What's Left Unsaid

by Emily Bleeker

  When Hannah told the story to Laura during their e-therapy session the next day, she felt the weight of her growth. She’d called her at Pam’s insistence the Monday after Thanksgiving, when Hannah was finding it impossible to get out of bed. They were on a twice-a-week phone-session schedule until Hannah and her mother made it back to Chicago. She’d almost forgotten how healing therapy could be.

  “I have to tell you, Hannah, when you left for Mississippi and I didn’t hear from you, I was worried. I thought there could be backsliding. And it sounds like there were struggles, but that overall you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. Well, can you say it? Are you proud of yourself?”

  Hannah used to find it uncomfortable when Laura would express feelings about Hannah’s work in therapy and when she’d be encouraged to say positive things about herself. She still had so much to work on, but Hannah could acknowledge that she was making a hard but good choice to help correct an error she’d made that hurt Guy, rather than hiding from it. She’d left Alex and effectively cut off her addiction at the source by blocking him electronically on every platform imaginable.

  She’d found a connection with her mother, who still drove her absolutely insane but also turned out to be a really great shoulder to lean on. And she’d found the inner strength to make the most important decision of all, to change the path of her life story so it could be different from Evelyn’s. She’d made the choice to live.

  It wasn’t easy to say out loud, but today it felt okay to agree.

  “Yeah.” She nodded, looking at herself on the small frame in the corner of the screen. “I’m really proud.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “Here, you can use mine.” Monty passed Hannah a golden fountain pen that he produced from the inner pocket of his suit coat. It was disturbingly warm to the touch when she took the writing implement from him across his desk. An eight-page document sat in front of her, flipped open to the last page, where a blank signature line stared up at her.

  Hannah rubbed her eyes. She knew what she had to do, but that didn’t make it easy. God, just sitting in the same room as Monty after their disgusting confrontation the week earlier was nauseating, but she was doing it.

  “You will work with Mr. Grant to ensure all charges against Guy will be dropped, right?” The tip of the pen hovered over the line that was meant for her name.

  “It’s a standard NDA. But you have my word that if you sign it, I’ll do everything in my power to get Mr. Franklin’s name cleared.” Monty spoke to Hannah like a disappointed parent who was going to let his teenager work off the cost of repairs for a dent in the family station wagon. With assistance from the attorney Pam had acquired for Hannah and a little tough love from Mrs. Martin, Monty had agreed to settle the issue out of court. And though it was painful to give up on Evelyn’s truth, it was an easy sacrifice when it came to choosing between a story and a human being. Especially when that human was Guy.

  “Fine,” she said, then signed on the blank line and placed the pen on the desk, watching the ink soak into the paper and dry. It was done. The ball of tension in her chest let up a notch or two. Guy was safe, and so was Rosie. And now she could look him in the eye again without shame.

  “And I’ll need all of the files you stole from the Record.” She cringed at the word stole.

  “You have everything.” Hannah wasn’t going to tell him about the most recent discovery she’d made. At least one of Evelyn’s letters wouldn’t be destroyed. “I didn’t take anything else home with me.”

  “And the copies?”

  “The NDA doesn’t say anything about copies.”

  Monty cleared his throat and steepled his fingers like he always did when he was being stern, pressing them to his lips, the crusty white at the corners of his mouth thicker than ever.

  “I don’t know what you are planning, but let me be clear: I will follow through on the consequences of this nondisclosure agreement in regard to official terms with the $100,000 penalty as well as more unspoken terms in regard to Mr. Franklin. So, if you are holding on to any hopes of publishing any files acquired in these offices, or any theories based on those files pertaining to the Dawson family and Evelyn Kensley, my lawyers will be contacting you.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Monty”—she leaned forward, glaring—“and your father for this cover-up. I’m signing this bullshit agreement because you have given me no other choice, but you did it for money. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

  “Hannah.” Monty used her given name for the first time in their interactions together, momentarily seeming nearly as tired as she felt. “My daddy had nothing to do with that sad situation.”

