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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’d held them to my nose and breathed them in as if they were Heather’s skin. Five left. It was a reflex putting the pack in my pocket, I hadn’t even thought about it. Then Troy opened the driver’s side door, and it was too late to put them back.

Now I shuffled to the bedroom window on sleepy feet and opened it. Flicked the lighter, and the sturdiness inside me shifted.

My lips on the cigarette, I inhaled deeply. Oh, the crackling of paper, the singeing. The jolt to my soft tissue, the flood of dopamine in my brain. Oh, God. It had been so long. I blew smoke out the window, watched it curl and drift.

Outside my window was quiet. No crickets. No cicadas. A faint noise in the distance, a rising guttural vibration. Maybe a coyote. Hell, maybe a cougar.

Why had Heather insisted on coming here? I’d pressed her on it twice, but I wouldn’t dare mention it again. The thing with Heather, you couldn’t push too much. Like two tectonic plates slowly ramming into each other, she was riddled with hairline fractures. Push her too far, and you might end up with an earthquake.

I worried she was digging into her family history. Why now, after all these years?

You shouldn’t have brought her back here. This place is no good for her.

10

10

HEATHER

Walmart was mostly empty. The bright blue-white ceiling lights confused my senses, and my skin buzzed.

The back-to-school aisles had been raided.

Snub-nosed scissors mixed in with glue sticks. Dozens of brightly colored folders sticking out under the bottom shelf. Lime green. Lemon yellow. Citrus orange. Someone must have dropped a box of them on the floor and swiped them under the shelf with the edge of their shoe. A shrink-wrapped toilet brush sat abandoned on a stack of notebooks.

When it came to school shopping, when it came to their own children, people were feral and not entirely themselves. Take me, for instance. I had always been comfortable with ugly things like death and homelessness. But give me a child, and I transform into a bobbing-ponytail sorority girl, anxious about committing a social faux pas.

No lunchboxes in this aisle.

No big deal. Emily could go to school with her lunch in a brown paper bag for a day or two. She’d survive.

A mother in her work clothes—pants and low heels—rolled her cart past the end of the aisle. A toddler sat quietly in the cart’s child seat, sucking his pacifier, rubbing his eyes. Mom and her baby and cart rolled out of sight.

I felt spoiled. Shopping alone was a luxury.

Headed for the next aisle, I let my mind go back to Desiree and the news story I’d read over and over.