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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

She grabbed at my forearm and caught it, her nails scraping me. Her eyes were glazed and looked less human each day. She set those eyes on mine. “This town does not forget, Trevor. This town will tie her up to the cross on Dairy and 34 and set fire at her feet.”

Panic stirred in my chest, a swarm of bees pulsing their wings, readying to take flight.

I broke eye contact, pulling gently away from her grip. I grabbed a pillow and propped it behind her back. “We’re fine, Mom. Heather’s fine.” She would be fine. People here were just like people anywhere else. Some were small-minded, just like anywhere else, and maybe a touch lawless, but they weren’t dangerous. “Will you eat some applesauce?”

Her intense gaze dissolved. Sleepy, she smiled. “OK. I’ll try a bite.” She patted my arm.

Heading to the kitchen, I pictured that cross. It was on some farmer’s property. It was treated wood, had that green cast to it. It tilted east a bit, forced to bend by wind blowing in from the west. Sixteen feet tall and twelve feet wide. Everyone knew it was sixteen feet tall because that’s the longest deck plank the Yellow Valley Home Depot carried.

I loved my mom. I really did.

But part of me wanted her to die. And soon. For her sake, to ease her suffering, and for mine. I did not want to knock fists with my past.

33

33

HEATHER

Sawyer flicked the glove compartment open. Closed. Open. Closed.

“Stop it, please. That’s distracting. Can you imagine if I was snapping my fingers in your face while you were driving?”

“I’m not snapping.”

I squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m making a comparison. You’re making noise, and it’s distracting. You crashed without distraction.” I regretted it even as I said it. I puffed up my cheeks and exhaled. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a jerk. It’s just distracting, and I’m already flustered. Those cougars down the street.” I regretted this too, looking for sympathy, making excuses.

Sawyer said nothing. Emily said, “He was so cute, Sawyer. A diaper! Can you imagine a cougar in a diaper? Don’t you wish you came in for ice cream?”

He said nothing.

I turned down Winding Way.

Sawyer flipped the glove box again.

“Um, Sawyer? That’s just as distracting as it was sixty seconds ago.”

“You can crash my car, it’s cool,” he said in a voice octaves higher than his own. It took me a second. Oh, he’s mocking me. Then, in his own voice, angry and cold, he said, “You’re not my mom.”

Thank God. I opened my mouth to shout it, but bit my lip.

Breathe until you calm down.