Текст книги "Unspeakable"
Автор книги: Michelle K. Pickett
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
I was done with Jaden’s crap. It was over, whether he wanted to admit it or not. I didn’t bother telling him. I just wore a new T-shirt I had made. It was the one time Jenna was excited to go with me to get one of my horrible—her word—T-shirts. She even paid for it.
I walked into school and to my locker like any other morning. Jaden was waiting for me, his back against the locker door.
“Hey, Wills.”
“For the last damn time, don’t call me that!” I shouted.
“Whoa, watch how you talk to me. What’s up your butt anyway?”
“Nothing. Move. You’re blocking my locker.”
Jaden stepped aside. I opened my locker, got the books I needed, and threw in those I didn’t. Slamming the door shut, I walked away. Jaden caught up with me and grabbed my arm. My books scattered across the floor. Everyone around us stopped and stared.
Tim knelt to help me pick up my books. Jaden kicked them across the hall. “She can do it herself,” he said through clenched teeth.
Tim ignored him and picked up my things anyway. He carried them into class for me. I followed close behind him. I prayed the teacher was already in the classroom because Jaden followed me. He’d seen my shirt.
“Willow!” he bellowed.
I walked through the door into biology, and my heart sank. No teacher. Jaden came up behind me and jerked me around to face him. His fingers dug into my flesh, and I fought the urge to flinch away.
“What the hell is that?” He pointed at my shirt. Everyone in the room was silent as they watched the show.
“It’s called a shirt, Jaden.”
“I know it’s a shirt. I meant what it says, “Yes, I’m single. You’re gonna have to be awesome to change that.” What does that mean?” He poked me in the chest.
“Just what it says. We’re done. Through. Over. I’m single. You’re single. Go hookup with Sarah or whoever your flavor of the week is. I’m finished with you.”
He grabbed me by the collar and jerked me to him. His face was just inches from mine. I could feel his hot breath on me when he spoke. It made my skin crawl, like dozens of ants were swarming my skin.
“Remember the little secret I know? You wouldn’t want the police to find out what your dear mommy did, now would you? We’re through when I say we are.” His face was red, and a vein bulged in his neck. Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth. “I wish you’d learn that little fact. It’d make life easier for both of us.”
“Jaden, wish in one hand and shit in the other… see which one fills up faster. I said we’re done. I wish you’d learn that little fact. It’d make this so much easier.”
He jerked me closer. His hand fisted on the collar of my shirt. He raised his other hand, and I fought the urge to cringe. Realizing where we were, he let his arm fall to his side.
“We aren’t done, Willow,” he said through clenched teeth.
I kneed him in the crotch and pushed him away from me. “I say differently.”
I was lying in bed that evening, staring at the wall, when my phone chimed. I rolled over and looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty. I picked up my phone, pushed the button to read the text, and my heart jumped into my throat. My head pounded in rhythm with my heartbeat, which was racing.
Brody: You ended it with him?
Me: Yes. For good this time.
Brody: Good for you.
Me: Thanks.
Brody: Night, Willow.
Me: Goodnight, Ace.
I knew it was a probably just a meaningless text. He didn’t say anything in it to give me any indication that he wanted to see me or even have any type of relationship. But, still, the butterflies in my stomach gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, it was a sign that he’d let me explain everything. That he’d let me back in.
We might not ever have what we shared before, but I needed to tell him the truth. I needed to tell him I still loved him. Would always love him. It was him. Would always be him. No one else. Brody Victor showed me what true love was and in doing so, he ruined me. No other man would ever live up to the standard he set. I might find love again, but there would always be a piece of me left hollow—a piece that only Brody could fill.
Only he could make me whole.
“You little bitch,” he roared. He knocked me to the ground and kicked me in the stomach. I pulled my knees up to my chest, covered my head with my arms, and waited for the next hit.
That was only the first one. There were always more.
Ralph grabbed my arm and yanked me off the floor. The attack caught me by surprise. He was supposed to be traveling.
He pushed me hard against the wall before backhanding me. I felt blood gush inside my mouth. The metallic taste made me gag as it slid down my throat.
“What do you have to say? Huh? Anything?” he yelled, and I winced.
“Yeah,” I rasped.
