She shakes her head. “Finn, no. No.” She shudders violently, enough that my hand falls off her arm. “I fought. I was throwing my elbows and stomping and I probably looked like an angry giraffe”—a small, tortured smile breaks through—“but he let me go and I ran. Out of my room. Out of my house. I ran, without looking to see where I was going, until I couldn’t breathe anymore. Then I stopped and called you.” She glances at Brady, who has been completely silent with his hands still tucked into his pockets. His lips are pursed together tightly, his eyes reflecting the rage inside my body.
“Sleep at my house tonight,” Brady says. “You can’t go back there.”
“Your mom will die when she wakes up in the morning and sees me.”
“She won’t see you,” I assure her. “It’ll be my truck parked out front. We’ll sneak you out in the morning.”
Lennon agrees. She glances down at the sidewalk where she’d been sitting when I pulled up. There’s a sweatshirt balled up there, but nothing else. Bending, I reach down for it and tuck it under my arm.
“Come on.” With a hand around her elbow, I guide her into my truck. She scoots into the middle, and Brady climbs in the passenger side.
“Will you go to the police in the morning?” I ask as I turn on my truck and shift into drive.
She shrugs, and her shoulder rubs against mine. “What will that do for me? It’ll be my word against his. There’s no evidence of a struggle. He barely even touched me.”
I sigh. She’s right.
“You have to tell your mom.”
She nods. “I will.”
We get her settled at Brady’s. She takes his bed and we throw blankets on the floor. He grabs two pillows from the hall closet and tosses one to me. It doesn’t take long for Lennon to fall asleep. The events of the night have probably exhausted her.
Brady falls asleep soon after, and I lie there, listening to them both breath.
My mind races, and it’s not until sometime around three that I finally drift off.
18
Now
“Lennon,what are you doing here? Your mother’s service starts in fifteen minutes.”
Wilma’s voice comes from behind me in the hallway of the church offices. I turn around partially, my arms loaded down with the weight of the box I’m carrying.
“I have something for Pastor Thomas. I was just going to set it in his office.” Worry creeps into me. If the contents of this box were seen by anyone but Pastor Thomas, it would raise questions.
Wilma walks past me as fast as her old legs can carry her. She fishes keys from her oversized brown leather purse and unlocks the door, pushing it open for me to walk through.
I smile gratefully at her and walk in. Setting the box at Pastor Thomas’ door, I try the handle, expecting this to be locked too. Relief fills me when it turns and clicks.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I tell Wilma, who’s standing beside her desk, watching me curiously.
Once I’m in the office, I pull out his desk chair and push the box beneath his desk. There is no note to go with it, nothing to identify what is inside. The second he lifts the lid, he will know what he’s seeing.
“Lennon?” Wilma’s voice trickles in. “Everything okay in there?”
“Yep,” I call, pushing the chair back in as far as it will go.
I leave the office just in time to see Wilma grab a hat off her desk and slide it into her massive purse.
“Is that Elliot’s hat? It’s cute. It must be her thing.”
Wilma gives me a weird look, so I attempt to explain. “Hats, I mean. Hats are herthing. She wears them all the time, doesn’t she?"
“Ah, yes, she does.” Wilma fishes Elliot’s hat from her bag. “Hats are Ellie’s thing because they cover her halo wig.”
“Halo wig?”
