Lily knew she’d never have another normal romantic relationship after what he’d done. Never. She couldn’t even have a normal friendship.
Jones had been her one chance, her best attempt at creating the family she’d wanted back. A mother, a father, a child, a house, all of it planted smack dab in the middle of the hometown she’d been dragged out of at age ten. She was a textbook case of family dysfunction, come to life and lurching around the countryside like a tragic monster.
Or she was just tired and being melodramatic because she was worried about Everett.
Lily sighed, ordered herself to get her shit together, and checked all the apartment locks one last time. When she reached the patio door, she remembered the sawed-off broomstick that had been there when she moved in. She dug around in the pantry until she found it, then dropped it into the track of the door as an extra precaution. Now that she knew the camera system didn’t have quite the all-seeing eye she’d thought, she felt more vulnerable.
She tiptoed to Everett’s room to look in, and he seemed to be sound asleep. She wished he’d agreed to at least sleep in her room so she could reach down to the floor and smooth a hand over his warm head, for her own comfort if not his. He’d been ten before he’d stopped the occasional nighttime snuggles, and she’d mourned the change. But she supposed she should be proud he’d grown braver. She’d thought herself wise and independent at his age too.
Wiser than her own mother, certainly.
For all the stability in Lily’s life until age ten, her later childhood had spun into chaos. The modest child support payments had helped financially, but nothing had been effective at pulling her mom back from her emotional tailspin. She’d been angry and ranting and weeping at first. Then she’d been single-mindedly determined to show up her ex-husband. There’d been an endless march of new boyfriends and all the trouble they brought along, interspersed by the occasional volatile marriage, and always, always spiced with way too much drinking.
It was no wonder Lily had fallen so completely for the ideal fantasy Jones had created. What a crock.
At least Lily had been determined not to spiral the way her mother had. She’d been absolutely committed to calm stability for Everett, and she’d managed it so well that his entire life was one endless boring stretch after another, apparently.
Well, boring was exactly what he needed.
She craned her neck out into the hallway to listen for a moment, then quietly closed her door. After checking that her curtains were shut tight, she opened her closet. It was stuffed too tightly with clothes and piled high with the miscellanea of their lives.
She reached up and, careful to lift each ancient shoebox with precision and set them down just as quietly, unloaded the highest shelf in her closet until one box sat alone.
She eased it free, then sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the cardboard. A harmless pile of old receipts lay in a jumble, but she pawed those aside, digging until her fingers touched thicker paper.
The envelopes emerged with a whisper, just a few accumulated over the years. One had been postmarked from California. Two from Mexico. Another from Costa Rica. All were addressed to EJA, the initials Everett had been born with. They weren’t his initials now.
Lily had saved the cards, unsure whether she’d give them to him someday or hide them forever. But now she knew she should have destroyed them from the start. Even a hint of his father had brought Everett’s nightmares roaring back.
Maybe her instincts had been right after all. A child needed stability, not a constant push and pull of affection given and then removed.
And if Jones really did bring the police back into her home, she couldn’t have anything that would throw her story into doubt.
With a glance at the door, and a quick prayer that whatever he learned in the future, her son would forgive her, Lily began to tear up each card, and then the envelope it had come in. When she was done, she tore each piece smaller, then scooped them all up into a plastic shopping bag.
When Everett left for school the next day, she would open the rusted charcoal grill she’d inherited with the patio, and she’d burn it all.
CHAPTER 12
Everett’s hand shook as he cleaned up the lunch his mom had set out and put his orange juice glass in the sink. He was excited. Really excited. And a little scared.
Josephine was done with the dentist—No cavities!!! she’d messaged—and was on her bike now and heading over. This was happening.
“I’m meeting Josephine at the trail!” he called out.
“Have fun and be careful,” she responded, her normal parting caution, and then Everett was out the door and racing toward their meeting place at the dead end of the road. Josephine didn’t look nearly as excited as he did, but she waved and led the way into the meadow, whooping a little when she barreled up a small hill and raced down the other side.