“Willow! Just be quiet!” my mom cried from where she sat on the stairs.
“Shut up, Mom. Help me!” I yelled as loud as my voice would allow. She looked away. “You’re the reason I’m here. You did this. If you hadn’t walked away that night.” I turned back to Ralph. “I do have something to say, asshole.” I spit blood and saliva in his face.
I knew I was asking for more abuse. If I’d just kept my mouth shut and let him have his temper tantrum, I would’ve been better off, but the urge to fight back was growing inside me, pushing out my weakness, my fear.
He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. His other hand darted out and grabbed me around the neck. “Don’t ever do something like that again or you will pay. And the price will be high, dear, sweet Willow,” he whispered, staring in my eyes.
He squeezed my throat so tight I couldn’t draw in a breath. I clawed at his hand. My nails left red scratches on his skin. Stars flickered in front of my eyes, and the room started to spin. I reached out and jammed my thumb into one of his eyes. He howled and dropped his hand. I fell to my hands and knees, gasping for air, and crawled toward the front door.
Ralph yanked me up by my hair. Holding me in place, he punched me. Pain sizzled across my jaw.
“You call us white trash. But you’re nothing more than a con artist. Marrying for money and then hitting her around a little.”
Another quick hit to my face split my lip. “Shut up, you little—”
“Little what? That’s the problem, isn’t it? You wanted her money because you were broke; you even wanted her… but me? Nah.” I could feel warm blood drip off my chin.
A third hit. I could see blood drip from the corner of my eye. I could feel it swelling shut. I started feeling woozy, and it was hard to keep my thoughts straight.
“Yeah, a kid wasn’t in my plans. You’re a nuisance I don’t need.”
Another hit and another. I tried to block the blows, but I was too weak. His fists pushed past my arms, hitting me again and again—the face, the stomach, anywhere he could reach.
I hit back, something I’d never done before. It surprised him and took some of the force out of his hits. When I had a good shot, I kicked him between the legs, hard and fast.
Ralph pushed me away from him before he fell to his knees, holding his crotch. A colorful string of cuss words spewed from his mouth. His face turned different shades of reds and purples that I would have found funny under any other circumstances.
When he pushed me, I slammed into the wall and felt my shoulder pop. I knew the hit had dislocated it. Gripping the entryway table with one hand to steady myself, I held my other arm tightly against my body. I stumbled toward the door and knocked over a vase as I passed the table. It shattered against the hardwood floor, sending Ralph back into a rage.
“Look what you’ve done,” he screamed. A vein pulsed in his forehead. His face was red with fury. “You’re useless.”
He pushed me to the floor. The shards of glass cut into my hands and knees. Blood smeared across the floor as I tried to crawl away from him. He reached down and grabbed my ankle. I kicked at his hand with my free foot. When that didn’t do any good, I tried kicking his knees, anywhere I could make contact.
As he dragged me across the floor, I grabbed a large chunk of the broken vase. I flipped over and sliced his hand. Satisfaction bubbled through my veins when I saw blood ooze across his hand.
My satisfaction was short-lived when he backhanded me with his free hand and I fell backward, my head hitting the floor with a thud. Stars circled in front of my eyes. My head bounced against the wood as he continued down the hall. The pieces of the vase sliced my scalp. Jolts of searing pain shot through my head and neck.
“Look at yourself. You’re pathetic.” He raised his hand, and I braced myself for his hit. “You should have been in that car with him.”
The doorbell pealed through the house. Startled, I looked at the door.
“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say a word,” he warned through clenched teeth. “Janine, I’m warning you. Don’t get any ideas or I’ll make you both pay.”
I stared at the door. I was closer to it than he was, but I could barely move. I tried to calculate my chances of getting to the door before he got to me. They weren’t good.
The doorbell rang again.
I tensed and made up my mind. Rolling, I pushed myself away from Ralph as hard as I could toward the door and screamed. I reached the door just as he reached out and grabbed my hair. He yanked me backward. I skidded across the floor on my back; my head collided against the wall.
But I’d done it.
I’d turned the knob and when he yanked me backward, I’d pulled the door ajar. I raised my head and tried to see who was there through the haze of blood covering my eyes and dripping from my hair.
