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Back Confess to Me
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

On rare evenings when she wasn’t drinking, she’d talk on the phone while she was chopping onions for dinner. If you wanted a snack, you’d have to maneuver around the telephone cord. Occasionally, she’d ruffle my hair as I passed her.

“I ran away, and they didn’t even try to find me. They were both drunks.” I spit the word with disdain. Coming here was a mistake.

She didn’t take offense to drunks. “They were grieving. First Becky, then Rodney, then Shane. Can you imagine losing a kid every few years?” I couldn’t imagine, which is probably why I didn’t fight them, I just slinked out of their lives. “Yeah, they were drinkers,” she said. “They weren’t perfect, but they didn’t hit us. They were good to us.”

My insides burned. They were good to us? How could two siblings have such different views of their own childhood?

“Well, I’m glad your childhood felt safe.” Mine had felt like a minefield. “I didn’t come here to talk about us. You know people in this town think Mom murdered a teenage girl.”

“She didn’t,” Holly said, firm and calm. “How do you know that? You were only eleven when we moved away.”

“She wouldn’t. I don’t have to even consider it.”

“I’ve been here two weeks. It seems to be common knowledge in this town. My mother-in-law said Mom was not herself.” Just say it. “That some priest, well,” I said. Say it. “Some priest worked with her.” Fucking say it. “Like, like an exorcism.”

She looked down at her cigarette. “Come on, Heather,” she said quietly. “Are you really that stupid?”

“Yes. Yes, I am that stupid. Enlighten me.”

She tapped her cigarette, ash fluttered loose and drifted. “Mom was a good person,” she said, but she said it slowly, like she was trying to convince herself.

“Bullshit she was.”

“Why’d you even come here then?” Oh my God, she assumed I was in Hunther as some sort of tribute to my mother.

I wasn’t about to tell her she was partly right. I wasn’t about to tell her about the texts that had piqued my curiosity and lured me back. “Because my husband’s mother is dying,” I said. “His dad had a heart attack when he was a teenager. He’s an only child. He’s taking care of her.” It was convenient to blame it on Trevor’s mom. “Why are you here?”