  “Maybe not, but he made sure no one knew what really happened, and Fred Dawson got to enjoy his life and make his money and run for office and be elected governor of Tennessee. Governor, Monty,” Hannah pressed, the NDA signed, the deal made, and nothing else to lose. “And Evelyn was the collateral damage. She was pregnant with his baby, did you know that? He raped a fourteen-year-old and left her pregnant and so desperate she shot herself in the chest.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny those accusations,” Monty said robotically, and Hannah couldn’t tell if he already knew those details or was surprised by them. She wanted to believe that he was kept naive of the more upsetting elements of his father’s agreement with the Dawsons, for Mrs. Martin’s sake and because she’d thought there could possibly be a good man inside his privileged body.

  “I can confirm those accusations, Monty. I won’t, but I can. If your conscience ever gets the best of you and you want to do what you know is right, please contact me.” Hannah wrote her cell number and her mother’s address in Chicago on a Post-it, then added it to the collection around his computer monitor.

  “I have no idea what you are speaking about. Thank you for coming, Hannah. Now, would you kindly leave?” Monty was finished with the conversation now that he had what he wanted, so he stood up and walked to the edge of his desk, a gesture meant to encourage Hannah to go. Catapulting out of her chair, Hannah passed Monty on her way out of the office and narrowly avoided glaring up at him. Instead, she stormed past her desk where all her Post-its and pens sat untouched. She slammed the front door of the building as hard as she could, but the shock wave was absorbed by the dense brick structure, which let out an unsatisfying thunk.

  Hannah climbed into the passenger seat of her mom’s rental car. Pam Williamson sat at the wheel, her short blonde hair carefully styled that morning, sunglasses on the bridge of her nose.

  “How did that go?” Pam had requested to go in with Hannah while she met with Monty, and though she’d let her mother help wordsmith the NDA along with a Memphis attorney her mother knew, she’d felt strongly about doing this last task on her own.

  “He’s an asshole,” Hannah said, still fuming.

  “Sounds like it. I’m glad you let me help you get some proper counsel,” she said, pulling out into the road.

  “Yes, Ma. Me too.” Hannah refrained from dropping in any snarky or defensive comments, one of the small ways she was attempting to show her continued gratitude.

  “What about your friend? I hope he’s properly represented. Even if Mr. Martin holds to his side of the agreement, that doesn’t ensure that the prosecutor is going to drop all the charges.”

  “He said he doesn’t want my help, Ma.” Hannah leaned her forehead against the window, her breath steaming the glass so she couldn’t watch the scenery go by for what would be the last time.

  “I think you know something about not letting people help, huh?” Pam hadn’t changed overnight; she still knew how to get a little dig in now and again.

  Hannah didn’t respond.

  “Well, did you still want to make that second stop before the hospital?” she asked.

  Mamaw had woken up the day after Hannah made the choice not to take that handful of pills. She’d been groggy and forgetful at first, but as the days went on, and much to Hannah’s reli
ef, she was starting to regain her memory and personality. The decision had been made once Mamaw woke up to rent out her house and use the monthly income to pay for a room at the Sunrise Nursing Home down the street. It killed Hannah that her grandmother would never go home again because of her.

  “Yeah, I probably should.”

  Hannah’s mother followed the directions on her phone to the preprogrammed address Hannah had given her.

  “I think this is it,” Pam said, pulling up in front of a large workshop with a sign out front: “Franklin and Son Construction.” This is where Carla said that Guy spent most of his days since being put on administrative leave. Hannah and Guy hadn’t talked since that day in front of the middle school. She’d decided to wait until she could tangibly show that she was keeping the promise she’d made.

  Leaving without seeing Guy had been a tempting option, but it didn’t fit with the hard, action-based choices Hannah was trying to make now. She didn’t want Guy to know she was coming, or to give him a chance not to be there. Even now, Hannah was unsure if she’d be a welcome sight. The final thing Hannah might have to give up forever was Guy’s friendship—and she knew she had to be okay with that.