“Brody,” I choked. “Run.”
Brody took one look at what was happening and slammed his fist into Ralph’s face. Ralph landed on his back with a grunt. When he pulled himself up from the floor, Brody hit him again and again. Ralph slammed into the wall and sank to the floor.
Brody took his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed 9-1-1 before sliding the phone across the wood floor to me. When Ralph tried to stand, Brody planted his foot on his neck and held him to the floor.
“I need the police,” I whispered when the operator answered my call.
“What’s your address?”
“912 Rose Terrace.”
“They’ve been dispatched. What’s your name?”
She was still talking, but I couldn’t focus. The phone slipped from my hand, and my head dropped to the floor. Then everything went black.
I woke up in the hospital. Every single inch of my body felt like someone had rubbed it with sandpaper until it was raw. My stomach hurt, and I was almost certain he’d broken my already injured ribs. My shoulder had been reset—at least I was asleep during that particular bit of torture. Judging by the way my head pounded, I figured I had a pretty good concussion to go with everything else.
“She’s awake,” someone said. I tried to turn my head to see who it was, but it told me it didn’t like that, so I stayed still.
Two men in suits appeared at my bedside. I looked up at them. One was dark-skinned, tall and broad. He looked like a bodybuilder. The other man was older. He had graying hair and was partially bald, but looked just as fit as the first man. They both had kind eyes.
“Willow Rutherford?”
“Yes.” It was hard to talk. My throat felt like someone had lit a match to it. My voice came out gravelly.
“I’m Detective Renard,” the balding man said. “This is my partner, Detective Samuels. Can you tell us who did this to you?”
“Ralph McKenna,” I whispered. It felt so good to tell someone. Finally, that part of my secret wasn’t my burden to carry any longer. I could be free of it.
“Is this the first time it’s happened?”
“No.”
“How long has he been hurting you?” the bodybuilder, Detective Samuels, asked.
“More than two years. Since my mother married him.”
“Does your mother know he hurts you, Willow?” Detective Renard asked.
I felt my lip start to quiver. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“He’s an important man. No one would’ve believed me. He said my mom and I were just white trash before he came around. No one would believe us over him.”
“No one is that important,” Detective Samuels said. “Is there anything else we need to know? Now is the time to tell us, Willow.”
“Yes.” My throat clogged. It was so tight it was painful to talk around it. I felt like my bed was spinning. I’d never told anyone what I was about to tell them. I’d locked the secret up so tightly I wasn’t sure I could get it out. But it was time to let go.
It wasn’t my burden to carry, and I refused to carry it around a second longer.
“Um, I was there the night Jack Moore died. My mom and I were passengers in the car he was driving. He was drunk and hit the tree.”
“Yes, we’re aware of your mother’s first marriage and her husband’s death. That case was determined an accident. The file is closed,” Detective Samuels said.
I shook my head quickly and licked my dry lips. “If you look in the records, you’ll find that Ralph McKenna was the witness to the accident. He said he’d lie about what he saw if my mother gave him half the life insurance she’d receive. He was going broke, almost bankrupt. He needed money.”
I reached for my cup of water. Detective Renard picked it up and held it while I took a drink. “Thank you.”
He nodded once and said, “So are you trying to tell us Mr. Moore’s death wasn’t an accident?”
I nodded. “I’m telling you that the car hitting the tree was an accident, but my dad’s, Jack Moore’s, death was not an accident.”
I’ve done it. It’s not a secret anymore.
“Willow, I think you need to tell us everything. Starting the night you met Ralph and work your way to today,” Detective Samuels said. He placed a small recorder on the table next to my cup of water. “I’m going to record it so we have all the details when we fill out our report. Okay?”
“Um. Okay. I’m not really sure where to start.” I tried to push a lock of hair out of my face. My hand shook so badly that I had to try twice.
“Okay, let’s start with the night your dad was in the car accident,” Detective Renard suggested. His voice was gentle and soothing, and I relaxed a bit.
I shook my head. “Jack was my stepdad. But he raised me for as long as I can remember, so I thought of him as my dad. Everyone thought he was my real dad. I never told them he wasn’t. My mom didn’t either.”
“Where’s you biological father?” Detective Renard leaned his hip against the counter lining one wall of my room.
