“Did you know?” I ask. “Back then?”
“No,” he says. “Not for sure. My dad had heard a few rumors. Small-town bullshit. I thought, for a long time, it was sour grapes. People jealous because your granddad was so rich. But you left and Allegra got worse and worse.” His hand falls away, and he looks out the windshield. A muscle works in his jaw. “I should have said something. Done something.”
“Don’t,” I say. “She wouldn’t have left him. No matter what you said or who you told. So just, don’t.”
Cooper keeps his eyes straight ahead. The tips of his eyelashes glow gold in the gentle sunlight. “Did he ever, with you?”
I close my eyes. Sometimes when I’m tired or my defenses are down, I can still feel the touch of my granddad’s lips on mine, the rough rasp of his stubble and the taste of his tongue. It’s not even close to what happened to Allegra or my own mother. But it’s enough. “Not what you’re thinking,” I say eventually, when the sun hits my neck, pushes the words out of my throat with warm fingers. “He kissed me once, that’s all. But I let him. I let him.”
The admission hangs in the silence between us, and I don’t open my eyes. Can’t bear it if Cooper’s mouth is tight with disgust or his eyes dark with disdain. Cooper’s hand finds mine on the seat between us. His thumb rubs against my palm. “You didn’t let him, Lane. You were a kid. And he was your granddad. It’s on him. None of it was your fault.”
My breath shudders out of me, and Cooper leans over, whispers it again, right in the tender shell of my ear. “It wasn’t your fault.” I grab onto him blindly, fingers scrabbling against his shirt. I bury my face in his neck and hold on tight.
—
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“What about my car?”
“Fuck your car,” Cooper says. “Tommy and I will come back and get it later. Or you can follow me once you’re done. But no way am I driving away from here without you.”
“Okay,” I say. “Do you want to come in?”
Cooper rounds the end of his truck and sits down on the front steps of Roanoke. “I’ll wait here. If I see him, I may kill him. This is probably safer.”
The house echoes when I step inside, all the life force drained away. I walk on careful feet up the front stairs and down the hall to my room. I pack everything back into my mother’s old suitcase. The same one I brought to Roanoke all those years ago and took away with me again when I fled. I double-check to make sure I have the pictures from the frame in Allegra’s room. On my way back out the bedroom door I take a moment, knowing I will never return to this house again. No matter what else happened inside these walls, this was a good room, with its gauzy white curtains and crisp, clean linens. I was happy here, for a very short while, a long time ago.
I grab my suitcase and start down the hall, anxious to be gone.
“Lane?”
I pause, slowly turn toward the sound of my granddad’s voice. He’s in the doorway leading up to Allegra’s room, one hand against the doorjamb as if for balance. I wonder if he’s been keeping vigil up there, mourning Allegra. The idea of it eats away at me, the same way the thought of him standing over my mother’s grave chafes. He shouldn’t be allowed to mourn, not when he’s the cause of all the grief.
“I’m leaving,” I tell him. “Cooper’s waiting for me downstairs.”
He nods, his face drawn, eyes sorrow-heavy. “They arrested your gran.”
“They should have arrested you, too.”
“What for?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. “All I ever wanted was for you girls to be happy. To do right by all of you.”
“Well, you did a shitty job.” I drop my suitcase with a hard bang. “You’re the reason so many of them are dead. Sophia, my mom, Allegra, Emmeline. Probably Penelope, too. You ruined us all. Even Gran.”
“That’s not true. I love you girls, more than you know.”
“That’s the part that kills me,” I tell him. “The thing that keeps me up at night. I think you do love us. Love me. And you’re the only person who ever has.” My voice breaks, and I look away. “Do you know what it’s like living with that?”
From downstairs I hear footsteps, and I know Cooper is at the base of the stairs, listening, waiting, making sure I’m safe.
“I never stopped missing you after you left,” my granddad says. “Of all of them, you were the one I couldn’t let go of. Never did get you out from under my skin.” The floor creaks, and I know he’s taken a step closer to me. My skin ripples with dread. “You could stay,” he says, hope threading through his voice. “We could still make it work. You and me.” I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Whether to slap his face or run away screaming.
I turn my head and meet his eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted is to get away from here. I’m not staying.”
He takes the final step separating us, only a few inches left between our bodies. “Then why did you come back, Lane?” he asks, so quiet I have to lean forward to hear him.
“For Allegra,” I say. But my voice doesn’t sound as strong as it did only a moment ago.
