Two days ago, she’d banged around in his laundry room until he’d appeared. He’d spoken to her politely, but his face had been guarded and he’d kept the interaction brief. Yesterday, she’d joined him in his garden. After twelve minutes of small talk, he’d nodded to her the same way he’d nod to a stranger passing on the sidewalk, and left.
She’d known, when she’d launched herself at him, that she was recklessly crossing a line. In that moment, though, the recklessness had added to the spontaneous exhilaration.
Only now did she fully realize just how important the line between them had been to Sam. And how much she’d put at risk when she trampled over it.
She missed him. More than was logical or wise. She wanted to spendrealtime with him havingrealconversations. Combine missing him with the rough patch she’d hit in the writing of her study this week, and her mental state had been backsliding.
She’d made it to day sixty-five. More dopamine was supposed to be flooding back! Only twenty-five days left and she’d hit that crucial ninety-day goal.
Overall, she could acknowledge that she was improving. That said, the improvement wasn’t like a consistent upward-slanting diagonal line. There were dips in her line. This week was a dip. This week she’d said “Not today, Satan” several times each day. She’d cried in the shower again last night, then put herself to sleep on wistful memories of how heavenly she’d felt when taking Oxy.
Oxy was her enemy. But, unfortunately, it didn’t always feel that way. When she was at her lowest, Oxy seemed like a long-lost friend.
“Here’s Russell’s arrest record,” Natasha said.
Genevieve had expected one arrest to pop up—from Russell’s fistfight with Angus. Instead, she saw that Russell had just as many arrests as did Angus. Four. All for misdemeanor battery. “I’m surprised to see so many.”
“I am, too.” Natasha frowned. After a moment, she indicated the final entry. “This arrest occurred the same day as Angus’s arrest. Early spring, 1983. So as we suspected, this is when they fought each other. Russell’s first arrest would date back to his final year of high school and the middle two would have happened during his college years.”
“If Russell was arrested four times, we can guess that he was probably in several other fights he didn’t get arrested for,” Genevieve said.
“No wonder he fought back when the Shoal Creek Killer attacked.”
“No wonder. So . . . what else can we find out about Angus?”
“I don’t know. I’ve already looked him up on genealogy sites and social media sites and come up empty. If I can think of anything else to try, I will.”
“And I’ll see if I can find anything online about Mom and Dad’s years in Savannah.”
“Will you be conducting that research before or after mooning over Sam?”
“Natasha! Can you please take pity on me and not mention his name?”
“Sam,” she said, clinking her coffee mug with Genevieve’s. “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.”
The following Saturday, Genevieve created a scene.
The scene was not premeditated. In fact, it snuck up on Genevieve and surprised her the way a lioness surprises a gazelle.
Anna had asked for the first shift at today’s Fall Fun Day. Her request had included something about a cute boy, plans to go to Amicalola Falls, and the wordplease. Genevieve had told Anna she’d happily take the second shift. Thus, she’d slept late and was catching up on Instagram when Anna’s text arrived.
There are a lot of people here to see you.
Two seconds later, Anna added,Bible study people.
Genevieve, still in her pajamas, sprinted to the cottage’s tiny bathroom to begin her morning prep.
She’d taken time during the last Fall Fun Day to stage shots of the event that showcased just the right mix of charm and farmhouse chic. She’d shared the photos on her platforms and mentioned how much she’d enjoyed volunteering. In each case, she’d tagged Sam’s accounts (which she’d been working to bolster) and informed her followers of the day and time of the next Fall Fun Day.
Her intention: to give the farm a boost.
At no time had she mentioned that she’d be present at today’s event. Unless she was participating in an event that offered securityforethought, she didn’t announce her future plans online. Maybe it was her mother’s influence, but she was savvy enough—or anxious enough—to understand that if she announced to the world that she was planning to eat dinner at Pizza Hut in Misty River, she should then expect a gunman with religious views different from hers to show up at Pizza Hut in Misty River.
It sounded like her “Bible study people” had made their way to today’s event just in case she showed.
After finishing her makeup and dressing in a pale blue sweater, a long necklace, and jeggings tucked into boots, she hurried toward the farm stand. Thirty or more people were milling about. She could see at a glance that Sam wasn’t among them.
Sam.
