The Story Thus Far
Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.
Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.
Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.
Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.
Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops.
For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page.
For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.
And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…
by Rachael Yukey
You’ll never know
My life means everything
Still I scream because
There’s nothing left to do until the end
The world goes on
With all that I’ve become
And still I scream inside
Though all the pain I’ve taken hasn’t changed
Halford, 2001
Hannah let out a deep sigh of relief as her eyes fell upon Nettie. Her tall, dark-haired lover was seated on the river bank, bare toes in the icy water, idly flipping rocks at the placid surface. Nettie turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps, squinting in the glare of the sun, which was still making its ascent through the haze of the dawning sky.
“There you are,” said Hannah. “Everyone was kind of wondering where you’d got off to.” Lowering herself to the ground, she slipped an arm around Nettie’s waist.
Nettie shrugged. “Thought I’d watch the sun rise from here.”
Hannah snorted, the corners of her mouth curling upwards. “The sun is behind you, dummy. And your toes are gonna freeze off if you leave ’em in there much longer.”
“It feels good.” Nettie turned to face her, the ghost of a smile on her lips. But there was no real humor in it, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
The smile faded from Hannah’s lips. “Antoinette—talk to me. I know there’s something bothering you. Will you let me help?”
Nettie turned her gaze back towards the river, spinning another rock out across the sun-dappled surface. It struck about halfway across, disappearing with a slash of water and a dull plopping sound.
“I can’t make ‘em skip anymore,” Nettie lamented. “When I was eight or so, I used to come out here all the time with—you know, a friend. We’d skip rocks for hours. Can’t do it now.”
“Antoinette.”
Nettie sighed heavily. “I’m okay, Hannah. I… I just didn’t sleep that well last night. It happens sometimes. I—” And then she was weeping, sobs wracking her body with explosive force.
“Whoa—hey.” Caught completely off-guard, Hannah moved her arm from Nettie’s waist to her shoulders, pulling her in tight. Nettie buried her face in Hannah’s flaming red hair. “Hey—I’m here.”
“Yo, Hannah, where’d you go?” Cindy’s voice. “Don’t wander too far, these woods go deep! I’m sure Nettie’s right along the river somewhere.”
“I’m good!” Hannah quickly called back. “I’m with Antoinette now. We’ll be along in a few.”
Cindy seemed to catch the hint. “Um, okay, then.”
“Shhh,” Hannah whispered, stroking Nettie’s hair. “It’s okay, just let it out. I’m here.”
Nettie’s head lifted, a hand impatiently dashing tears from her face. Her cheeks were still wet. “Hannah, I’m sorry.” Her voice was just barely above a whisper.
“For what?”
“You didn’t sign up for this. I’m damaged goods, Hannah, and I didn’t tell you that. This isn’t— it’s not fair to you.” She doubled over in a fresh fury of weeping.
“You can just take that idiotic notion and bury it at sea,” Hannah said firmly, squeezing Nettie’s heaving shoulders. “You think I didn’t know you’ve got skeletons? You think I’m any different? I was suicidal when I was pregnant with Bethany.”
Nettie’s head lifted, her tear-streaked face turned towards Hannah’s drawn, serious one. “Wait— what?”
Hannah shifted her gaze to the treeline on the opposite side of the river, bright with the fresh green of spring. “I was a fifteen-year-old, pregnant, in-denial lesbian. My dad was furious that I was knocked up, and threatening to kick me out of the house. My mom hated it, but wouldn’t intervene. Even worse, I’d just ended up getting myself off front of my younger cousin, then helping her do the same. I was a hundred percent sure I was going to hell for that.”
She released a shuddering breath, close to tears herself. “Add that to some fucked-up pregnancy hormones, and I used to lie awake at night, crying, going over a hundred different ways to just end it all. I couldn’t turn it off. The only thing that stopped me from doing it was a sense of responsibility to that little life growing inside of me.”
Nettie was still sniffling, but the worst of the crying fit appeared to have run its course. She was looking at Hannah as if seeing her for the first time. “Hannah—I’m sorry. That’s the worst thing ever.”
A single, humorless laugh escaped Hannah’s throat. “No. No it isn’t. Whatever happened to you—that’s worse. Somehow I know that, even if you won’t tell me what it is.” Nettie gazed back into the murky depths of the river, saying nothing.