  But she needed to see him one last time before Mamaw’s new tenants moved in and Hannah and Pam went back to Chicago. Brody had promised to take some time off work to fly in and check on Mamaw so that Hannah could go home and “get some rest.” Chicago was home, always had been, but for some reason it felt strange to be leaving Senatobia, even if it was the only option that currently made sense.

  “I’ll be right back.” Hannah opened the car door and stepped onto the gravel driveway leading to Guy’s family’s business. She held a package, wrapped in brown paper, to her chest. A set of large garage doors stood open, and an electric saw buzzed in the background as she approached.

  When Hannah set foot inside the workroom, she saw him immediately—protective glasses, headphones on, and sawdust covering his arms. Those arms had held her once, and though she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it at the time, they’d fit in a way that made her feel safe. But it wasn’t just the way he held her body against his, or the sideways smile he used to toss her way when he was teasing her—she missed having him in her life, and that was something she’d have to get used to. She pushed away the memory and continued her pilgrimage into the workroom.

  Guy hadn’t noticed her yet, and Hannah’s old instinct was still there, urging her to run away. But she’d learned to calm that aggressive voice, so instead of taking the option to escape, she waved in his direction, hoping to get his attention.

  The saw whined to a stop.

  “Hannah?” Guy said, taking off his eyewear and headphones, patting at his dusty clothes and skin like he was trying to improve his appearance for her. He looked more surprised than angry, and that let Hannah’s jaw loosen so she could speak.

  “Hi,” she said, knowing it sounded lame.

  “Hey, I was just thinking about you. How is Miss Mable?” he asked, like he had run into an acquaintance at the grocery store, which was easier to stomach than his hard exterior from their last meeting but still cool enough to make her shiver. She scraped her foot on the dirt, drawing a line on the ground with the toe of her boot.

  “Better. She’s awake. Pretty lucid. The doctors are feeling hopeful.”

  “That’s good news,” he said, taking off his gloves and moving in Hannah’s direction. “We sent her flowers. I hope she got them.”

  Hannah nodded. She’d cried when she read the card even though all it said was Best wishes, Guy and Rosie.

  “Yes, she saw them. They were beautiful. Thank you.” Hannah kept her sentences short and to the point so he didn’t think she was here for a lengthy discussion that would likely be too painful for either of them. She might as well get to the point. “I talked to Monty today. You should be getting a call later, but he’s not going to move forward with the charges. I . . . I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Damn it, what did you do now?” Guy’s brow furrowed, and his gaze dropped as soon as Hannah mentioned Monty.

  “Nothing bad. I just, I signed an NDA, and he agreed to make sure your charges were dropped. My attorney will be calling your attorney later to explain it all. But it’s over. It’s finally over,” she said, hoping Guy could feel some sense of relief even if Hannah hated the double meaning of her last statement.

  “You signed a nondisclosure agreement?” Guy asked, glancing at the parcel in Hannah’s arms. “What for?”

  “My Evelyn story.” It was an easy decision—Evelyn’s story for Guy’s freedom. She’d make that trade any day. Hannah held out the package. “This is for you and Rosie. It’s the information I got when I was in Memphis. I thought you guys deserved to know how it ended. You might want to look through it first. It’s . . . um . . . sad.”

  “You gave up your story?” he asked, staring at the package like it held answers to more than just a wild goose chase.

  “It was just an old story. My whole value system was so out of whack about this thing.” Hannah shrugged her admission, shivering, the December breeze too cold for her light jacket.

  “I can’t disagree,” Guy said, placing the package on his workbench, an obvious weight lifted from his shoulders as he glanced back at her, a tiny hint of his old crooked smile curling up into a partial dimple. “But I’m not surprised you figured it out. I’m sorry if I seemed harsh last week, but—”

  “It was completely justified.” She shut down his explanation. She wasn’t here for Guy’s thanks or sorrys. No one thanks you for fixing the vase you were responsible for breaking. This, she thought, should be no different. “It’s honestly a relief. People down here are too nice. I’m sorry you had to call me on my shit, but I’m glad you did.”

  “I’ll gladly call you out on your shit anytime, Hannah Williamson.” The playful smirk she’d been missing was back for sure this time, and a rush of sunshine flooded the barren spot in her chest.

