“The small-town setting relaxes me,” Denton said. “Sharp’s Creek has the feel of family and community that cares for its people. I imagine your sentiments rank alongside a nightmare.”

“Bittersweet.”

“Good and bad?”

I nodded and scrutinized familiar landmarks like the library that had stolen a little girl’s heart. Other constructions had sprung up like dandelions in spring. The stone courthouse still stood as the largest structure in the center of the square.

Denton drove slowly past the worn two-story brick building known for six decades as Pearce Bakery.

“Can we stop for just a minute?” I said.

He pulled in front of the bakery and placed the truck in park. “Thought you might want to reminisce.”

The weather-beaten sign bore resemblance to the one Dad had erected when I started high school. “I spent hours here helping after school and on weekends. Dad believed his girls should know every inch of how to run a successful bakery operation. He said whatever we did in life, good business sense would take us far. I loved it. The scent of vanilla and mouthwatering delicacies is a part of who I am.”

On the other hand, Marissa avoided the bakery, but her good grades and pleasant disposition pleased Mom and Dad. Marissa walked into a room, and the world became a better place. I closed my eyes.

She and Travis were a good team. Until they weren’t.

I smiled at him. “We can go now. Thanks.”

The GPS vocalized the directions to Mom and Dad’s home, when I could have led Denton there blindfolded. The house looked the same, a modest three-bedroom brick ranch my parents bought new before I was born. Thoughts of yesterday bombarded me worse than I’d imagined.

“You okay?” he said.

“Not really.” Memories fought to get the best of me—Mom, Dad, Marissa, Travis, blood, prison. “I’d rather not talk right now, Denton.”

He nodded as though he sympathized with my pain. But I couldn’t stop the torment. How could he ever grasp the reality of the truth?

Denton parked at the curb, and I prayed for what lay ahead. The years in prison when I’d viewed coming home as a fresh start had been utter stupidity. Seeing Dad took courage when I wanted to fly into his arms. I’d hurt him, and he’d been my advocate until the conviction. Mom often saw through my wild teenage behavior, and many times I appreciated her catching me before I jumped into serious trouble. I needed those boundaries, except when it no longer mattered.

Now telling her goodbye tore at my heart. She’d go to her grave with the belief that I’d murdered Travis. But better me than Marissa. Not sure how I felt about my sister except if given the situation again, I’d do the same thing. She’d shown her love by pushing for parole four times. Travis’s parents and Dad rejected the idea. I assumed Mom felt the same.

“Shelby, are you ready? You’re pale.”

His voice soothed me as I gripped the door handle. “As ready as I’ll ever be and feeling sick about it all.”