I looked down and picked at the bedspread. My voice was soft. Barely a whisper. “I don’t know who my real dad is. Neither does my mother. She used to be a… well,” I cleared my throat, “she did a lot of things to survive when she was young.”
“Okay. That’s okay. What happened that night to Jack Moore?”
I looked at the gray screen of the television hanging on the wall across the room and started talking. As I talked, I saw the images on the television as though my life were a movie. The characters floated across the screen in brilliant color, acting out my words as I said them.
And then I was there. I wasn’t just watching anymore.
I was living it again…
Three years earlier…
“Let me drive, Jack. You’ve had too much to drink.” My mom reached for the keys.
Jack slapped my mom across the face. A perfect red handprint colored her cheek. “I’m fine. Keep your damn hands to yourself.”
My stepdad slapped my mom around, especially when he’d drink. And he was jealous. She couldn’t talk to any man or he’d accuse her of having an affair. He’d have to know where she was, who she was with, what she’d be doing, and when she’d be home, every time she left the house. And he’d check to make sure she wasn’t lying. He was possessive and abusive.
But he never hit me. He was a great dad. Loving and attentive. He played catch with me in the yard when I decided I wanted to try out for the softball team. And when I wanted to play chess in the fourth grade, he bought a book and we learned how to play together. He was awesome. I knew he loved me, and I loved him. But he was different with my mom. I never knew why.
We were at a barbeque at Jack’s friend’s house. He’d been drinking. He shouldn’t have driven, but he wouldn’t let my mom drive. The car swerved down the road, crossing over the middle line before he’d jerk into our lane again.
The road we were on was curvy. It twisted its way through expensive properties and undeveloped woods. It was a dangerous road on a good day.
My mom held on to the stabilization handle. “Jack, slow down. There’re too many tight curves.”
“I know how to drive, Janine. Just shut the hell up.”
“Willow, sweetheart, are you buckled in good?” my mom asked looking into the backseat.
I nodded, but my mom reached back and pulled the belt tighter anyway. It was really tight against me. It almost hurt. But I was scared, so I didn’t say anything.
We came to a sharp curve, and my mom told Jack to slow down. He braked and jerked the wheel. But it was too late. The tires screeched against the pavement. Jack swore and turned the wheel just as we hit a tree. The airbags blew, and it smelled like a gun went off.
My mom sat up and looked around. She seemed dazed, but it was only a few seconds before she tried to get out of the car. She pushed on her door, but it was crumpled and wouldn’t open.
“Willow?” She reached for me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” My voice shook and tears ran down my face.
“Can you open your door?”
I unbuckled and tried my door. It opened with a loud groan.
“Good, good.” My mom climbed over the seat into the back with me. “Get out of the car.”
I hesitated. “What about Jack—?”
“He’s unconscious. I have to get you out first. Go. Go!” She pushed me, and I stumbled out of the car. She followed behind me.
I saw an orange light and smelled an odd odor. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the fire as my mom pulled me from the car.
I pushed at my mom, trying to get away from her. “We have to get Jack!”
She turned and looked at the car, holding both my arms so I couldn’t move. We just stood and watched the fire.
And I heard him. I heard him yelling. He wasn’t unconscious. He screamed for us to help him. His voice shook. He was scared
“Janine, help me. My buckle is stuck. Janine!” Jack screamed.
He shouted for help, and she just watched. She just stood there. The fire grew. And still, she didn’t help. She stood there, listening to his screams, him pleading for his life.
The fire hit the gas tank, and the explosion vibrated the ground where we stood. I screamed, but Jack was quiet. All I could hear was the fire.
My mom let go of my arms and wiped her hands down her thighs. “Well, that bastard won’t hit me again, will he?”
I took a sip of my water and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “We thought we were alone. There weren’t any other cars on the road. So my mom and I sat on the side of the road to wait for the police. We knew OnStar would contact the local authorities when the airbags deployed. We just had to wait.”
“That’s quite a mess you have there,” he said behind us.
My mom jumped up and let out a small scream. “Who are you? And where did you come from?” she asked.
“I came from there.” He jerked his thumb toward the house behind him. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “And, as for who I am, I just became your worst nightmare.”