“Whatever,” Hannah said after a moment’s silence. “If you don’t want to talk right now, that’s okay. I’m going to have to find out eventually—I think you know that. But Antoinette: don’t ever think you know what is or isn’t fair to me. Because we’re all fucked up. Life is short, pain is everywhere, and if we’re not here to hold onto each other and help each other through it, I don’t even want to know what it’s all for. You hear me?” There was deep sorrow in her voice, though her eyes remained dry.
“Come on, now. I want you in the car with the heat blowing. All it takes is a glance to know you didn’t sleep a wink last night, and I don’t even want to know how long you’ve been sitting out here. I’ll tell the girls you’re not feeling good—that’s true, in its way. I’ll help them pack up.”
Lurching to her feet, she tugged on Nettie’s hands. Nettie rose, swaying like a zombie, and allowed Hannah to lead her back towards the camp.
***
The monster hovers over the two girls, gazing down at them with the barest hint of a grin. He’s been standing there like that, motionless, for almost two full minutes. Gina is sobbing uncontrollably. Tears track Heather’s cheeks, tears she can’t restrain, but she refuses to squirm, flinch, or make a sound. This evil bastard wants them afraid. She is afraid, mortally so, but does everything in her power to avoid letting him see it.
***
Diary of Malory Kalvornek, June 6th, 2022
Of course, I slept way later than everyone else—it’s what I do. I’m alone in the tent. I can hear voices and movement from outside, but can’t make out what anyone is saying. I should probably drag my ass out of the sleeping bag and go help tear down the camp, but I’m enjoying these few moments of peace and solitude.
The past two days have been a whirlwind. The drive to Bronning, the party, the party AFTER the party, the fishing/camping expedition—and oh my God, the sex.
Julie and I don’t step out sexually as much as we used to. It’s been over a year since we’ve participated in group activities of any description, and better than two years since I’ve had sex with a man. And now both of those things have happened, in the space of only two nights! I kind of missed it, letting my freak flag fly like that.
I’m pumped and eager to take on the rest of the summer! Even though our sojourn to Bronning was unplanned and not what we really wanted to do for the first few days of our vacation, it turned out to be exactly what Julie and I needed. Sequestered in the ivory tower of university life, you don’t realize how much you miss the simple things. Camping with the girls, fresh fish over an open fire. Vodka and Sprite!
On the flip side of the coin: I’m worried about Nettie. My post-coital conversation with Terry Wilder made it clear that she still isn’t over the traumatic events of her childhood, and then last night—she was out of sorts in some weird way, after Emma signed off and we were getting settled in. I’m not the only one who noticed; I overheard Hannah ask if she was okay. Nettie said she was, but I’m not sold.
I’d love to spend another day and night on the river, but it’s not going to happen that way. Cindy goes on two weeks of night shift starting this evening, and Hannah has to be at the hospital for surgery this afternoon. We’re gonna go back to Nettie’s place, get cleaned up, and then decide if we’re sticking around Bronning for one more night or heading out.
Speaking of which: it’s time to get my lazy ass moving. It won’t be long until the girls want to start tearing down the tent, and I know from experience that Julie and Cindy are not above doing so with me still inside if they get fed up waiting for the little blonde butterfly to emerge from her cocoon.
***
“Hey, sweetie, we’re heading out.” It was just after noon. Julie stood in the doorway to Nettie’s bedroom, her tall frame silhouetted by the hallway light, arm outstretched with a hand on the doorframe. Hannah had left for the hospital half an hour earlier.
Nettie forced a smile. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I had a great time.” That much was true, at least until the previous night’s sudden rush of long-suppressed memory overloaded every synapse in her brain.
“Sorry you got sick,” Julie ventured, her voice tentative. There were all manner of things unsaid in that voice.
“It happens,” said Nettie. She really was sick, too. Several nights of poor sleep combined with the previous evening’s alcohol had caught up with her. She’d already hurled once, and her stomach was still doing lazy barrel rolls.
“I cleaned the rest of the fish,” Julie went on, “and Mal bagged ‘em up and put ‘em in your freezer. I’ll catch more later this week with Dad, so enjoy.”
Mallory came up behind Julie, ducking nimbly under her arm to enter the room. “Nettie,” she said. “Listen. I know we haven’t been in touch all that often over the past few years. But we’re still here for you if you need us—you know that, right? Nothing’s changed.”
A smile came to Nettie’s lips; a real one this time. “Thanks. But I’m okay; I just need to get some rest.”
Slipping past Mallory, Julie came to the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss Nettie’s forehead. “Be well, hon. We’ll be seeing you.”
