And now he, Rhonda and, apparently, before his death, Darrin knew that Denny Lowe had molested Dusty.
Mike swallowed the bile creeping up his throat and Rhonda went on.
“It was…it was bad, Mike,” she whispered then jerked her head to the side, yanked open her purse and came out with two books. She looked back to Mike. “She wrote all about it.”
She jerked the books his way.
Mike stared at them like they were hissing snakes.
“I…she…I don’t know!” Rhonda suddenly cried and Mike’s eyes cut to her face to see it was twisted with despair and indecision. Then she fucking kept talking. “I read them all. Cover to cover. She…Mike…she was in love with you,” she leaned forward, “totally.” She leaned back and kept right on going. “And it wasn’t…I know she was young but it wasn’t little girl love. It was very rich, Mike, and beautiful. She wrote all about it. Then it happened. Then he…Denny…” she trailed off then fucking started again. “And it all went bad.”
“Rhonda –” Mike forced out but she talked over him.
“You have to read these. We have to help her. I don’t know how many times Darrin talked to me about Dusty. How he was worried about her. How she kept pickin’ the wrong guys. Total jerks. And they were. I met a couple of them and they weren’t good guys. We’d…we’d,” her face flushed, “well, we’d talk in bed about it at night. Not all the time but it happened. And I knew Darrin worryin’ about Dusty was the last thing on his mind before he went to sleep. She took off right after high school when everyone in the family knew she loved that land just like her Dad, just like Darrin. Then, it wasn’t like she settled in Danville or Avon or something. She settled in Texas,” she stated like Texas was on another continent then she kept talking. “Escaping, Darrin knew. I always thought she didn’t come back a lot ‘cause the occasions she came back for, Debbie was usually here and they don’t get along too good so she tried to avoid it and only came back when Debbie wasn’t going to be here or Debbie couldn’t stay long. But now I know.”
Now she knew.
And now Mike knew.
Mike’s eyes dropped to the books but his head filled with Dusty. Dusty as a little kid, her smile an easy flash, her laughter and singing filling the house, her wisecracks quick and clever. Then Dusty when he tried to talk to her, so much black makeup around her eyes, her hair a disaster, her clothes hanging on her, her face twisted with anger, her words sharp and bitchy.
Because a psycho had put his hands on her and she clearly dealt with that alone the best way she knew how. She didn’t tell anyone. Even her brother who she was closest to had to learn from her diaries.
And now she was with a guy who was clearly not right. Thirty-eight years old, never married and picking who she called “morons” but if this recent one was anything to go by, considering cops had to be involved to keep the asshole away from her, was far worse than that.
“Mike?” Rhonda called and Mike’s eyes cut back to her face.
“Rhonda that was a long time ago and Denny Lowe is dead. There’s nothing I can do,” he said quietly, his voice carefully even, his gut so tight it was a wonder he didn’t throw up.
She stared at him then whispered, “But –”
“Dusty’s gotta need to want help, Rhonda.”
“Sometimes they don’t…girls like her don’t –”
Mike cut her off. “She’s not a girl. She’s a woman and right now there’s nothing I can do.”
There was nothing he could do.
Nothing he could do.
Fuck.
Rhonda closed her mouth and stared at him again.
Then she whispered, “Right.”
“My advice, don’t share that with Mr. and Mrs. Holliday.” He jerked his head to the books. “Right now, you all don’t need that shit. And it’s Dusty’s to share. Yeah?”
She nodded slowly.
“Which means, Rhonda,” he went on, “don’t share you know with Dusty. You’ve all lost someone close to you. She’s dealing too, just like you. Now is not the time to bring that shit back up if she’s buried it.”
She nodded again.
Mike drew in breath then said softly, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
Yeah, he was sorry. Seriously fucking sorry.
He had no fucking clue what to do with this shit.
Then Rhonda did something Rhonda should never have done. She moved to the back of his couch, put the books on it and without looking at him, whispered, “I’ll just leave those here in case you change your mind.”
“Rhonda –” he started but got no further.
Quickly, she muttered, “’Bye Mike,” and took off down his hall.
He didn’t move mostly because he couldn’t move. He just stood there staring at the books even after he heard his front door open and close. Even after he heard her car start up and pull away. And even after a long time passed.
Dusty. Open. Sharing. One hundred percent.
Except when they came close to talking about her teenage change. Then she made it clear without words she was not going there.