The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [120]
She keeps trying to undo the same button on her damp shirt, but can't. Her hands shake violently, her fingers limp and gripless. She tries the next button, same thing, same shameful panic, frantic to get out of the red sailor dress because they're all down there waiting, waiting to see what she'll do, but she won't give them that, the satisfaction of seeing her hurting, seeing her cry. If she does, then it will all be real. He will be gone, he is gone, leaving her trapped in her own wet skin, so cold she can't stop shivering, and nobody cares. Nobody at all, which is the hardest reality to face, so afraid of being alone, being left behind, that in begging her mother's forgiveness for running away she had to confess everything, quitting her job, wasting the money she'd earned, drinking and sleeping with Eddie Hawkins, but couldn't bring herself to tell about the man with the mutilated face, and so perhaps to make up for that gaping omission, to at least come close to decency, and because her mother still hadn't moved, censorious in her abiding silence, she finally blurted out what she needed to be the worst, most damnable secret, admitting that the poor banished teacher had never touched her, never come near her or anyone else, and she welcomed the outraged cry that came with her slap, the hard, knuckled slap, that resplit her still-healing lip and finally dulled her shame.
“That's so disgusting,” her mother said. “How could you have done that? How?”
Finally, she grabs her collar and rips open the shirt, buttons flying across the floor.
Sobbing, she changes into dry clothes, then suddenly begins slamming her closet door, banging it shut, again and again and again, and now she feels horrible, ashamed, for losing it like this, for being so out of control with her children downstairs. Chloe and Drew don't deserve any of this. “Calm down, calm down, just calm down,” she keeps gasping as she wraps her rain-soaked clothes in a towel to take down to the laundry room, but then doesn't move, can't, instead just stands here, teeth chattering, trembling in the middle of her tranquil ivory bedroom with the gray-tinted tray ceiling, hugging the damp towel to her chest because it's not her fault, none of it is, but this is what they want, what they've all been expecting. Damn them, all of them just waiting for this to happen, the crack in the façade, well, get ready, because here it comes, everybody, one hurtling stone to start the landslide, needing her to fail so they can absolve him of everything, poor, dear Kenny, all he ever wanted was to be happy, in spite of her, the witch, the cold, lying bitch, she never deserved him, no wonder he chased every woman in sight. “No wonder!” she screams, hurling the bundled towel against the wall. “No wonder!”
The rain helps, harder for anyone to see who's driving, especially with the wipers beating back and forth on high. So far every cruiser's gone right by. The car they're looking for is miles away in a mall parking lot, brand-new TV in back, keys in the ignition, some lucky bastard's just for the taking. Now, he's got a rental. Had to use Gendron's MasterCard, the only one they didn't reject, but still, he's not kidding himself, once the hunt's on it's only a matter of time. He drives by her house again, no sign of life, no car. Not at Hammond's either. He knows where her mother lives, pale green house way up top this steep hill. Only her mother's Volkswagen is in the driveway. Robin's car might be in the garage, though. Slows down, can't tell unless he gets out. No sense chancing that. As he drives by he stares up at the bedroom window she pointed out once. At night she could see all the lit-up houses below. She said she used to pretend she was a princess looking down on her kingdom—still does, that's the