Mallory came forward, sat on the edge of the bed, and looped her arms gently over Nettie’s shoulders. “We love you. Don’t forget that.”
Exiting the room just behind Julie, Mallory paused, then turned. “Nettie, I’m just going to say it. You should open up to Hannah. She really cares about you, I can tell.” She gave a hesitant smile, then closed the door behind her.
Nettie allowed her head to collapse onto the pillow, wincing at the bolt of pain that lanced from one end of her cranium to the other. “Fuck,” she grunted. She was grateful to finally be alone, and unsure what she wanted to do more: sift through the welter of recovered memories, or shove them so far back into her subconscious they never resurfaced again.
Then her phone chimed. Managing to be both annoyed at the intrusion and grateful for the distraction, she plucked it from the nightstand. The text message was from DEA agent Bridgett Ramscone. Call me when you have a moment, please.
This was how her loose association with the DEA had gone thus far. Bridgett contacted her when she ran into something her regular agents couldn’t figure out, then Nettie pored over the evidence. She’d discovered a heretofore untapped detective’s instinct; an ability to separate the wheat from the chaff, and once in a while strike gold.
Bridgett had offered her a more active, full-time role, but Nettie had refused. EMS was less a job than a mission to her, and much as she hated some aspects of the work, she was nowhere near ready to walk away from it.
Nettie almost let it go; she was tired, sick to her stomach, and her head hurt. Then it dawned on her that Bridgett usually used email rather than text to discuss assignments. Intrigued, she hit the call button, putting the phone on speaker and setting it back on the bedside table. Right then, the effort of holding it to her ear seemed more than she could handle.
“Hello, Nettie.” Bridgett’s voice was brisk and businesslike. When they had personal matters to discuss, she used terms of endearment and a casual tone. “Got time today to look something over for me?”
Nettie sighed. “Time I’ve got, but it’s not a great day for it, Bridgett. I’ve got a touch of some bug or other.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” said Bridgett, her tone softening a little. “That sucks. But, well—this one is kind of hot. Time-sensitive. We’re participating with the FBI on this because there’s a drug angle that goes with it, but I’m not in charge, and I had to go through eight different kinds of hell to get clearance to show it to you.”
Nettie let out a heavy sigh. “Okay—fine. But I’ll tell you straight-out I’m not on top of my game at the moment. What’ve you got?”
There was a long silence on the other end, a hesitation that wasn’t like Bridgett Ramscone at all. Nettie was just about to ask if everything was all right when the DEA agent finally spoke again. “Before I send you the files,” said Bridgett, “there’s a reason I wanted to talk to you on the phone first. This one might be—well—a little triggering.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning—Nettie, I delved all the way into your background as soon as I learned you had an association with Terry Wilder, before that first interview we had. Which means that among other things, I’m aware of a pretty horrible incident that took place when you were ten years old. This case—it looks very much like that one. Almost frighteningly so. Which is why I bent over so far backwards to get you access to the evidence. But if you can’t do it, if you want to skip over this one, I completely understand.”
Nettie was aware of her hands balling into tight fists, nails digging into her palms. This was a place she simply. Did not. Go. The only times she ever talked about her dead sister Annamarie was with her mother, and they never, ever discussed the incident that had taken her life. She wasn’t trying to bury Anna’s memory, but she couldn’t bear to face the curiosity of others. It always brought back horrible flashes of incomplete memories, and unleashed terrifying nightmares.
She finally found her voice, but couldn’t quite keep it steady. “And what makes you think I’d have some special insight?”
“Because the case we’re on now looks a lot like that one—enough so that I have to wonder if they’re somehow related. I mean, it obviously wasn’t carried out by the original perp; Jacob Brentshaw was murdered in prison a little over a year ago. But we have the same situation: two little girls and their babysitter gone missing while their parents are out. The babysitter is then found dead. House left tidy and untouched, nothing stolen or damaged. Rural environment, ample surrounding woodlands.
“That was Brentshaw’s MO, after all. Always two girls close in age, always alone with a babysitter who was murdered out of hand, always a rural setting. The murder was even conducted the same way Brentshaw always killed the sitter; a knife through the pericardium from behind.”
Nettie’s heart thumped in her ears. Beads of sweat were breaking out on her forehead.
“Bridgett, I—how could you even ask me?”
