“Oh dear. Your mother was wrong, Allie.”
Tears flooded Allie’s eyes. “How can you say I’m gorgeous? Seriously. How can you? It’s so confusing!”
Miss Bitty smiled. “Because you are. But whether you are stunning or ugly as sin, what matters most is that you’re pretty on the inside. And Allie, you are. And you get prettier each and every day in all of the important ways.”
“How come what I see in the mirror is so ugly then?”
Miss Bitty gripped her hands again. “Well, I’m no expert, but I’m sure it has a lot to do with everything you’ve gone through, girlie. You’ve shouldered more pain in your young life than most people will ever see. You were raised by someone sick who taught you all the wrong things.”
Miss Bitty’s words made Allie’s heart ache in a good way. She let her tears flow and didn’t bother wiping them away.
But she doesn’t know who you really are. The disgusting things you’ve done.
Allie decided to come totally clean. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a good person. I’ve only been pretending so you don’t send me away,” Allie admitted, the tears coming more forcefully.
“It’s okay. We all find ourselves pretending sometimes.”
Although the woman’s words were comforting, Allie began to bawl . . . and she couldn’t stop.
“I’ve slept with men . . . for money,” she blurted out, frightened to look into Miss Bitty’s eyes.
Miss Bitty reached out and squeezed her hand.
Did she not understand what I just said?
“Do you understand what I’m saying? And . . . and it was actually a lot of men. Too many to count,” Allie sniffed. “I’m disgusting. I really am.”
The woman embraced Allie. “No, you’re not disgusting. You’re just a confused young girl,” she said, patting her back. “You’ve had a very difficult life . . . and made mistakes, but your mistakes don’t define you. Lord, if they did, we would all be in a world of trouble.”
Miss Bitty pulled away from Allie and stared into her eyes. “I’m so happy that you finally trust me enough to confide in me. It’s good for you. It’s good for us both.”
Allie wiped her eyes, incredulous that the woman still wanted anything to do with her.
“Just continue to work on yourself, girlie. Bring out all of that inner beauty, the only beauty that ultimately matters—and know that I’m here anytime you need help. You understand?”
Allie nodded.
“Miss Bitty,” she sniffed. “I don’t want another job. I don’t feel comfortable being around a lot of people. Please . . . don’t make me.”
“Of course. I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Allie breathed a sigh of relief.
The two sat in silence for several minutes, their fingers intertwined, until Allie was able to catch her breath again. Once she did, she realized that she felt much better; better, but exhausted.
“That’s all I had to say. Would you like to talk some more about today?” Bitty asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m here.”
The old woman gave her hands one last squeeze, then released them and left the room.
Allie lay, staring at the ceiling, hopeful that the woman wasn’t just trying to be nice. That maybe it was true and she really wasn’t hideous. That maybe it was just her mind playing more tricks on her. She considered going to the mirror to look but in the end decided not to.
Feeling drowsy, she replayed how good the woman’s fingers had felt laced in between her own. The feeling of skin on skin for reasons other than sex.
For the first time since Johnny left, she didn’t feel so alone. Someone finally cared about her. Like, really truly cared.
She could hardly believe it. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off.
The woman is a liar. She’s lying to you, the voice hissed into her ear. But Allie was too far gone to even hear it, much less let it bother her.
CHAPTER 30
HE TOOK ONE last anxious drag, then tossed his cigarette into a coffee can. Walking to the tree, he yanked hard on the rope.
Yes, the branch was still sturdy.
He stared at the knot, which, of course, was perfect. He’d made many over the years. After all, people like him, who did unspeakable things—and who would also do nothing but shrivel up and die in a prison cell—needed an exit plan. Satisfied with his handiwork, he walked to the back door.
He still couldn’t believe how royally he’d fucked up. How lazy he’d gotten. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with: himself for being so stupid or the son for screwing everything up.
Once inside, he turned on the television and instantly found what he was looking for. Front and center on the six o’clock news.
The lead story.
Shit.
He had hoped it would get very little coverage. After all, the country was at war. People died every day. And this one woman had been truly meaningful to who? Maybe five people . . . if she was lucky?
But, of course, the local news would jump on it. And people would talk. He’d only been fooling himself. It was small-town Louisiana, after all.
Feeling a muscle in his cheek jump, he angrily watched. According to the reporter, the woman’s son and a friend had returned to the house and had found the power out. The friend had then gone to check the breaker box while the boy went to check on his mother. That’s when he caught the murderer in his mother’s room. The boy ran and the suspect pursued the child through the woods, but the boy was able to get away.
There had been two boys.
Now it made sense. The question now was, did either boy get a good enough look at him to describe him?
Feeling his face redden, he recounted the events of that night. He had run after the son but hadn’t been quick enough. He had burst through the hallway and rounded the corner of the living room just in time to see the kid flee through the back door, then fly into the woods out back. He chased him into the woods but almost instantly lost his trail.