“Okay, then,” she replied. Once she’d determined that Bryce had not been raped or otherwise harmed, she’d refrained from any additional questions, driving them home at a breakneck pace, wondering who to call first when they got there. Bryce had rolled her knees up to her chest and clung to them for most of the 60-plus miles home from Oklahoma City, had kept her face tipped against the bare, bent points of her legs, had wept quietly and heartbreakingly.
Trish had never heard her best friend cry in all the years they’d known one another. Not when Michelle had been in the hospital for slitting her wrists on three separate occasions, not when she’d been left alone or screamed at, called names, been slapped or shaken or had her head slammed against the table by her mother, not when Peter, the worst of Michelle’s many horrible boyfriends, had grabbed her crotch back when they’d been juniors in high school. To hear her do so now was one of the worst moments of Trish’s life.
“Bryce, sweetie,” she said, over and over, heart quaking against her ribs. She exited the interstate and turned left onto Highway 51 for two miles, made her way down the main street of Middleton and at last to the turnoff for the Wagon Box Court. She wound the car slowly around the lazy road. To Bryce she said softly, “Hey, we’re here.”
And then she saw cop cars. An ambulance. Bryce’s head was still tipped down, her face hidden. Trish clenched the wheel with her right hand, covered her mouth with the other. She braked too hard, lurching both of them forward. She said, from behind her left hand, “Oh my god. Oh, Bryce. Oh my god.”
Bryce lifted her head like someone underwater. She looked through the windshield at the scene happening in her driveway, blinked once in slow motion. Without a word she opened the passenger door and climbed out. Trish, eyes huge, was right behind her.
And Rae Taylor met them halfway down the sidewalk.
Bryce stared in confusion at this sight, first at the incongruity of someone from Rose Lake here in Middleton, second at Rae, who was always polished and picture-perfect, with her make-up streaking down her crumpled face.
Rae said, “Bryce, oh, Bryce, honey,” and reached for her, but Bryce moved around the woman, shaking her head, knowing without a doubt what Michelle had finally succeeded in doing. The ambulance was silent, its twin back doors gaping wide open. In its depths was a gurney and on top of that was a figure beneath a pale-blue blanket. As though hovering slightly above the scene, she noticed Gayle hunched on the front steps, tears streaming over her hardened face as she smoked.
From beside her, Trish wrapped both arms protectively around Bryce’s waist. Rae was on her other side and she was sobbing. She said, the words pouring out of her, “I came this morning…and she was…she was…on the kitchen floor. She was on the kitchen floor.”
It was barely 11:00 in the morning. A cop in a navy uniform asked, “You the daughter?”
Bryce nodded woodenly. She felt numb down every channel in her body. He added, “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to answer a few questions.”
She nodded again. She whispered, “Can I see her?”
The cop looked up at the EMTs, a man and a woman, in the back of the ambulance. One said, “If she wants.”
Bryce climbed slowly up, letting herself be helped by cop. At the last second she didn’t want him to, but it was too late and the EMT, clad in dark green scrubs, lifted the cover over her mother’s head. Bryce wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Michelle’s eyeliner was too dark, as usual. She smelled of cigarettes, face ashen, her jaw slack. Because the blanket covered the lower part of Michelle’s body, Bryce heard herself asking in a voice she would never have known as her own, “How did she do it?”
The EMT looking at Bryce with somber eyes. “Sleeping pills, best we can tell right now. I’m so sorry.” Then he replaced the cover softly.
***
Night fell and found Rae and Bryce together in a small, stuffy room at the Fremont Motel. The day had been exhausting; Bryce had talked with cops, a coroner, and a funeral director. Through it all she remained dry-eyed, her face and heart like stone. At last the most pressing tasks were done, and she was alone with Rae in the room as darkness crept in to erase the day, unable to relax even a fraction until Rae came to sit beside her and smooth her hair softly. Bryce pressed her face into the pillow, craving Matthew with every inch of her being. Rae’s gentle ministrations made her throat close off, and tears came pouring, no sobs yet, just rivers of tears from each eye.
“Bryce, sweetheart, I have to tell you something,” Rae said then, and her voice was low and almost nervous. “Can I?”