“I wouldn’t have, except that the girls went missing only about thirty hours ago. You and Annamarie were missing for over a week, and still alive when you were located. The only break in the MO is that the perp did a sloppy job of hiding the sitter’s body; they found her right away. Listen to me, Nettie: those girls might very well still be alive, so if we can figure out where this asshole has gone to ground, we might be able to save them both. I wouldn’t have even thought about laying this on you otherwise.”
“Jesus.” Nettie let out a shaky breath.
“Nettie, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. You were borderline catatonic when you were found, and drowning in pneumonia to boot. You ended up in the hospital with a tube down your throat, and afterwards nobody was able to get anything resembling a proper statement out of you. Understandable enough, given your age and what you went through. But what I need to know now is how much you remember.”
Nettie rested her fingertips on her aching forehead. “If we know it isn’t the same guy, how will my fucking memories matter? Even if it’s a copycat crime, the perp will only know what was released in the press, and can only copy that much of it. Right?”
“Well—” Bridgett hesitated. “Not necessarily. One idea that’s been proposed is that it’s someone who knew Brentshaw. The other—” Nettie could hear her blowing her breath out, then taking another. “What I’m really wondering is if there may have been another party involved in the previous crimes. I’m hesitant to even tell you this, but one of the last things your sister said was ‘those bad people’. People, plural. But she was delirious, and no other evidence of a second person was ever found. Brentshaw denied it when asked. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the case.”
Nettie’s whole body was shaking. Part of her wanted to cry, needed the release, but the tears refused to come. Just this horrible tightening of her stomach and chest, and tremors that gripped her from head to toe. “I—” It was all she could manage to get out.
“Please, Nettie,” said Bridgett. “I know this is the worst thing I could possibly do to you, and I’ll understand if we never hear from you again. But if these cases are by some slim chance connected, and you can dredge up any memories that might help us find that connection, it’s not impossible that we can save two lives. Young lives, girls who deserve what was stolen from Annamarie—and from you, for that matter. Anything you remember might help.”
“Gimme a second.” Nettie pressed both palms against her eyes as she searched her mind, trying to conjure up memories she’d spent a lifetime doing her damndest to suppress. It seemed, now that she actively thought about it, that the wellspring of unlocked remembrances that flooded her mind the previous evening only included her time in Bronning, not the horror show that had preceded it. All that remained were the terrifying flashes of imagery that still plagued her nightmares.
“I—I honestly don’t remember much,” she said, her voice little more than a harsh whisper. “Just, you know, fragments of things. I can’t even really put a face on that fucker anymore, you know? I remember the son of a bitch in our house, knocking Anna down and threatening to beat her with something if I didn’t cooperate. Then I remember us in a different place, a kind of rundown one.”
“The abandoned mobile home you were found in,” said Bridgett.
“Right, okay. I remember a lot of screaming—Anna, I think. Blood. I remember being hit, and someone’s face right in mine, telling me to shut the fuck up. More than once, I’m pretty sure. And then—” she hesitated, desperately racking her brain for details. She couldn’t shake the thought of those two little girls out there, held captive by some creepy sadist. For the first time in her life, she wanted those repressed memories.
She pressed both fists to her forehead. “Fuck—I’m just getting different versions of those same things, like they happened more than once in different ways. Nothing’s very clear, Bridgett. I do have a vague image of the SWAT team busting in, and I remember Anna getting loaded onto the ambulance. That’s the one thing—” she hesitated, sniffling. Now the tears were close, and she didn’t want to start bawling her head off while still on the phone with Bridgett.
“Fuck,” she said again, getting some semblance of a grip on herself. “That’s the one part of it that’s always been crystal clear. But that doesn’t matter, does it? It was over by then.”
“No, that part’s well-documented,” Bridgett replied, her tone gentle. Nettie clenched her jaw, hating the pity she could hear in that voice. “I do have an immediate question. When he was in your house, knocking Anna down and threatening her to make you cooperate, where was your babysitter? Had he already been killed? Do you remember any of that?”
Nettie searched her mind, but that part remained stubbornly blank. “No. I see where you’re going with that—you’re wondering if, maybe, a second person took care of the sitter?”
“Exactly.”
“I—I’m sorry, Bridgett. I can’t remember.” Then a thought struck her. “You said there’s a drug angle here. What’s that about?”
