed it.

  But I couldn’t change the past. Instead, I made it my mission to help those in need now. I didn’t have a college degree, and I’d never be licensed like Amie, but I could do my part. And that’s exactly what I felt like I did. For the last year, I gave this job every bit of energy I had while I was here. It was the least I could do. The kids that came through these doors deserved every opportunity to thrive and flourish, and I would help in any way I could. Even if it was just being kind and offering a piece of candy from the bowl I kept on my desk.

  But she was right—everything was taken care of and the cleaning crew would be here any second. I knew the last thing they needed was to have me in their way, so I closed the book and put it in the designated spot on my desk. I continued to perfectly straighten everything before standing, pushing my chair in, and looking around the peaceful space that surrounded me. It didn’t resemble a doctor’s office, although that’s technically what it was. It was cozy and warm, with plants and plush pillows. There was a soda fountain and coffee station that I kept fully stocked, and I made sure to keep fresh cookies out also. There was a nook in the corner with bean bags and a shelf of books, which was probably my favorite part of the whole office. It really was a great space.

  And as much as I loved being here, it was time to head out for the weekend. I grabbed my cell out of my purse and hit redial so I would know which direction to go. Jackson’s number went straight to voicemail, which didn’t really surprise me. We usually tried to get pizza or Chinese food on Friday nights, so I didn’t have to cook. But the last couple of weeks, he’d been working a lot of overtime, and I hardly saw him. I guess that came along with his new promotion and a salary.

  He’d been a little moody lately, and I’d hoped the change would be good for him. I wanted him to be happy at his job like I was and not depend on the bottle of whiskey to get him through every night. But it was a habit he’d developed a long time ago, and I didn’t see it changing anytime soon. Thankfully, he wasn’t a mean drunk. But he was a drunk all the same, and it annoyed me. The way he slurred his words and stumbled through the house late at night got under my skin. But I just tried to ignore it. I kept my nose in a book most nights, which was the greatest escape for me—it always had been. But I also spent time at Sara’s, which was where I would be first thing in the morning.

  I decided I would just order a pizza on the way home and pick it up instead of waiting for an answer from Jack. That might be hours, and the rumbling in my stomach let me know that waiting wasn’t an ideal option.

  As soon as I got in my car, my phone began to ring.

  “Speak of the devil,” I whispered to myself as I jammed the key into the ignition. “Hello.” The hum of my Honda roared to life at the same time.

  “Hey, Rach. You still at work?” He sounded a little out of breath as he spoke into my ear.

  “Just now leaving. Are you still working?” I held the phone in place with my shoulder as I backed out of the parking spot.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m training the new groundskeeper, so I had to wait until after the team finished practicing before I could show him how it needed to be mowed.” His excessively detailed answer caused me to pause. He never went into detail about what he did at work.

  I tossed my paranoia aside and refused to feed into that nonsense. I knew Jackson would never cheat on me. I hated that I still worried about such stupid things.

  “Oh, okay. I’m just going to grab a pizza on my way home then, sound good?” I knew it didn’t really matter to him, but I wanted to make sure.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Will you stop at the store for me? Just in case they’re closed by the time I get out of here.”

  I didn’t have to ask what he needed. I’d thrown the empty whiskey bottle into the trash this morning when I saw it on the front porch on my way to work. God forbid he go a night without it. But I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I just wanted to dive into a slice of pepperoni and black olive pizza and curl up with a book.

  “Yeah, I will,” I agreed but was disgusted with both of us for doing so.

  “Thanks, babe,” he whispered into the phone before abruptly disconnecting the call.

  My paranoia crept up on me once again. I hated when he didn’t give me a proper goodbye on the phone. Not to mention, he hadn’t called me any pet names in
at least a year. He hadn’t done a lot of things he used to in about that long. I chalked it up to long hours and the alcohol. But some days, I wasn’t so sure if I was just naïve. Although, he’d never cheated on me before. Not that I knew of, anyway. I couldn’t imagine he would start now, after all these years. At least, I hoped not.

  I stood at the door, waiting for an answer. The morning sun was already blistering my pasty skin. Fall couldn’t get here fast enough. Texas in August was a miserable place to be.