Bryce nodded. She knew that Rae had tried to call Wilder and Erica today, but hadn’t reached them, or left a message. Rae considered this the type of news to be delivered in direct conversation. She went on, “Michelle and I had a long talk on Friday, Bryce, about something she told me once a long time ago.” Bryce kept her face hidden, but Rae knew she was listening. She continued to stroke the girl’s gorgeous long hair. Rae drew a breath. “God, this is so difficult, Bryce.” Bryce rolled over then and studied her mother’s best friend through her tears, a woman whose make-up was ruined, who was wearing yesterday’s clothing, whose hair was unwashed and uncombed; she realized that in the shock of her mother’s death, she had no real idea why Rae Taylor was here in Middleton at all.
Rae locked her eyes on Bryce’s and then took her left hand in both of her own, holding tight to still the trembling there. “Bryce, my father…long ago, my father did a terrible thing.” She was determined to do this, no matter what it cost her to speak the words. “He raped your mom, Bryce, he raped Michelle, and in doing that, he made her pregnant with you.”
Bryce could only stare in bewilderment. Rae looked at the wall above the bed now, and continued, “He did that to her on Thanksgiving night of our senior year. I remember that night, he drove her home since my brother had been drinking. I don’t know all the details, Bryce, but Michelle told me that he thought she wouldn’t remember. And all these years she kept that horrible secret.”
Bryce remained silent; her hand in Rae’s was like ice. Rae squeezed her hands gently around Bryce’s. She continued, softly, “I came down here to find your mom, and we had a good talk, Bryce. If I thought for one second when I left on Friday that she would—that she would—”
Her voice sounded like sandpaper rubbing against ragged wood, but she must not let Rae carry that burden. “No, no…you can’t blame yourself,” Bryce managed to whisper. “She has tried…several times over the years.” Tears were spilling over Rae’s face and despite her earlier stillness, Bryce moved swiftly, sliding her arms around Rae’s neck and crumpling against her. Rae held her tightly, cupping the back of her head as they both wept. A long time passed before Bryce pulled back, her face blotched and aching, her eyes looking as though she’d been beaten. The purple bruise on her face stood out like a plum. She whispered, with a tone of slight awe, “You’re my sister, then.”
Rae nodded, managing a small smile at her. “Yes.”
“Thank you for telling me this,” Bryce whispered. “Michelle…”
“She’s at peace now,” Rae said, and believed with all of her heart that it was true. “The only thing left for you to do is find that, too, little one.”
Bryce felt her heart harden despite Rae’s sincerity. She said, “Please don’t call Wilder or Erica back. I don’t want them to know anything.” She turned away then, an aching tiredness claiming her limbs, and curled back into a defensive ball on the bed.
Rae watched, hurting for her, but instead of trying to convince her otherwise, simply said, “I’m going to take a shower, ok?”
She meant to tell Bryce about Matthew as soon as that was accomplished, but the girl was sleeping when she stepped out of the bathroom, and Rae smoothed Bryce’s hair, pulled the sheet over her shoulders and decided morning was soon enough. In the meantime, she knew she must call the Sternhagens, no matter what Bryce had said.
Chapter Twenty
Rose Lake, Minnesota – S
unday, July 2, 1995
It had just inched past midnight into Sunday and Matthew woke from a restless sleep. He instantly sat up straight, his hands aching, disoriented in the pitch-blackness of his bedroom.
“Shit,” he muttered, cradling his equally aching head. He hadn’t meant to sleep, but must have dozed off while sitting in his armchair. The light in the kitchen was on; he could see its glow around the edge of his closed door. He had planned to be on the road by now; had a bag packed and a note scribbled out to his brother and Erica. They would kill him, but they would understand…they had to understand why he must go. Furious at himself for wasting precious hours, Matthew rose and groped along the wall for his light switch. But seconds later he became aware of Erica’s voice from the kitchen. She was crying.
Heart thundering, he rounded the corner into the familiar room. What he saw made his insides seize up in fear. Erica was bent over her cupped hands, her shoulders shaking. Wilder was just hanging up the phone, and he turned to face Matthew then, his face drawn into an expression of absolute pain. Matthew was in front of Wilder in the next second though he didn’t recall his feet moving. He could barely make himself ask past the jagged knot of fear in this throat, “What is it?”
