The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep Laurie Stolarz (best books to read fiction .txt) 📖

sitting across the table, telling me it was safe to say anything I wanted but then using that same info against me to “prove” my unreliability. The only person who’s taken my word without question is the same person who also lied.

Peyton.

Where is she now? How is she doing?

“What’s on your mind?” Garret asks.

“Nothing,” I lie too.

“Tell me the truth. I can take it.”

Can he really?

I look out at the empty lot. “Those days in the well … It’s beyond words what that felt like, how scary and isolating, but it felt nowhere near as isolating as coming back home and having everyone I love turn their backs on me.”

“I won’t turn my back.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I don’t,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

I turn away again so he can’t see the emotion heating up my face, making my eyes sting. “Like I said before, there’s a lot that you don’t know about me. There are things I’ve done that I’m not exactly proud of.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, carefully, as though too much sound will shatter me like glass. “Is it helpful to know that I could say the same about myself?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Okay, then make me understand.”

“I escaped a burning house,” I snap. “But my parents didn’t.”

“I know,” he says, his face in neutral as though he doesn’t hear what I’m saying.

“The house was on fire,” I insist. “I fled out the window while my parents were still inside.”

“And I can’t even imagine what that feels like,” he says, maintaining a poker face. “But I’m willing to try. No friendship starts with both people knowing everything about the other.”

“Do you really consider me a friend?”

“I’d like to think so. Is that okay with you?”

I want to tell him yes—so unbelievably much. But I haven’t exactly given him a reason to even like me, so then why is he here, when I can barely stand myself?

“Thank you so much for your help,” I say, knowing the answer doesn’t quite fit.

Garret musters a smile but doesn’t say any more. I can tell I’ve probably disappointed him. I’m disappointed too. But it’s better this way.

Safer.

Simpler.

A whole lot less painful.

NOW

43

Garret watches me get inside the house before driving away. As I lock the door behind me, I can hear my aunt talking in the kitchen. At first, I assume she’s on the phone, but then I remember. The text she sent. The “appointment” to talk. What time is it?

I linger a moment, seeing if I can figure out who she’s with.

“Terra? Is that you?” she calls. Not two seconds later, Aunt Dessa appears in the doorway, all dressed up in a blazer and dark pants.

“Who’s here?” I ask.

“Well, hello to you too. How was your day?”

“You have company,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Yes. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

A surprise for her? For me?

“Come see,” she says, turning away, expecting me to follow.

Instead, I look back at the door, tempted to bolt. I tighten my grip around the wasp spray in my pocket—my version of security—and gaze at my reflection in the entryway mirror, with my stringy golden hair and pale, slim face. There’s a layer of soot crusted over my skin. I blink it away and move into the kitchen.

Dr. Mary is sitting at the table. “It’s so good to see you.” She pops up like toast and wraps her arms around my limp body.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Dr. Mary is dressed up too—in her hospital suit, with her hospital tag. She and my aunt are drinking tea out of pretty china cups I’ve never seen before. It appears that my aunt either bought or made muffins.

“Come sit,” Aunt Dessa says.

“Your aunt is quite the baker. Have you tried her raspberry-filled scones?”

A plate has already been set for me. An empty china cup sits on my rosy placemat, along with a matching floral napkin.

“What are you doing here?” I ask once again.

“Terra,” my aunt scolds. “Is that very polite?”

“That’s okay.” Dr. Mary smiles. “Terra, your aunt just invited me to come have a chat.”

“A chat about me?” I ask.

“Is that okay?”

“Is it the truth?” I sit. The air smells like blueberries.

“It is,” she says, getting right to it. “Your aunt reached out to me out of concern.”

“Concern,” I say, processing the word.

“Would you like some tea?” Dr. Mary lifts the rosy pot, like this is her house.

I shake my head. Meanwhile, my aunt faces away from the table, her posture angled sideways.

“There was an incident,” Dr. Mary continues. “You recently ran into an old neighbor.”

I manage a nod, completely unprepared. But maybe they’re talking about something else, some other incident.

“Tell her,” Dr. Mary says, speaking to my aunt.

Aunt Dessa folds her arms, still keeping her posture angled away. “Did you recently bump into Connor Loggins?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Care to tell us what happened there?” Dr. Mary asks.

“Nothing much.” I shrug. “I just hadn’t seen him in a while.”

“So, you didn’t threaten him with bug spray? And he didn’t have to pry the can out of your hands? And a little girl didn’t go crying to her mother because you made her so afraid?”

A little girl?

My aunt shakes her head when I don’t argue. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

Dr. Mary responds by swiveling in my aunt’s direction, handing her a tissue, reaching out to touch her forearm. There’s a fresh box of Kleenex on the table. Where did it come from?

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“What’s happening is that I’ve tried to be patient,” Aunt Dessa says. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

“Because of Connor Loggins? I thought he was someone else.”

“As if that makes it okay? He said you could’ve blinded him.”

Blinded him? I didn’t even shoot. Or did I? Did I press the nozzle and not even realize it? Did a little come out?

Dr. Mary pats my aunt’s arm like a favorite cat, as if my aunt is the wounded one. And maybe she is. Maybe I’ve done this too.

“Let me guess,” Aunt