His lips are on my neck again, grazing, his fingers moving over me so deliciously, I can’t help it any longer—I let out a moan. “Don’t stop.”
A snapping branch jolts us both, causes Luke to pull away hishand, the sudden absence of which makes me want to cry.
My heart leaps in my throat. Who is out here with us?
Then I see her, at the end of the lane, scowling.
Mom.
“The hell do you think you’re doing out here, young lady?” She’s marching toward me, fists swinging by her side.
Luke steps away. “We were just—”
“You stay out of this,” she hisses.
He jams his hands in his back pockets, but thank God, he doesn’t budge.
Mom’s shaking as she reaches for me, wrenches me close. “Answer me!” she practically screams.
Luke clears his throat, tries to step toward us, but Mom turns on him. “You get out of my sight. Right now! Go to your shed.”
“Uh—”
“Now!” Mom snaps.
He ambles away, shooting me one last glance before he leaves.
“I didnotraise you to be a whore!”
“Ha! You’re one to talk!” I spew at her, thinking about her fight with Pa, the way she threw herself at Mr. Andersen in the store.
“What are you talking about?” she yells through clenched teeth, the bandanna on her head soaked in sweat. But there’s recognition in her eyes, too.
“Oh, don’t play coy, Mom. Not with me. I know what you’ve been doing with Mr. Andersen—” I don’t even get the rest of my words out… Her palm strikes my cheek, swiftly, landing hard.
I stagger back a few feet.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. And don’t try to change the subject. IsawLuke’s hands up your dress, saw what y’all were doing. You stay up in your loft, young lady; you aregrounded.”
“My ass, I’m grounded. You can’t control me anymore. I’m old enough—” Another slap silences me. This one is much harder.
“It’s for your own good. But you know what?” Mom tosses her hands up in the air, like a deranged person, and says, “What do I care? You’re just like her. Awhore.”
She turns to leave, but I claw at her arm, even get a little skin under my nails.Good. “Who, Mom? Who are you talking about?” I screech back at her.
A venomous grin creeps across Mom’s face; I’ve never seen her look uglier than she does in this moment. “Yourmother.”
My mother? What the hell is she talking about?
“What the hell are you talking about?” I repeat, this time out loud.
She scoffs, toes the ground, kicks up a clump of dirt. “She was a whore, too. You’rejustlike her.”
I feel like someone’s grabbed me by the ankles, is dangling me upside down, shaking me. “You’re aliar.”
“Ha! I wish.” She shakes her head slowly, that wicked grin still slithering across her face. “Jane, didn’t you ever wonder why you don’t look like me? Or your sister? Why, you know, you look—”
“Pretty?” I fire at her.
