Bartender was back. Shot and a beer for Everett. Fresh Bud for me. I wish I had water. I really could use a glass of water.
“Know how they look for missing girls? Always search the hardest the first forty-eight hours. Then, of course, make a show of it for a week, or two or three, feed headlines to the local news. I know you saw your mom on TV one afternoon. ’Course, she made a big show of it. ’Cause that’s what happens for a bit. But fifty-two weeks later? You’re not front-page news anymore, little girl. Not even yesterday’s leftovers. Hell, six, eight, a dozen other pretty young things have disappeared between then and now. They get the headlines now. You . . . You’re already filed away. Even now, some detective’s sitting around, trying to work up the courage to call your mom and explain about how gators get the job done.
“Think she’ll do a service? I mean, even without the body. Maybe just a little gathering, family and friends. Put your memory to rest.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“You want that, don’t you?” His voice dropped low, sounded nearly concerned. “You want your mama to move on with her life, right? Not suffer forever.”
“Is that what happened to Lindy?” I heard myself say. “You fed her to the gators too?”
He recoiled slightly, fisting his shot glass. “Shut up, girl.”
“Are you sorry? Do you wish you’d kept her longer? Is that why you still cry for her at night?”
“Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”
But I was on a roll. Powered by three beers, a too-tight, too-red dress, and the knowledge we were in a public place. Later he would make me pay, but for now, this moment on our one-year anniversary . . .
“Did you love her?”
In a flash, his left hand was on my neck. Fingers digging in, slowly tightening. But I kept my eyes open, my gaze on his face, and in that second, I saw it. Pain. Sharp and brittle. Followed by hurt. Long and deep.
I still didn’t know how or why. But Lindy held power over him. Lindy, mythical, unknown Lindy, was everything I was not.
“Jealous?” he drawled.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Yeah.”
“Tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Probably then too.”
“You’ll be all alone.”
“Nah, just gotta head back to Florida. One-year anniversary. Don’t you know, it’s spring break.”
I stared at him. On and on and on, and just for an instant . . . I could almost see us. After all this time of living minute to minute, of keeping my head down, of hoping, praying, begging just to survive.
Here we were. One full year later. Beauty and the beast. A monster and his plaything.
A young girl who was never going home again.
“Do it,” I told him, and now my eyes were the ones that were overbright. “Now. Just squeeze your fingers. No one’s looking. It’ll be all over before they notice. Come on. I know you want to. Just kill me. Right. Now.”
His face darkened. He did want to. The idea intoxicated him, excited him. I could feel the roughness of his fingertips digging into my skin, itching to get it done.
I’d die in a hooker’s dress. But at least here, in a public place, he’d have to flee, leave my body behind.
Funny, the things you can come to view as a victory.
“You’re gonna fuck that cowboy,” he said.
“What?” The change in topic confused me.
“End of the bar. Asshole who won’t stop looking at you. Come on now. Walk on down. Make his day.”
“No.”
“Why, too good for him?”
I didn’t speak.
“Tell him the truth. I don’t care. Tell him your name. What’s your name again?”
I shook my head, clutched my beer. Why did he keep asking me that? My name, my name, my name. My real name. He was giving me a headache.
“You’re done,” he whispered. “One year later, I bet your mama’s already cleaned out your room. Packed up all your little pom-poms and teddy bears. Put it all away. What do you think? She’ll turn the room into a home office? Maybe a craft center. But face it, if you showed up on her doorstop tomorrow, there’d be no place for you to stay. I’m all you have left. You and me, girl, till the end of time. Or tomorrow morning, when I wake up sick to death of you. Now. Cowboy. End of bar. Go fuck him.”
“No.”
His fingers moved. No longer squeezing. Stroking the back of my neck as the hair prickled on my skin.
“You didn’t want me. Pretty girl like you. If I hadn’t grabbed you drunk and sloppy off that beach, you’d never have looked at me twice. But now you got me. I’ve fed you, clothed you. Hell, I’ve taken you out and showed you the country.”
I didn’t speak.
“I’m your first real man. First guy who told it to you straight, showed you the real world. Never lied, never prettied it up. Rest of your short life, wherever you go, whatever you do, you ain’t never gonna know another man like me.”
I risked a glance up into his feverish eyes.
“I’m your world, Molly. Your whole entire world. I am your everything. Except to me . . . you ain’t nothing but a piece of garbage. Here today, gone tomorrow. Replaced next time I head to Palm Beach. No one the wiser. Now. Cowboy. End of the bar. Do it.”
“No.”
“What the—”
“Not on our anniversary.”
He paused, scowled. Studied me.
And I got it then. Ghost girl. The feeling of déjà vu that had been haunting me all night. Everett was mean. Everett was cruel. And one day, he would kill me, dump my body in a swamp.
But now, tonight, he was also right.
One year later, I was never going home.
The girl I had once been, she was dead.
And now, there was only me and my strange, twisted relationship with this man. I could keep going along, struggling through day to day. Or . . .
I reached out and, for the first time of my own volition, placed my open palm on Everett’s chest. He startled. Couldn’t help himself. And for just an instant, I caught it in his eyes. Uncertainty. Longing. Fear.
Emotions I associated with Lindy, now slowly but surely being transferred to me.
No one likes being alone. Not even the monster under the bed.
I rose off my stool. I took the shot glass from his hand. Then I leaned forward, and with my entire body pressed against his, I whispered, “I want a present.”
“Wh-what?”
“A gift. For our anniversary.”
“Now, girl—”
“Your name. Your real name. Isn’t that what you’ve been asking me all night? I think you’re right. We are special. Meant to be. I want to know your real name. One year later, what can it hurt?”
He eyed me, my lips so close to his own. I could see him thinking. I could see him considering. Then I felt his hands on my hips.
“Jacob,” he said roughly. “My name is Jacob.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jacob. Now, take me home and I’ll show you how much I appreciate a real man like you.”
Chapter 28
D.D. ARRIVED HOME just in time to put Jack to bed. His little round face lit up at first sight of her, stubby arms reaching out. And she felt the customary pang in her chest. A love a suspected killer had once warned her about, the kind of deep powerful emotion that would move mountains. And yes, if the occasion warranted it, justify pulling the trigger.
But for now, she didn’t have to worry about such dark things. For now she got to nestle beside her little man, tucked in tight in his wooden red race car bed, and open up The Runaway Bunny.
Alex watched from the doorway, a smile on his face. From time to time, she glanced over at him, sticking out her tongue, crossing her eyes. Family fun with both her favorite guys. There had been a time in D.D.’s life she never would’ve thought she could have all this. Now, it amazed her that she’d ever gone without. Especially after a day like today, she needed this. Alex, Jack, her family, these moments, they grounded her.