Shallie had herself, that was all.

But maybe at the time—and even now—that was enough.

Tonight, years later, sitting in her car with rain strafing the roof like bullets, Shallie sighed. She’d had to defend herself, and she didn’t regret it, but she felt profoundly sorry for the child Russ had been, overweight, unattractive and not considered bright, with a father who made fun of him. Held him in contempt.

Della hadn’t been much kinder.

Little wonder Russ was still hiding out in the Painted Pony Motel after all these years, even as the roof threatened to fall down around his ears.

Bethanne, if her social media posts could be believed, had fared better than her brother had. At first, anyway…

She’d split for the big city of Helena the day after high school graduation, rented a room in a private home, landed a job in a big-box store and put herself through cosmetology school. Eventually, she’d married and moved with her husband to a small town in West Texas. She was now Bethanne Robertson. She’d opened her own beauty shop and never returned to Painted Pony Creek—except briefly for her mother’s funeral—as far as Shallie knew.

For a while, Shallie and Bethanne had kept in touch via the internet, but gradually, they’d stopped emailing. Shallie, officially a “friend,” had still checked Bethanne’s Facebook page now and then, but she never updated her own information on the site, and there’d been nothing from Bethanne in more than two years. Where was she now? Shallie had no idea whether she was still married, still had her business, still lived in Texas.

From the little Shallie had been able to learn, mostly by reviewing the social media pages of high school classmates, Bethanne had started off doing well, which Shallie already knew. But recently—according to various rumors—she’d bounced between various county jails in Texas and court-mandated stints in rehab.

And indeed, there were rumors aplenty—Bethanne had joined a cult, met up with a serial killer, moved to Boise, found religion, remarried, witnessed a crime and gone into witness protection. Interesting theories, to Shallie’s mind, but only theories, mostly gossip and speculation at that, none of them supported by any evidence she could see.

In her opinion, Bethanne might well be dead. Despite some earlier success, she’d disappeared from everyone’s life, from social media, from sight. She’d been, or had certainly become, hell-bent on self-destruction, according to what several people claimed to have heard or observed. Most likely, she’d succeeded, with or without the help of another person. Was there any way of knowing?

Shallie had been secretive about her own location, in case Norm and Della came to expect some form of financial—or other—support. Some kind of payback… Della had been killed, ironically by a drunk driver, three years after Shallie left.