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Carrie strapped Emily into her car seat and buckled the seat belt, double-checking the connections before kissing her daughter.

Straps and buckles. Hyde strapped to the gurney.

Driving from her neighborhood, her thoughts whirled; the anguish of being that close to the execution still burned. The aching to remember what happened in the woods was unrelenting. She needed to get control, ground herself in the routine of everyday living, but the unknown consumed her.

And she felt pressured.

Partly because the media interview requests, which had waned over the years, had started up again. She’d declined new ones from CBS and Reuters. But the most persistent was Denise Diaz of the Clear River Chronicle —she did more than send messages and call. Once, when returning home from errands, Carrie spotted Denise’s white SUV parked at her house. Carrie detoured and drove around the neighborhood to avoid her. She was not ready to talk to reporters, even one from her local paper.

That’s why she’d welcomed Lacey’s invitation for a session today at her salon, seeing it as a way to ease her anxieties. Driving across town now felt normal. She had the day off, and her father had agreed to watch Emily.

He lit up when they arrived, taking his granddaughter into his arms as Carrie slipped off the baby’s diaper bag.

“Everything’s here,” she said, “diapers, snacks, toys, fresh clothes.”

“Good.”

“I fed her, changed her. Thanks for doing this.”

“No thanks needed. All part of my grand plan.” Vern tickled Emily. “So glad to have y’all home.”

“How’re you doing, Dad?”

“No pain, darlin’. Holding this angel is my medicine. And how’re you and Luke doing?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Okay?”

“No. He’s been busy at work…and quiet. And I—”

“And what?”

“I don’t know.” She drove her fingers into her hair. “It’s the not knowing. Even after Hyde’s execution, it’s still a nightmare that won’t end.”

“It’s over, Carrie.”

“But I need to remember what happened.”

“No, you don’t. You have to put it behind you.”

“I’m trying, but I can’t.”

“What does your doctor say?”

“That I have to sort this out on my terms, whatever that means.” Carrie waved away the subject. “I gotta go. I’ll be a couple of hours, at most.”

Carrie kissed Emily.

Before she turned to leave, Vern said: “It’s behind us. Live your life.”

***

The Always Charming Salon was pristine, smelling more of lavender than chemicals and perfumes.

Amid the sounds of hair washing, blow-dryers and low con versations, Lacey looked up from the list of appointments on her tablet to greet her.

“Well, hello, Carrie. I’m delighted you came.”

A few heads turned as Lacey moved around the counter, leading her friend to an empty chair.

“Got this one waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, nodding to a couple of women who’d been at Lacey’s party.

“My pleasure.”

Carrie settled into the chair, meeting Lacey’s gaze in the mirror.

“Your hair has nice body.”

“Thanks.”

“What’ll it be today? And this is on the house.”

“No, I’ll pay.”

“Honey, it’s on the house.”

Carrie smiled, taking a moment to appreciate Lacey’s gift. “Thank you. I was thinking just a trim.”

“All right, a shampoo and a trim, it is.”

Lacey brushed Carrie’s hair and placed a towel and gown on her, then they headed over to the sink. The warm water and scalp massage melted her tension. It was soothing, just what she needed. After her shampoo, Carrie was upright, back in front of the mirror, when Lacey voiced a thought.

“It’s so cool that Luke is from here but you met in Los Angeles.”

“Small world.”

“LA’s such a big town. How did it happen?”

“He worked on his folks’ farm near Dixon, then went out to California, got on with the LAPD. I was doing a promo for the LAPD and we met at a work function.”

“It’s so romantic, like you were meant to be together.”

“Same with you and Clay? High school sweethearts. An East Texas love story.”

“You bet.” Lacey laughed.

Grace Cox, Sheriff Ellerd’s cousin, leaned over from the chair to Carrie’s left. “Are y’all settled in at Cedar Breeze, Carrie?”

“Hey, Grace. Pretty much.”

“It’s such a nice new community out there,” Grace said.

“I like how they kept most of the trees,” Lacey said, toweling Carrie’s hair to prepare for a wet cut.

“We really like it,” Carrie said.

“And how’s your dad?” Grace asked.

“He says he’s good.”

“He must be happy having y’all together, with his grandbaby. And Luke getting on with the county,” Grace said.

“Well, I think it’s a blessing you moved back from California,” said the woman in the chair to Carrie’s right.

Carrie couldn’t turn her head because Lacey had started cutting her hair. But glancing in the mirror, she saw Opal Wells.

“You must be so relieved Donnie Ray Hyde confessed,” Grace said, “that it’s finally over, after all this time.”

“I don’t think it’ll ever really be over,” Carrie said, “but the years have been hard.”

“The not being over part’s so true,” Opal said. “I still see TV trucks prowlin’ through town. Word’s going around that the Dateline people are working on a story.”

“Is that right, Carrie?” Grace said. “I’d think they’d want to talk to you.”

“They’ve reached out to me. I’ve gotten a lot of press calls, but I said no to all of them. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t remember much, and the fragments I do remember are—well, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’d do well to think of other things,” Opal said, “like memories of our time in high school.”

Memories of our time in high school?

A chill coiled up Carrie’s spine, her head snapped in midcut to Opal: “What?”

“Opal!” Lacey said. “Did you not just hear what Carrie said about remembering that time?”

Opal’s cheeks reddened. “No, not that! I’m sorry! I’m such a dope! No, I mean fun things, like the Halloween party at the dance hall, or that Benjamin Franklin project we did together. We got an A-plus. I rarely got one, so it felt special. Remember?”

“I remember.”

“Gosh, I was so proud of that,” Opal said. “It was about his Poor Richard days, and his witty sayings, like, ‘Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.’ There were some quotes you really liked.”

“Sure, it was a good presentation.” Carrie found it weird that Opal remembered. Then again, Carrie often got good grades in high school, so maybe the Ben Franklin project didn’t stand out the same way for her as it did for Opal.

“I’ve still got it packed away somewhere,” Opal said.

“Good for you,” Lacey said.

“Maybe I’ll dig it out.”

Over the next few minutes, Lacey finished Carrie’s cut, and after blow-drying her hair, she began touching it up.

“Carrie?” Grace’s voice held the weight of a serious question. “Did you ever hear from Nicole and Lauren, Abby’s and Erin’s relatives?”

“In what way?”

“They were so in-your-face at Lacey’s party. Did they ever apologize?”

“Sort of. At the press conference after the execution.”

“I thought they might have made a formal apology to you, given how the nasty rumors and accusations died with Hyde in Huntsville.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carrie said. “This has taken a toll on everyone.”

“It took a lot of courage to go to Huntsville,” Lacey said. “You were so brave to put it to rest.”

In those moments before she got up to leave, Carrie accepted how the women of the salon, her old friends from school, had assumed the role of a chorus in her tragedy. Staring at herself in the mirror, admiring her hair while forcing back tears, Carrie managed a weak smile.

But inside, she was screaming.