  “Great. I’ve created a monster,” she answered with a touch of friendly sarcasm, like old times. They both laughed, and the sound filled the workroom, surrounding the pair before dissolving into the air like a sugar lump in hot tea. In the sweet silence she shivered, and he gently took her by the elbow and pointed to a space heater installed in the ceiling.

  “I can’t stay,” she said, freeing her arm from his light clasp, remembering her mom sitting in the car. “If you don’t hear from Mr. Grant by the end of today, let me know. Right now I need to get to the hospital and then I have to pack.”

  His smile dropped.

  “Oh. You’re leaving Senatobia.” He stated it so firmly it was like he was ordering her to go rather than asking about her plans. Hannah uneasily spewed the details of her departure.

  “I’ll be back in a few weeks to help Mamaw move into Sunrise,” she said, staring at her toes again, wishing she still had her line in the dirt to focus on. “But yeah, I’m moving back to Chicago. There is a job at an online magazine. My mom knows the guy who runs it. Hey, it’s a job.”

  “I see.” Guy’s hardness came back like he was a turtle engulfing himself in his shell, and his whole posture changed, standing tall, crossing his arms, his chest puffing out. Even with their tiny moment of connection just now, Hannah was surprised by his reaction. He’d been ignoring her for weeks.

  “There is nothing here for me, Guy.” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but her response echoed in the cavernous room and made it sound like she was talking into a megaphone.

  “Nothing?” he asked with an edge of sincerity, shifting the tone of their conversation with one word that made the deadened space inside Hannah shudder like it’d been hit with a defibrillator.

  “Mamaw is going to a nursing home because of me. And her house is all but rented. I don’t have a job anymore. And I’ve been a terrible friend to you and Rosie. You are better off without me . . .”

  “Shouldn’t I get to decide what makes me better off?” he asked in a lo
w, comforting voice, moving in close enough that Hannah could smell the sawdust on his skin. The conversation had slowed to a trickle, more being said in the silences than in the sentences. Guy didn’t hate Hannah; he cared about her. Staring up into his vibrant, dark eyes, Hannah knew just how badly she wanted to explore what he was offering her.

  “Of course, but I mean besides last week . . . we haven’t talked since that night.”

  “I know. I know. But I was hurt,” he said, and his warm breath touched her forehead and cheek like a kiss. His face was soft, vulnerable, like he’d just taken off a plate of armor before heading into battle. “About the arrest and the living hell my life became, yes. But also . . . when you didn’t answer the phone that night and then you didn’t come back from that meeting with Pete Dawson, I just assumed . . .”

  “You thought I was with Pete?” She choked, eyes wide. “God, no.”

  They’d been in touch, but she was in no place for flirting or going out for dinner or drinks. And with Mamaw and Guy on the top of her mind, there was no room for helpful but superfluous Pete.

  “That’s a bit of a relief,” he teased, stepping closer and touching a strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. He really cared about her. Like, really really. A different brand of guilt hit Hannah in the gut. As close as she felt to Guy, he didn’t really know her. Not the broken her.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said, picking at a rough spot on her palm, knowing the only way to be open with her story was to not look up and get distracted by Guy’s reactions. “I know you’ve probably heard rumors, and I kinda told you about it, but—over six months ago I tried to . . . kill myself.” She paused, working through the shame of saying those words out loud, remembering the moment she’d shoved all the pills in her mouth, the fear and relief that went along with that decision. Hannah made a fist, wishing she could wipe that moment out of her memory forever.

  “I’d been through a bad breakup, and my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and I was losing my job because I’d become addicted to sleeping pills, and I was riddled with depression and I nearly died. My dad, um, my dad saved my life.” Emotion overwhelmed Hannah as she recalled the patched-up door she’d come home to after the hospital and the newly replaced handle. “And that’s why I came here after he died. I came for Mamaw, yeah, but I also came to hide away from all that pain. But then I found Evelyn’s story and I met you and Rosie, and everything changed. I started to want to live, not just be alive, you know?”