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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
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

I hesitated, not wanting to be the crazy mother that ran after her son as he drove away, embarrassing him in front of his friends.

Who cares about embarrassing him? He has a gun. He’s not old enough to buy a gun.

“Momma?” Emily’s voice sang. “All ready for our picnic.”

“I’ll be up in a minute,” I said, surprised by the calmness in my voice. I called Trevor.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything OK?”

Your son, I almost said.

“Sawyer has a handgun. He left the house with friends, and he had a handgun tucked in the back of his pants. I don’t know whose it is. I thought you talked to him about guns.”

“I did. Relax. It will be OK. Probably it belongs to a friend, and they are going for target practice. Don’t worry. He’s a smart kid. He’s a good kid. I’ll call him.” Trevor always knew what to say. Two gears. Not worried or not too worried.

I thought about sleeping in Em’s room tonight, locking her door. Then, felt awful for it.

54

54

That night I dreamed Becky was walking in the grass, heading to our backyard. I trailed behind her, watching her long milky-white legs. She wore jean shorts that she’d cut off herself and washed a dozen times to unravel the cut edge. Long frays swung from her shorts as she walked.

“If we’d lived in a bigger town,” she said, “that might have saved us. If she’d gotten help at a big hospital. Cleveland, Mayo, MD Anderson, one of those.” She scratched behind her knee, and her long dark hair swayed.

Stopping in front of the shed, she reached up to undo the deadbolt. As she lifted onto her toes, the bulb of muscle in one of her shiny calves flexed. She wore cheap white sneakers that she’d dirtied up right home from the store, literally popped the tags off and rolled them in dry dirt so they wouldn’t look new.

She got the bolt loose, the hinge creaked, and she disappeared into the shed’s darkness. I held the door, but wouldn’t go in. Two mice had run over my bare foot in there before.

“But how could those big hospitals make her better?” I said. “She was a witch.”

Becky emerged from the dark shed with clothesline looped in her hand, tilted her chin down, and smiled.

“We’re all witches, Heather. Devil worshippers and murderers, all of us, you silly goose.” She ruffled the top of my head, messed my hair.

“I’m not a witch,” I said.

She lassoed my neck with clothesline, wrapping the slack around my neck once, twice…

Panic ratcheted in me with each wide swing of clothesline, the swoosh, my skin pinched tighter and tighter. I didn’t fight her. My arms hung paralyzed at my sides.