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

girls, but that was okay. In fact, having Breccan to talk to, about everything now, was the best thing ever. There was just one thing bothering her, but she almost didn’t want to bring it up again.

“Breccan?”

“Yes?”

“The man in the white van wasn’t old.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the other part. He rented it out to someone from the states.”

“That would explain why he didn’t know his way around, right?” Even as she said it, her mind raced. The states, and anything to do with the states, were exactly what they were trying to avoid.

“Yep. But we’ll still be careful.” He stood and pointed up the path. “Ready?”

Trembling, she followed the stony path beside her new best friend, glad that she finally had someone she could confide in.

Twenty-Six

Night Dance

 

Back at her cabin, Nancy opened the back wall and drew in the beauty and tranquility of the lake. So unlike her captive cave life, so much like who she really was. Maybe it was time to branch out on her own in Ireland, find her own place. Sally could come and go between the two. If she could find a secluded cabin like this, she would so buy it. After his upcoming execution, they could even come back to the states. One of the things the FBI did was to confiscate Merrick’s bank accounts, well, the ones they knew about. Nancy was set for life.

She breathed in deeply and stepped out on the deck. It was late afternoon. Her mind kept returning to the letter she had just written to Somebody Important—was it really that simple? Could one lose their own sorrows while tending to the needs of another? It was an amazing epiphany—a self-realization.

She sank down in the hammock stretched across the corner of the deck, and let it swing back and forth, as she closed her eyes, and relished in the moment. Of course, she knew it wouldn’t last forever, but she suspected it was the beginning of true healing. Serving others. Who would’ve known?

After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and pulled herself up. Down the way, Millie was sitting on her deck, reading, and Sofia appeared to be painting something. She smiled.

Her eyes fell upon her bag with the edges of Elle’s manuscript sticking out. Hesitating, she bit at her lower lip. You can do this Nance, in fact, you must. She pulled it open and leaned back into the hammock, as the pages of My Life, My Mess unfolded before her.

She didn’t mean to cry, but she couldn’t help it. So many times, she almost put it down, but she was caught up in it, enthralled by another perspective of the story—it was her story, too.

Elle had told her a few things, but Nancy had no idea the magnitude of her suffering at the hands of Merrick Snyder. She was so wrapped up in the story that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. She swung around.

Sofia seemed surprised at her abrupt action. Her eyes fell to the manuscript. “It is a good story, no?” She reached for it. “May I?” She took the manuscript from her hands.

Nancy was too much of an emotional wreck to say no, so she simply nodded. Sofia sat down in a chair on the blue cabin’s deck and began to read.

Millie had followed her over, too, and beckoned Nancy to walk with her, leading her down the steps and away from Sofia. “I don’t know what to say, Nancy. I’m sure Sofia means no harm, but that was rather an intrusion.”

Nancy nodded, still shook up by Elle’s words. She should have known better than to read them.

“I can’t believe her nerve. Taking your personal manuscript. I mean, this is too much, even for Sofia.”

“What?” Until then, Nancy had hardly noticed that Sofia had taken the manuscript. “Oh. That.”

Perplexed, Millie made a face. “You don’t care?”

“Of course, I do, Millie, but—” There was just something about Sofia—something different. No one could do the things that Sofia could and get away with them, because she was so . . . commanding, so . . . just right there, like she was supposed to do the things she did. Nancy couldn’t put her finger on it, but for some reason, it was okay for Sofia to read Elle’s story.

Millie stopped halfway between the lodge and Nancy’s cabin. “Shall we go back and get the manuscript?”

Nancy looked toward the blue cabin and then toward the lodge. “I’m okay with her reading it. She already knows who I am.” She walked on quietly for a moment. “She’s the one that wrote that cryptic note, right?”

Millie cocked her head. “You think so?”

She nodded. “She seems the obvious choice.” She pointed toward the lodge. “Let’s go there.” A puff of air escaped her throat. “I don’t mind Sofia knowing more of the story, and, um, she might want some privacy.” She wasn’t sure how Sofia would react to the story, but she knew she’d shed some tears. Of course, her tears were a bit more bitter than she imagined Sofia’s would be.

“Okay, then, it’s off to the lodge.” Mille looped her arm through Nancy’s. “Ready?”

Nancy breathed in slow. “Yes.” A tingling swept through her—a sensation she’d balled up tight inside her for years. She was ready. She pulled her arm away, stopped waking, and faced her friend. She could do this—the very thing she swore she’d never do—talk to someone other than her therapist.

Swallowing, she spewed out. “Hi, Millie, my name’s Nancy McKechnie Snyder. My husband Malcolm was murdered by his twin brother, Merrick. I didn’t know that Malcolm had a twin brother, he didn’t either. After Merrick killed his brother, he assumed his identity. When I started to question his sudden change of personality, he locked me in the caves under our house, for five years,” her voice broke, “and he led me to believe that my infant daughter had died.”

Nancy held her hand up to stop Millie from interrupting. “I was rescued by Professor