Wilder met his younger brother’s terrified eyes and whispered one word, “Shelly.”
Matthew wanted to shake him. He demanded, his voice low with fear, “What about her? Who were you talking to?” The thought that it might have been Bryce, that he had been so close to her voice, made his hands shake. He was sick with longing for her.
Wilder said, “She’s gone, Matthew. Shelly is gone.”
“What do you mean? Who was on the phone?” Matthew demanded again. Wilder sank to a chair, and Erica lifted her face and drew a breath, continuing for her husband when she sensed he could not.
“Matty,” she said to his stricken face. “That was Raellen Taylor. She’s in Middleton right now, with Bryce. They’re at a motel together. Rae…” Erica drew another breath and reached for Matthew’s left hand, catching him gently above his cast. She said, “Rae found Shelly yesterday morning. She…she took a bottle of sleeping pills.”
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I have to get to her. Oh God, she must be hurting so much…” Matthew bent to his knees and engulfed Erica in a hug. She hugged him hard, rubbing his back. She smelled like their supper, and tears. Moments later Wilder closed his arms around them both, and they clung for a long moment, until Matthew gently extracted himself and moved to sit on his chair. Wilder remained near his wife, his right arm strong around her shoulders.
“Matty, Erica,” Wilder said then. His face was pale. “There’s something else…”
“Wait,” Erica said. “Matty, I gave Bryce a note…”
He looked at her in confusion. “What?”
Erica’s eyes were red and troubled, but she drew herself together. “A note. I wrote it as though you had written it…”
He continued staring blankly at her. Erica rushed on, “I made it sound as though her going was what you wanted…I’m so sorry…”
Another wave of despair tried to break over his head, but Matthew resolved to stay calm from here on out. Despite the agony he felt over the hurt Bryce was experiencing right now and the desperation to get to her as fast as he could, he said softly, “Bryce knows better.” A momentary hope filled him and he turned to Wilder. “Can I call her? Do you have the number?”
“Rae said she was sleeping, and didn’t want to disturb her,” Wilder said gently. He was staring at his little brother with the strangest expression Matthew had ever seen. “Matty, I have to tell you something. It’s about…it’s about Dad.”
Two minutes later Matthew was up and running. He pit-stopped in his bedroom, grabbed something, and before Erica or Wilder could say another word he was pounding down the porch steps while they sat staring at one another in their kitchen as his truck fired to life outside. The faintest hint of a smile tipped up one corner of Wilder’s full lips. He said, “I guess he doesn’t want to join us on the plane, then.”
Erica, still in shock over the knowledge she had just gained, heard herself joke back, “He’ll probably beat us there anyway.”
***
Over a thousand miles away, Bryce drew up her knees to her chest and pressed her lips against them. Her eyes gleamed again with tears; it was early morning and silver-tinted light was just pressing behind the thin curtains of the motel room window. She squeezed herself as tightly as possible, trying to block out the memories of herself and Matthew in this very motel. But they flooded relentlessly anyway, and she struggled to breathe against the pain. She imagined his arms around her, putting her lips against his neck. She was ill with longing.
She felt the edge of her bed sag as someone sat down, but she could barely turn to face Rae. She didn’t want to think about anything but Matthew. Couldn’t Rae just leave her to the pain?
No, Bryce, no, she reprimanded herself harshly.
Rae whispered into the dim room, “Bryce, I have one more thing I have to tell you. It’s important, sweetheart.” Bryce rolled to her side and studied Rae’s face silently. Rae touched her cheek with soft fingertips and said, “Shelly told me something else a long time ago. She told me another secret that she’d kept for someone, and this one has to do with Matthew.” Bryce could not maintain her indifference and swallowed hard as Rae spoke his name. Her agonized expression made Rae’s heart clench like a fist. She rushed on, “I saw you two the night of Roger Christianson’s birthday, Bryce, I know you’re in love, and here’s the thing.” Rae drew a breath. “He’s not Daniel’s son. Matthew’s father was John Ryan. John was cheating on his wife all those years ago. Shelly overheard an argument between Lydia and John when she was 15. No one ever knew the truth but your mother and me…and now you.”