  “What the fuck, why are you knocking?” Sara rolled her eyes with a chuckle as she flung her front door open.

  “Because I don’t live here.” I smirked and brushed past her, throwing my shoulder lightly into hers.

  “Mi casa es tu casa, motherfucker.” Sara stretched her arms out, welcoming me into her new house.

  I couldn’t help but giggle. She was this perfect little thing—jealousy-inducing curves in all the right places. Her long, black hair curled naturally and big chocolate eyes shined all the time. Her skin was stunning and flawless along with her style. And she had this little button nose covered with light freckles. She appeared so innocent but had the mouth of a drunken sailor. And she had zero filter—her language wasn’t censored for anyone, not even the doctors we visited frequently.

  “It looks really good!” She had an eye for decorating, and since her new home was finally finished being built, she could show off her skills.

  “Thanks! I worked my fucking ass off to make it just right. Luckily, I had Jake and his muscles to help with the heavy stuff before he went to the field this week.”

  “Oh yeah, how is he?” Sara married Jake a little over a year ago and had a relationship that books were inspired by. They had a whirlwind romance, and he swept her off her feet and treated her like the princess she deserved to be. The trash-mouth little princess.

  “He’s good. Bitching because it’s hot, but that’s normal.” She smiled brightly as we walked down the hall, leading to my reason for coming over so early on my day off.

  “Is she awake yet?” My voice got quieter as we got closer to the last door on the left.

  “Yeah, she hasn’t eaten breakfast, though. Maybe you can convince her.” Sara let out a sigh before opening the door gently. “Mama?” Her voice was soft and gentle, much different from just a few seconds ago.

  The usual silence followed as she opened the door wider, and we both stepped into the room.

  “Mama, Rachel’s here.”

  I leaned to the side, getting a glimpse of our mother sitting up in her twin-sized bed, staring at the wall in front of her. “Hey, Mama,” I whispered, kneeling close enough to kiss her on the forehead.

  She lowered her lids in a long blink, her way of acknowledging my presence. We didn’t get much more from her these days, so I took what I could get.

  “How are you feeling today?” I asked, even though I knew I wouldn’t get an answer.

  But she looked good. She wasn’t crying, and she wasn’t ignoring us, so that was a good sign.

  “Mama, I have to run a few errands, but Rach will be here.”

  Some days I felt really guilty that Sara took on the majority of the responsibility for our mother. But she was able to stay home with her full time, without financial worry, and we were both thankful for that. I also made sure to come over at least three nights a week after work and on the weekends—even more if Sara needed me. And if I were honest, I think Mama preferred it this way. She and Sara always had a special bond, one I couldn’t compete with.

  And now, I didn’t like to leave her alone for even a little while. We didn’t think she would try to hurt herself, but she hadn’t spoken in almost five years, and we weren’t sure if she ever would again. We couldn’t take the chance of her having an accident and not being able to call for help.

  After months of doctor’s visits, no one could really find a reason why she had stopped talking. But after Duane’s accident, she just declined. She went through the motions of trying to take care of us, but the depression was too deep. She cried a lot and took too many pills. I assumed it was to numb her pain, physically and mentally. But deep down, we always wondered if head trauma was the cause of her silence. Duane had hit her on more than one occasion, and I was convinced she’d had her share of concussions. But without any direct confirmation from a doctor, we would never really know. So, we just took care of her the best we could.

  And some days, she even smiled, which was nice. Today didn’t seem to be one of them, but I would make the best out of our time together.

  I missed my mama, even though I still saw her frequently. I missed her laugh—we didn’t get to hear it nearly enough. I missed her hugs and the way she would place her hands on my cheeks when she wanted me to really hear what she had to say. But I didn’t miss the weeping I heard from her room or the cries of pain that he inflicted on her.

  I tried to shake those memories from my mind, refusing to let him occupy a moment of my time. He got exactly what he deserved, and I’d never feel any differently about it. I just prayed that it stuck.

  “Do you want to try to eat some breakfast?” I ran my fingers through her reddish-gray hair, thin to the touch. She gave me a solid blink, which made me smile.

