You Can't Hide Theresa Sneed (top 10 non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📖

it for a while, as Millie continued on about the amenities of the sanctuary.

“Oh, and there’s a pool, if the lake is too cold for you.” She seemed to notice Nancy’s fixation on the yellow cabin and frowned. “She’s a tough one.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Millie said, with a nod toward the yellow cottage. “Hardly ever comes out, and except for writing group, she never talks to anyone, well, except for—” She looked uncomfortable.

“Except for who?”

Millie sighed. “The girl that used to be in your cabin.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot. “Used to be? She’s moved on?”

Millie’s face went red. “Um, no.”

“Oh, to a different cottage?”

Millie teared-up. “She died.”

Nancy’s eyes widened. “Oh.” She wanted to ask more, but thought it too early to ask something so personal. She could tell that Millie was upset and let it go at that.

Millie looked away. She swallowed. “So, I’m on my way to group counsel. It’s at the lodge. Y’wanna go?”

Though her purpose of venturing out was to meet others, talking about her past with strangers was out of the question. “Um, no,” she said, “I’m not ready for—”

Millie placed her hand on Nancy’s arm. “I understand. Just know we’re all here for you.” She paused and then took off walking. “Oh, the lodge is down that way.” She pointed down the dirt road. “Can’t miss it. It’s got lots of flowers and a big, long deck with lounge chairs facing the lake.”

Nancy stared at Millie, as she strutted off, and then back at the yellow cottage. The strange woman stood at an open window, her wild hair blowing in a sudden breeze. She quickly moved from the window.

“Really?” Nancy said with a sigh, and then turned back toward her own cabin.

Twenty

Sally

Sally rose from her warm bed to the chill of the cool, spring air filtering through her open window. Not ready to completely get out of bed, she sat up and tucked her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs.

I wonder how Mother is today, she thought. Nancy had only been away for two days, but it seemed like an eternity to her. She missed her smile and even the tiny bits of parental talk she gave to her each night before bed—nothing heavy, but all from an overanxious mind. She worries too much about me. Just like Elle.

They both mothered her like a hen brooding over her chick. Sometimes it irritated her, but this morning, she missed it—at least half of it, she mused as she thought back to the conversation with her other mother the night before.

Elle switched her weight to her other leg. “So, um, who was that boy I saw you walking beside at school?”

Sally blinked. “Oh, Breccan?”

“Breccan,” Elle repeated. She pulled her head back and slanted it. “So, tell me about him.”

Sally thrust her hands on her hips. “He’s just a friend, Mom.”

Elle frowned. “Oh.”

It was clear that her mother wanted more details, but really, there weren’t any. Breccan was just, well, just Breccan—a red-headed, painfully shy, boy—that’s all. She had seen him from a distance and had to initiate the first meeting, and the second, and the third, but now, it was as if they’d always been friends. “He’s pretty easy to talk to,” she said, before she realized the words were out of her mouth.

Elle sat down on the edge of her bed.

Oh brother, here it comes again—the don’t-talk-to-anyone-about-your-past—speech. She waited, and was surprised, when her mother smiled.

“I’m glad you have a good friend, Sally.” Elle patted her knee and stood to leave.

Sally reached for her. “Wait, Mom,” she said, “You’re not going to tell me I can’t talk to him?”

Elle made a face. “Like that’d work.” She laughed. “No, I trust you’ll keep our secret, for now at least.”

“Yeah,” Sally said, with a nod. Some secret. Her heart ached to talk to her parents about their big, family secret.

Sally lay in her bed musing about the conversation she’d had with her mother the night before. Chairs scrapped against the kitchen floor and the smell of bacon wafted through the house. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her thoughts turned back to last night’s talk with her mom—the evasive, one-sided talk. She wished she’d just talk to her about it—everything that happened those years ago. From a child’s perspective, it was all a blur—a scary, heart-throbbing blur.

Sometimes she felt like she would crumble under the pressure of silence. It was like no one understood the suffering she went through. Yeah, it was great that they were all together now, minus Grammie Gwen and the others, she thought sadly, but what about her? She really needed someone to listen, but it seemed like everyone else was trying too hard to forget.

She hadn’t seen who had abducted her from Grammie Gwen’s cabin. He must’ve drugged her. But she did have an odd memory about waking up in a car that smelt of cigars. Everything went black again, until she woke up in the cellar of the cabin in Tennessee.

She never told anyone about it, because even at that young age, she knew it couldn’t be the man she used to call Father, that awful man who used to beat Elle. Somehow, anyone else but him, didn’t seem as bad. But, she’d been afraid that if she told them her fears, she’d find out that he really wasn’t in jail after all. It was silly, and she knew it now, but back then, it seemed awfully real to her.

No one told her about the upcoming lethal injection, either. She saw the letter laying open on the counter and read it before Elle put it away. Did they think she was too young to take the truth? Thirteen is hardly a baby, she thought. I wish they’d stop treating me like one.

After washing the breakfast dishes, she pulled on her hiking boots. Breccan was meeting her at the park by the old church. She was glad