Bryce’s dark eyebrows drew together. She whispered faintly, “What?”
“I told Wilder everything last night. I hope you understand why I had to,” Rae said softly. She cupped her palm against Bryce’s face, tenderness welling within her.
“You mean…” Bryce pulled herself to one elbow and raked her other hand through her tangled hair. “You mean…” She was inarticulate with shock. Again, “You mean…”
“I mean, darling, that you can be with him. At least I can give you that gift, after all of these years of keeping that secret. Bryce, your mother knew that she treated you so terribly because of what happened, even if it wasn’t your fault in any way. I wish she could have told you that herself.”
Rae, her face devoid of make-up, her eyes puffy, with bruise-like shadows beneath, looked like an angel to Bryce. Her mind was whirling. She finally choked out, “But I hurt Matthew so much. I lied to him.”
Rae smoothed Bryce’s hair back from her stricken face. “He loves you, and he’ll be here as soon as he can, just you wait and see.”
Part Three: At Long Last
Chapter Twenty-One
Monday, July 3, 1995 – Middleton, Oklahoma
Rae had left to pick up Wilder and Erica at the airport. Bryce was alone in Trish’s house, alternately staring out the window and then at the telephone. She knew Matthew was driving here; she had talked to Wilder and Erica this morning, before they left. And so they knew the truth. And Matthew knew, and she was dying waiting for him to get here. Afternoon slipped quietly into evening; Trish got home and checked on Bryce, then proceeded to the porch to smoke.
And so it was Trish who first saw him coming up the walk, and she rose instantly to her feet. The expression in his ember-dark eyes made her step back, it was so intense. She said meekly, “She’s inside.”
He flashed up the steps and then…
From where she was curled on the couch, Bryce heard the front door open. She expected Trish to appear, but it was Matthew, and she whimpered, her heart coming alive again in her chest. He was so tall and achingly beautiful, in dusty jeans, motorcycle boots and a dark blue t-shirt, his dark hair pushed back beneath the blue bandana knotted aro
und his darkly-tanned forehead. He said, “Bryce,” in a ragged voice that made her start as though electrocuted. He was here.
“Oh, Matthew,” she whispered, and before she was even aware that she’d moved she was in his arms, against his huge, strong, solid chest, held so tight her ribs creaked. She choked on her sobs, her hands fisting around his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer, her entire frame shaking with the joy of the contact.
He rocked her side to side, tears streaming over his own face as he buried it against the side of her neck, one big hand cupping her skull as well as he could with the cast in the way, the other pressed against her lower spine, his heart aching at the sounds she was making. “Bryce, sweetheart, I’m here, I’m here,” he repeated, low and gentle, his mouth on her skin. “I will never let you go again.”
She wept as though still severed from him, unable to gain control for a long time. He carried her gently to the couch, cradled her on his lap and let the sobs subside into quiet shakes that at last settled into stillness. She lifted her face and whispered through a throat that felt lacerated, “You’re here.”
His eyes were so dark and luminous on hers, full of love and promise. She lifted her hands and cupped his face, her palms scratched by many days’ growth of stubble on his jaw, her fingers smoothing over his cheekbones, his eyebrows; with her right thumb she traced his full lower lip, unable to believe she was touching him again. More tears leaked over her face, her poor raw face, her swollen eyes and trembling lips. Matthew made a sound in his throat, tightened his arms around her.
“Aw, sweetheart,” he said, his own voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, Bryce. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here faster.”
“You’re here now,” she whispered, and because she couldn’t help herself, she leaned into his neck and breathed his scent, breathed him in like the only drug she needed in the world, both hands pressed against his chest. The last time she had been this close to him was in the parking lot of the Lodge, and she made a choked sound in her throat, hating the time between then and now when they’d been forced apart. “Matthew, Matthew, Matthew. I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, desperate to see his eyes. Cupping his face again she said, low and fervent, “I didn’t mean it when I said I wouldn’t marry you, you know that, right? I would marry you tonight, this very second.”
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