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“Maybe another night,” Sunny comes to my rescue. “We’ve already been through so much tonight.”
She doesn’t know him well enough to know how much that will prick his interest. Sure enough, his full attention rests on her.
“What have you two been up to?” From his tone, I gather he’s on the same page as everyone upstairs. They all thought Sunny and I snuck away for a romantic rendezvous, and it couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Sunny casts a quick look at me, but I don’t know what to say. She turns to Cookie. Eyes pleading, she waits. Cookie melts a bit, understanding this isn’t the amorous night he thought it was. He sets one of his large hands over the top of her dainty one.
Tone softening, he says, “You’re not the first one to look for sanctuary. Everyone who comes to this ranch is safe. We’ll protect you.”
Sunny sucks in a sharp breath as if those words were enough to crack her hard shell. A single tear starts to fall down her cheek, but she quickly wipes it away. A nudge from Cookie’s elbow shoves her right over the edge.
“My past caught up to us. That’s all.”
“Well, that’s ominous.” Cookie laughs but neither one of us follow suit. Sunny quickly stands, grabbing a roll and saying a quick thank you before she leaves.
Cookie waits until she’s gone before he looks at me and asks, “Was it something I said?”
I sigh. “Not at all. But I’m a little worried I’m in over my head.”
My old friend sobers quickly. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Sunny
I keep the key on a chain around my neck. It was the best I could come up with on short notice. It’s tight in my fist when I make it to the top of the stairs. Silas is the first to call out to me. I smile, but I know it’s weak. I hurry to my corner where I’m sure Rhett stashed the trunk. With the sheet back in place and blocking me from view, I insert the key into the lock and for the first time in over a week, I open it.
Smells from home bombard me all at once, memories floating back with everything else. I see his body in my mind just as clearly as if I’m kneeling in front of him again. I smell the blood on my hands, feel the tacky strength of it all, and then it’s there. The gun. In my hand. Covered in blood. Like seeing clips of a movie playing with shuddering stop and go rhythm, I can’t escape it.
I smash my palm over my mouth, suffocating the sound of my sobs, willing the ranch hands on the other side of the sheet to start talking to drown me out. Like the waves of the ocean, the grief and regret pile on top of me, drowning me. I fight back, refusing to believe any of it actually happened. Staying busy, that’s my best hope. Busy hands don’t have time to cry. I start unpacking the clothes in the chest to the chest of drawers Rhett so thoughtfully brought in for me.
The mundane motion seems to help gather my emotion again. Laundry doesn’t have room for tears. Laundry is normal and normal people don’t sob silently in a dark corner. I work until only the secrets wrapped in a tight bundle of cloth are left in the trunk, and I’m left with a choice.
Where do I put them?
Under my mattress feels like a good option, but if someone peeks, they’ll see everything. I could leave them in the trunk and lock it tight, but I want this trunk gone without a trace. I’m hoping I can burn it or maybe chop it into a thousand pieces. It’s a part of my past, and if Whitlock or Stolls see it, I won’t have a chance.
I’ll have to find a place far away from the ranch to hide everything. I grab the bundle, shoving it into the back corner of the bottom drawer. It’ll do for now.
It has to.
Decisions at the moment never seem to be long-term. I’m living from minute to minute. Any longer, and I’m bound to be blindsided. I have to stay ready to leave, ready to move at any second.
Anything else is dangerous.
For everyone involved.
Rhett
Cookie has a tell when we play poker. When he’s bluffing, and trying to pretend he’s cool, he shreds things. Whether it’s the label on the bottle of whatever he’s drinking, or scrap of paper, when he’s agitated, he rips it to tiny pieces.
By the time I’m finished with my story, the napkin next to him is nothing but a pile of fluff.
“I ditched them tonight, but I feel like they’re gonna come around, and she’ll run again.”
“And that would be bad?”
“Yes,” I stare him down, “it would. She needs help. I want to be there for her.”
He shakes his head while exhaling. “You’re sure crazy, little Everett. You know that? You always have been. From the first time Santi saw you in that alley acting like you were years older than you were, you’ve been too brave to be called sane.”