“Oh—the sitter had cannabis and psychedelics in her system, is all. Most likely completely unrelated to the kidnapping and murder, but it’s the only reason I’m even aware of the case. We’re supposed to be just looking into that aspect, but when I saw what we were dealing with—”
Bridgett trailed off, then took another deep breath. “Nettie, will you look at the case files if I send them to you? Also—and I’m even more hesitant to ask this—the files surrounding your own kidnapping, and Anna’s death. I’ll redact the pictures of her body, because you really don’t need to see those, but the rest of it might spark some memories that could help. I’d like to send you that, along with the files for Brentshaw’s other crimes. It’s a horrible thing to ask of you for a pretty slim chance at a result, I know that, but it’s the only thing I can think to do.”
Nettie trailed her fingernails down her cheeks. Her shivering had ceased, and the horrible, unhinged feeling of being cut adrift was fading. Deep within, like a lump in her gut, was the steely surge of something darker. It was hard, cold anger, and she welcomed it.
“Send it,” she said, her voice still husky, but now with an undertone of iron. “All of it. Including Anna’s postmortems.”
“Nettie—those pictures are not pleasant. Are you sure?”
“If I see her injuries, maybe I’ll be reminded of how she got them.”
“Okay.” Was there a tremor in Bridgett’s voice? Nettie had never known the DEA agent to be anything other than calm, competent, and utterly poised when on duty. “I’m so sorry, Nettie. But we have to take our best shot at saving those two missing girls. Thank you.”
“Just send them along, okay? I’ll go over all of it, and get back to you with what I think, whether I remember anything or not.” Reaching over to where the phone lay, Nettie swiped the red button to break the connection, then batted the device with the edge of her hand, sending it sailing off the nightstand to land facedown on the carpet.
Then the tears came, hot, violent and full of vitriol. Not tears of sorrow, but of rage. Rage for what had been taken from her, from her precious sister, and from all the other girls whose lives that fucking monster had taken over the years. Rage for the two who were now missing, and the teen babysitter whose body was most likely being wept over by devastated parents at this very moment.
Then she got hold of herself. Those two little girls are out there this very minute, suffering who knows what. You don’t get to have a crisis right now, bitch. Ignoring the throbbing in her temples, she got to unsteady feet, snatched up her glasses, and made her way into the living room. Sinking into her dad’s old recliner, she took her laptop from the end table, rested it on her thighs and opened the lid. She fired up the browser.
There was an email from Bridgett, sent less than thirty seconds ago. She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, nudging the glasses up her forehead as she steeled herself for the worst. Taking a deep breath, she clicked on the link.
***
Callused, thick-veined hands rest on Heather’s shoulders, those dead blue eyes boring into hers. Heather is trembling violently, but wills herself to display no other overt signs of fear. Even the tears have ceased to fall. The touch is light at first, but then the fingers begin to squeeze. Her eyes begin to tear from pain as the pressure increases. She bites her tongue to keep from crying out.
Then a cellphone chimes. The horrid pressure continues for another moment, then the beast lets go and backs away, his eyes never wavering from hers. Resisting the urge to sag against the wall, Heather stares right back at him. Finally he tips her a wink, plucks his cellphone from his pocket, and turns away. After the shed door has closed and the padlock clicks into place, Heather curls up in a ball on the cold, dirty floor and sobs.
***
“You might as well stop reading, love,” said Mallory. “I can’t focus right now.”
Plucking a bookmark from the dash, Julie tucked it into the paperback and laid it on the console between them. She rested a hand on her partner’s thigh, watching the pine forest flash by on either side as they cruised down the freshly-paved but remote stretch of county highway.
Then she shifted her gaze to Mallory. “You okay?”
Mallory pursed her lips. “Yeah.” Signaling left, she tapped the brakes, decelerating into the curve immediately preceding her next turn. As she swung the Buick Encore onto the wider, well-shouldered asphalt of State Highway 210, she spared a glance at Julie, flashing her a wan smile. “I’m kinda worried about Nettie, is all.”
“You and me both. But I think you more than me. Is there something I don’t know yet?”
“It’s not anything I know, exactly. But I had a drink and a chat with Terry Wilder right after, you know—”
“Right after you had your brains fucked out? How was that, by the way?”
Mallory grinned. “Let’s just say that that man has the right tool for the job, and he knows exactly how to use it. Was Halee fun?”
“You missed out, sweetie. She was a treat. But you were saying? After the invasion of the almighty weiner?”
Mallory’s grin faded. “We talked a little about what happened to Nettie when she was ten. Terry knows about it, but not from her. They’ve been friends for three years, but she’s never once brought it up.”