“Wh…what are you talking about?” My mom pulled me to her.
“My name’s Ralph, and I saw you stand here and watch your husband, boyfriend, father, or whoever he was burn to death in that explosion. I was coming to help, but I couldn’t get here in time.”
“You don’t know what you saw,” my mom said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, yes I do. I could hear him yell out to you all the way at the house… Janine.”
My mom’s face paled when she realized Ralph knew her name. The only way he could was if he’d heard Jack yelling it. I started to shiver. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I think I may have been in shock, I don’t know. But I didn’t like the man. He had an abrasive presence. Malevolent.
“So, I think you have a little problem on your hands. When I give my statement of what I witnessed, it isn’t going to go well for you.” The man rocked back on his heels. His eyes never left my mother’s face.
“I didn’t think I had time to—”
“Eh, save it.” He flicked his hand in the air. “We both know that isn’t going to fly. You had plenty of time. You stood here and let him burn to death. That’s murder.”
My skin prickled with goose bumps and my stomach fell to my toes. Murder? No, no, she didn’t murder Jack. But… she didn’t help him either. He was still alive, and she just stood there. A knot grew in my chest. It swelled until it became painful, pushing my organs out of its way. I rubbed my chest and tried to take a breath, but the knot cut off the air to my lungs and I could only take small, fast gasps.
What is it? I wondered. What’s happening to me? It must be grief—Jack is gone.
But it wasn’t grief. It was anger. Pure rage. At the man. At Jack for driving. At the road for its curves. At her for not helping him. Especially at her.
“Do you have an insurance policy?” Ralph asked my mother.
She nodded and looked over her shoulder. We could hear sirens in the distance. It would only be minutes—maybe less—before they were on scene.
He leaned in, eyes bright. “How much?”
“Two million,” my mom whispered, “plus whatever I can sell his carpentry business for.”
“Well, then, we may be able to work something out. You have money, and I happen to need money. Give me some of your insurance and I’ll keep quiet.”
The sirens were closer. Just around the bend. “Tell them I didn’t have time to get him out before the explosion and I’ll give you half.”
Ralph smiled and held his hand out. My mom took his hand, and they shook once. Seconds later, the police arrived, followed by the ambulance.
We all gave our statements: “Jack had too much to drink. He took the curve too fast, lost control, and hit the tree. Janine’s first instinct as a mother was to make sure her daughter was safe. When she tried to return to help her husband, the flames had overtaken the car and she couldn’t get to him. It exploded seconds later.”
The police were satisfied and the case was closed. After a small memorial service, Jack was out of our lives for good. We hardly talked about him after that.
Ralph had told the truth when he’d said he’d become my mother’s worst nightmare. The night of the accident, he insisted that we move in with him and for the next week, he never left her side.
“I’m not letting you outta my sight and risking you taking the money and running. We stick together on this,” he’d told her.
The first night we were at his house, his eyes raked over me and his lips curled in disgust. “Is that yours?”
“She, not a ‘that’,” my mom snapped, “and, yes, Willow is my daughter.”
“Cripes. I didn’t want to have to deal with a kid too. I hate kids. Hey!” He snapped his fingers and waved his hand at me. “Get over here.”
I walked to the recliner where he was sprawled out. His gelatinous belly spread across the seat. “Be seen, not heard. Do what you’re told, when you’re told to do it. Stay out of my way. Don’t touch my stuff. In other words, be invisible and we’ll get along fine.”
I opened my mouth to say something, and he gave me a look and raised his eyebrow. My mouth snapped shut. I nodded and backed away.
The seventh day we were at Ralph’s, he dropped a bomb. “We’re getting married.” He smiled and kissed my mother. She pushed him off her and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Marriage was never part of the deal!” my mom yelled.
I sat in stunned silence. There was no way she was going to marry him. No way. He was a mean, nasty tool. And revolting. He reminded me of an egg, if eggs had arms and legs. My insides started to shake. But what could she do? He knew what she did. He could tell.
“Getting married is the only way I can be sure I get my fair share of the money. You’re not cheating me out of one cent. I will tell what I know, Janine, make no mistake.” He poked her with his finger. “But we can’t get married yet. You need to have a proper amount of time to mourn the loss of your husband. Six months. That’d be good.”
