There she sat, in the corner of the bathtub, grasping her little lavender tin. But the expression on her face surprised him. She was grinning ear to ear. Her cheeks were wet, but she looked at him as though she was seeing something comical.
“I’m imagining this, right?” she asked, blinking. “I just took too many pills?”
“No, sweetheart. This is real.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. It . . . it can’t be.”
He nodded. “Yes, it can.”
He reached for her, and the dazed smile slipped off her face.
“Nonononono!” she screamed. “It’s not real!”
“Oh, but yesyesyes, it’s very real,” he smiled. Then he glared at her. “You really should’ve been nice to her.”
CHAPTER 50
MISS BITTY’S BODY was betraying her. She couldn’t eat without vomiting, and days ago she’d stopped trying. She couldn’t concentrate on anything except the dread that loomed in the pit of her stomach.
Her ears had been ringing all day. One of the many signs that told her something was very wrong. Something was going to happen soon, if it hadn’t already, and she was powerless to stop it.
First of all, she didn’t know exactly what was going to happen—or when. She just knew that it would be very bad.
She had become afraid for Allie, so she constantly checked on the girl. Most nights she also went as far as to sleep on the hallway floor outside the girl’s room.
She had also secretly hired Hannah’s stepfather, Ted, to change all the locks on the doors—and she was locking the doors even during the daytime.
She berated herself again for her mistakes. The only refuge she could find from her stress was the alcohol—a substance she’d had a private love-hate relationship with for decades.
She sat in bed with her laptop and logged on to a mental illness board. For years it had been part of her bedtime ritual. She dispensed nutrition and lifestyle advice to those who didn’t have access to practitioners like her.
She frowned as she read a post by the mother of a bipolar teen who hadn’t taken his meds for three days. He’d been found on the roof of a Southern California apartment complex, threatening to blow the place to smithereens. She was at her wits’ end, having no idea what to do.
She read the comments that followed the post. Most were empathetic, from other parents of children with mental illness. One, though, was just plain hateful.
Anonymous wrote: “There’s no reason for these sickos to be walking on our streets. They should all be either institutionalized or euthanized.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she saw red.
MizBit777 wrote: “Go fuck yourself, IGNORANT asshole!”
She hit “Enter” and slammed the cover to the laptop shut.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her nerves and become Miss Bitty again, the person she’d been for two decades.
The gentle, kind, helpful Miss Bitty.
Her driver’s license, birth certificate, and Social Security card said she was Bitty Taylor. But that’s not who she’d been just six years ago. No, she’d been someone else entirely, who’d been forced to make a decision no one should ever be faced with.
Standing, she smoothed her shirt, left the room, and went to ask Allie if she wanted to be adopted.
CHAPTER 51
IT WASN’T THE way Bitty had wanted to ask the girl.
She’d wanted to first confide in Allie about her plan. To finally be honest and come clean. But the situation had become too desperate too quickly and she didn’t trust the girl enough yet to clue her in.
Revealing too much prematurely could be disastrous because the girl could easily go to the authorities.
In the living room, she found Allie sitting alone on the couch watching an Everybody Loves Raymond rerun.
“Hey, girlie,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted.
Allie looked up, her eyes shiny.
Bitty grabbed the remote control and lowered the volume. She peered at Allie and smiled. She was about to speak—to pop her big question—but Allie spoke first.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“Of course. Anything.” She laid the remote on the couch and took a seat.
The girl studied her for a moment with her intelligent eyes but then seemed to lose her nerve. Her eyes shifted back to the television. “Never mind,” she said. She picked up the remote and began surfing through the channels.
Bitty placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No, go on. You can tell me anything.”
Allie’s eyes welled up with tears, and she punched the button on the remote control harder.
“Anything,” Bitty repeated. “I’m here for you. I won’t judge.”
The girl took a deep breath, then the words barreled out of her mouth. “Do you ever worry about losing your mind? Like, really. Like maybe you’re becoming crazy?”
Yes, every single day. “What do you mean? Did something happen?”
“Well—” Allie started, her eyes flitting from Miss Bitty’s to the television. She seemed to be trying to put her thoughts into words. Her eyes filled with tears again and she began to tremble. She opened her mouth to speak again, but then her jaw dropped and she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God!”
Miss Bitty’s gaze followed hers.
A breaking news broadcast was on with reporters standing in front of a local home. A home that Miss Bitty quickly recognized as Hannah’s.
A caption was splashed across the bottom of the screen:
GRAND TRESPASS TEENAGER SLAIN IN HER HOME
The air was sucked out of Miss Bitty’s body. “Oh dear God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”
Allie sprang up and stepped closer to the television. She watched quietly, her hand still clamped against her mouth.
The phone rang, startling them both. Miss Bitty’s hand trembled as she picked it up.
It was Joe. “Bitty, have you seen the news about Hannah? Is Allie okay?”
CHAPTER 52