The back end of a rusty seed drill loomed ahead on the road, towed at a sedate pace by an antiquated Allis-Chalmers. Letting off the gas, Mallory let the car drift a little to the left, craning her neck to see around the slow-moving machinery. Then she gunned the engine, pulling out into the other lane and accelerating smoothly.
Julie waved at the farmer on the open-platform tractor as they flashed by, getting a wave in return. Then she turned her attention back to Mallory. “You said ‘friends’. Woman’s intuition tells me there’s more to it than that.”
Mallory chuckled. “Yeah, I asked him about that. Terry said they’ve been more than friends off and on, but that it’s permanently behind them now. He described her as a difficult person to maintain a relationship with, and I kind of believe that. He also seems worried that she’s going to mess up the thing with Hannah.”
Julie nodded slowly. “I don’t think Hannah knows about Annamarie.”
“I don’t either. Like I said, Nettie’s never once told Terry about it, and she’s known him for quite a while now. He learned about it from other sources.”
Julie snorted. “How could he not? Bronning is pretty much exactly like Dickson.”
“Yeah. But did you see Nettie this morning? I don’t think she’s really sick. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all, and I’m pretty sure she’d been crying.”
“I noticed that, too. Are you thinking maybe hanging out with us and Cindy, then throwing Emma into the mix—I don’t know—”
“Triggered something? That’s exactly what I think. She was fine all day, but she got kinda weird when we were bedding down for the night. Hannah saw it too; I overheard her asking if everything was okay. And of course, Nettie brushed it off. But yeah—she hasn’t been with all of us together since she went home to Bronning all those years ago. I think it sparked something, and she’s having a hard time dealing with it.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I guess what I’m struggling with is the thought that we should have tried to do more after she left, and maybe should try to do more now.”
Julie made a face. “I’ve had that thought myself—hell, we’ve discussed it, you and me. But I also know there’s only so much we could do, then or now. We’re not here, y’know?”
That sad little smile had returned to Mallory’s face. “I do know. Terry told me the same thing, when I said some of this to him the other night. But I still feel bad. We’ve been so blessed, Julie. It kills me that Nettie is still dealing with this after all these years.”
Julie gave Mallory’s shoulder a squeeze. “I know. I feel the same. But I get the idea Terry said something that has you more worried than usual.”
“He says Nettie still has nightmares, really bad ones. That when she’s having them, she drinks a lot more. And that’s when she starts pushing people away. I get the idea it’s what nuked their relationship.”
Mallory heaved a shuddering sigh. “I know what you’re going to say—the hour is late, and our tools are limited. And I know you’re right. There’s not much we can do for Nettie right now. But I think we should make it a point to see her a couple more times before the summer is over. What do you say?”
“Sounds like a great idea. Speaking of which—did you get in touch with your mom?”
Mallory rolled her eyes. “She finally texted me back, just before we got rolling. Think we can make lunch in Alexandria tomorrow? She said she’d treat us at Longtrees, but if you’d rather hang out with your folks, I get it. It’s not like she gave us a lot of notice.”
“Actually—” Julie hesitated a moment. “I think you should go alone.”
“Not sure I want to.”
“You’ll never find out what’s up if you don’t talk to her. And she’s less likely to open up with an extra there. Whatever happened between you two, it might be your best chance to find out what it is and fix it.”
Mallory snorted. “Because I’m sure gonna do that in a restaurant, at lunch hour.”
“Get a corner booth. Maybe you can even make arrangements to hang out somewhere more private. She’s your mother; she can’t avoid you forever unless you let her.”
“I know it, I just—I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Fine. I’m kind of pissed. Whatever this is, she’s just turned all bitchy instead of talking to me about it.”
“Hmmm—maybe I should go along. I’m kind of pissed on your behalf. Maybe I’ll throw a little bit of my own bitchiness at her.”
That elicited a smile. Chuckling, Mallory shook her head. “Fine, damn you. I’ll go by myself. Last thing I need is you throwing the Patented Julie Hansen Bitchslap down on Mom.”
Now there was laughter in the car, draining away most of the tension. Julie was slow to anger, but when her temper finally blew, the results could be epic indeed. Her full-fury childhood assault on Floyd Peterson had been something of a local legend.
“You better now?” she inquired.
“Yeah, I think so,” Mallory replied. “You can read to me some more. Just be a dear and back up a paragraph.”
Soon to come: Chapter Seven!
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