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It’s Mama’s birthday today. She would’ve been forty-nine. Mrs. Harper, our housekeeper, would’ve baked her a cake with pink frosting and daffodil flowers. Mama would’ve wrinkled her nose, laughed and said she wasn’t eight years old. But she would’ve secretly loved it. I miss her. I miss you. I miss you.
Quinn
***
20 June: Elly,
Found out today that Maxwell might never face charges for what he did. He has too many people in his back pocket. I don’t know what to do with that. I’m not giving up though. He has to pay. But…I hurt everywhere. I haven’t hurt like this in…forever. He killed her. He killed her. I tried to save her. I tried to save her. I tried. So hard. She told me to let her go. Why would she do that? Why would she want to leave me? It hurts, Elly. So damn much.
Quinn
***
15 June: Lucky
I never told you my age. I’m twenty-eight.
Quinn
***
30 April: Elly,
Charges were brought against Dr. Nathanson today. She’s lost her license. Jail is too good for her for abandoning Mama, the woman supposed to be her best friend, when she knew what Maxwell was doing to her. Like me, she could’ve saved her. My efforts came too late. But she chose not to. For her own selfish reasons, she condoned Mama’s suffering. I hope she rots in hell.
Quinn
I drop the phone on the bed, lie back and swipe at the tears dripping down my face. I should be done with these damn tears. Done with Quinn. I should throw my phone away and not buy another one. After all, if I don’t have a phone, he can’t contact me. The thought spears me with anguish so ravaging, I jerk into fetal position. I’m not sure how long I lie there, calling myself a thousand kinds of fool.
The distant rumbling of a vehicle sends me to the window.
The farmhouse is remote for a reason. As is the clear NO TRESPASS sign half a mile down the dirt road. I don’t need to look down the driveway to know Paul will already be meeting the car, his shotgun tucked into the crook of his arm. He scared the living shit out of a bunch of joyriders who took the wrong turn onto his property last week.
Although, looking at the sleek black SUV approaching, I have a feeling these aren’t joy riders.
The driver slows when he spots Paul. When Paul cautiously beckons, the vehicle rolls forward. The passenger side window winds down and a conversation takes place. Paul nods once and looks up to my bedroom window.
A tingling seizes my nape as the door opens.
Fionnella steps out.
I bolt out of the room and charge down the stairs. Paul and Fionnella are on the porch by the time I wrench open the front door.
“You’re not welcome here, Fionnella.” I switch glances to Paul. “She’s not welcome!”
He nods. “I told her that. She wanted to hear it from you.”
I turn back to Fionnella. “You’re not—”
“Five minutes, Lucky.” She holds out her hands. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
I’m shaking my head before she’s halfway through the sentence. “No.”
She sighs. “I have something from him, for you.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls out an envelope and holds it out to me.
“I don’t want it, whatever it is. He already manipulated me into keeping the horse. That’s it, I don’t want anything else from him.”
Fionnella glances at Paul who’s still hovering. Whatever she signals him, he casts me a supportive look, but retreats back into the house. Through the window, I see Petra and Doris staring at me. I try a reassuring smile, but I’m sure it misses the mark.