  “Well, okay then, how about some French toast? With fresh strawberries? I got them from the farmer’s market on my way over.” I hoped that one day, she would—or could—engage in our conversations.

  “I’ll turn it on the country countdown to keep you company while I cook.” I kissed her cheek and flipped the remote on the TV to her favorite station.

  She had always been a big fan of country music. Even now, when the music started, she would sway slightly, closing her eyes, taking it all in.

  The slow drawl of a female voice I wasn’t familiar with filled the room, drawing Mama’s eyes to the television, and I knew it would keep her occupied while I cooked. So I hurried to the kitchen and began whipping up the only breakfast food I remembered my mom enjoying.

  Once Mama had eaten a few bites of her French toast, and I cleaned my mess in the kitchen, I returned to her room to find a book sitting on her lap. I knew which one it was.

  It was funny how I had so many horrific memories of my childhood, but one thing stood out. Mama always read to me when I was little, and I was sure that instilled my love of words. That was before Duane invaded our lives and made each day a nightmare. The memories were too distant and hard to remember. But I did my best to hold onto them because that’s when we were safe.

  “You want me to read to you?” I pulled the book from her fingers, and she gave me a little smile, causing my vision to blur from the emotions threatening to fall. I ran my fingers over the cover and forced the tears way down deep, determined to give her what she asked for. For the hundredth time, I read the title out loud.

  “Shel Silverstein is pretty great, isn’t he?” I noticed the bookmark holding the spot where we left off last time, so I turned to that page to continue. I nuzzled myself beside Mama, and she leaned her head on my shoulder before I started to read aloud.

  I stared at the page, recognizing the words immediately.

  “I like this one,” I began, kissing the top of her head before I continued.

  I read to her and let the words that were so familiar to me, seep into my soul.

  I recited from memory more than anything else as the words flowed.

  I read about the voice inside of us that whispers all day long. I read the poet’s words about feeling what is right for us and knowing what was wrong. We just have to listen to the voice that speaks inside of us.

  My voice cracked during the last line, and I had to take a ragged breath to keep myself together. When I looked down at Mama’s face, I noticed her eyes were closed and a peaceful glow rested upon her.

  I let out a shaky breath and wished that one day, Mama would use her voice to speak. I’d give anything to hear her, even just once more.

  I got her settled for her nap and made my way to the r
ecliner in the corner, wishing God would give Mama a chance and make her whole again. I wanted her to forget the horrid things she’d been through. She deserved peace. She deserved a voice.

  Sunday afternoons were probably my favorite. Most people dreaded the beginning of another week, Jack included, but I didn’t mind. I looked forward to getting the laundry done and prepping meals—I liked it, actually. Plus, it always warmed my heart to see the changes in the children that came through the office, and I even looked forward to going each day. I felt like it gave me a purpose since we didn’t have any children of our own.

  And I wasn’t sure if we ever would.

  It wasn’t something Jackson ever seemed very enthusiastic about discussing. And I didn’t push. I would never want to bring a child into the world if Jackson wouldn’t love it completely. Besides, we were still young and had plenty of time to talk it through. But Jack and I didn’t do much talking anymore. We didn’t really do anything. We just went through the motions. Day in and day out—most of the time, it felt like we were roommates. I missed the way we were together when we were young. It hadn’t been that way in such a long time.

  As I folded the pile of laundry on the bed, Jackson’s cell continuously rang, and I didn’t know if he even heard it. I assumed he was in his recliner with his attention on the television and a glass of whiskey in his hand. When it started to ring again, I took matters into my own hands and went to silence it, but I decided to answer when I noticed it was from Jackson’s job. They never called on the weekends since everything was closed.

  “Hello,” I spoke into the receiver before I heard someone clear his throat.

  “Uh, hi. Can I speak to Jack, please? This is Terry, the supervisor of the maintenance department.” His deep voice boomed in my ear, much louder than necessary.

  “Sure, one second please.” I put the phone at my side and walked into the living room to find Jack. I was right. My eyes took in his slumped frame and beady eyes, the whiskey obviously having taken its toll on him. I suppressed a groan out of habit before tapping him on the shoulder.