He stood and walked to the stove to fill his plate with more hash. Picking up the skillet, he scraped every last morsel onto his plate. My mom sat at the table, looking into her empty coffee cup. Her shoulders were slumped forward and her face pale. That was when I knew that Ralph was calling the shots. He was in charge.
“During your six months mourning, you won’t spend a cent of the life insurance money. Tell people there’s a hold up or some governmental red tape… whatever. But you spend nothing.”
“What? How are we supposed to live?” My mom stood up so fast her dining chair fell behind her.
“I don’t know and really don’t care. Six months. Then we get married.”
“How long are you going to stay married?” I asked Ralph.
He glared at me. A glare so dark and menacing that I flinched away. “I told you, you are to be seen and not heard. This is your last warning.”
A few days later, my mom found a job in a diner. We couldn’t afford the monthly mortgage payments on the house we lived in with Jack without his life insurance. And if Mom and Ralph got married, she didn’t need the house anyway. So she listed it for sale. We planned to live in it until it sold. It sold two days after it went on the market and we had to move out.
We rented a small trailer in a questionable neighborhood. The trailer was rundown and dumpy, but it was clean and had plenty of room for the two of us. We lived there while Mom and Ralph pretended to meet, date, and fall in love.
They got married six months later.
Then the beatings started.
I told them about the abuse. The beatings. Jaden. The abuse to my mom. Everything. I was almost detached from it. The words tumbled out of my mouth.
Finally, Detective Samuels said, “Okay, Willow.” He laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “We’ve got enough. You can stop now. You don’t need to keep reliving that.”
Detective Renard clicked the recorder off and slid it into his jacket pocket. “Is there anything you need? Anything we can get you?”
“I’d really love a Coke,” I answered, rubbing my eyes with the tips of my fingers.
The detective smiled and shook his head. “After all that, the memories you just relived, and all you want is a Coke?”
“Okay,” I said with a small smile, “some M&Ms would be good.”
He walked out of the door. “Coming right up,” he called over his shoulder.
“You did really good, Willow. I think we have all we need in your statement to keep you off the witness stand, but that’s going to be up to the lawyers.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I tried to be as thorough as I could with your part of the investigation. I have a daughter your age. If she’d…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what I’d do if someone treated her like you’ve been treated. I don’t want you to have to keep reliving this part of your life over and over. So,” he put his palms on his knees and pushed himself out of the chair, “I hope we have all we need. And you can start fresh at college.” He grinned at me.
“Thank you.” I reached out and squeezed his hand. “I appreciate you trying to keep me out of the courtroom. But I’ll testify if I have to. If I do, will you be there?”
“Of course. There’s not a damn thing that could keep me away,” he answered, his voice thick.
I gave him a small smile and nodded my head once.
“Here we go. Coke and M&Ms. I didn’t know what kind you liked so I bought them all.” Detective Renard spilled bags of M&Ms across the table in front of me and sat four cans of Coke down.
I laughed. A real laugh. It felt good. I’d almost forgotten how good. I looked at him, and he chuckled. “Luckily, I like all the M&M varieties,” I said with a giggle and grabbed a bag. “Thank you.”
“Willow, I just have a couple more questions. Just so everything we’ve went over is perfectly clear.” At my nod, he continued. “Did Jack Moore abuse your mother?” Detective Samuels asked.
I picked at the edge of the sheet. “Yes.”
“Did he abuse you, as well?”
I shook my head, and my gaze found the detective’s. “No. He was a great father to me!”
“Okay. Ralph McKenna, did he abuse your mother?” Both detectives stared at me.
My eyes dropped to the bed. I folded my hands to keep from fidgeting. “Yes, but not as bad. He didn’t like that she came with a kid, especially since my mother doesn’t even know who my real father is. He said that if she knew who my father was, they could’ve at least got child support payments for me.”
Detective Renard patted my hands. “You did good, Willow. You’re a strong girl. Ralph McKenna is in jail. We might need to ask you some more questions, but he won’t hurt you again.” The detective walked toward the door.
Detective Samuels smiled at me. “Be well, Ms. Rutherford. We’ll be here if you have any questions.”
Warm tears slid down the side of my face. “Thank you.”