My granddad shakes his head, brings one hand up, and yanks lightly on the end of my ponytail. I feel the contact all the way to my toes. “Allegra is gone. But you’re still here. There’s a reason for that. You know there is.” His voice is soft, sliding over me like warm sunshine, like mornings in the barn, like a promise of the future.
Run Lane. I hear the words clearly, as if Allegra is standing right next to me, shouting them into my ear. Run Lane. I look up at my granddad, the warmth in his eyes. It would be so easy. To give in to this life he’s made for me. No more being alone. No more worrying about money or what to do next. No more thinking about anything at all. He will love me forever if I let him. But his love kills from the inside out. Chews through girls and spits them out, already hungry again. Over and over. It never ends. Because as much as he loves us, he loves himself most of all. Each one of us a reflection of his own bloated ego. Every time he calls us special, every time we smile at him, offer him our bodies and our devotion, we prove how powerful he is, reinforce how much he deserves what he’s been given.
Allegra may have carved Gran’s name into the carousel horse, but her vanity table warning was always about him. Gran was the one to take Allegra’s life, the one who tried to end mine with a shard of jagged glass. But she has never been the real danger inside these walls. The real danger has always lived in my granddad’s kind voice, his soft caresses. All of it masquerading as innocent, but really just a gateway drug for girls starved for affection, desperate for someone to love them. He doesn’t force us with a heavy hand. He manipulates with a gentle touch, guides us exactly where he wants us to go. So in the end, we blame only ourselves.
I wrench away from him. “There is nothing that will ever make me stay here with you. I won’t be one of your Roanoke girls.”
I pick up my suitcase, and my granddad staggers forward. “What do I do now?” he asks, voice plaintive. He is such a child underneath all his alpha male bravado. A selfish child who thinks everything in the whole wide world is meant for him.
I shrug, head for the stairs. “I have no idea. I guess you find a way to live with yourself. The same as all the rest of us.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Cooper takes my suitcase and follows me out to his truck. The front yard is quiet, no noises from the barn, either. If he hasn’t already, I hope Charlie will take this opportunity to leave, get out from under my granddad’s control. It is better to be rootless and alone than caged in here. I’ve lived that lesson. I know its hard truth.
“Do you have something sharp?” I ask Cooper. “Like a knife?”
He raises his eyebrows at me, but produces a scuffed pocketknife from his glove compartment without question. I pull out the blade and work it into the top porch step, dragging the pointed end along the wood, dig in deep. FREE. When I’m done, I slide the blade back into the case and close my eyes. Say a little prayer for Allegra, ask for her forgive
ness. I’m sorry. I love you, I tell her. It’s over.
When we drive away, I twist on the seat to look out the dust-streaked back window. Roanoke rises up against the blue sky, clouds pillowing above its high roof. The house looks bigger than ever, cavernous and strange. I imagine my granddad roaming the endless halls and echoing rooms, spending the rest of his days longing for a glimpse of all his vanished girls. I’d rather him be in Roanoke than in prison somewhere, if given the choice. It seems more fitting. A lost and broken king alone in his empty castle.
—
Later, on Cooper’s back deck, a cold beer in my hand and the night sky sprawled above me, the tears come. This time he doesn’t hold me. Just sits next to me and lets the warmth of his forearm against mine ground me. The trill of night insects and deep thrum of a bullfrog soothe me instead of murmured words.
“I wish there was some way to wash it all away,” I say. “Clean slate.” I already know that’s not possible. I tried once before, when I ran to California. The ocean was colder than I expected, sandy and rough. And its wet caress didn’t change a damn thing.
“I don’t think it works that way,” Cooper says, echoing my thoughts. “I wish it did. But I think all the shitty stuff stays with you. Like my dad’s stayed with me. You just find ways to maneuver around it.”
“I’m not sure I know how,” I say, while the tears slip down my cheeks. I’ve gone from a woman who never cries to one who can’t turn off the waterworks, my tear ducts making up for lost time.
“Sure you do. You’ve kept going all these years, right?”
I shake my head. “Not well.”
“I think you did the best you could, Lane. About Allegra. About a lot of things.”
I know, without him having to say it, that he’s talking about the baby. She is the invisible point in the triangle that is Cooper and me. “I’m sorry about the baby,” I whisper. I’ve never been good with apologies. And this makes two in one day. There’s something freeing in saying the words.
“I know you are,” Cooper says. “And I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or worse, but I wish I could have held her. Just once.”
I look up at the stars again, swear I can feel their cool light cutting through the hot night air. “She was beautiful. She looked exactly like you. Nothing like me.” That’s the first thing I checked after she was born, whether she looked like a Roanoke girl. And I remember staring at her tiny face and thinking, Thank God, Thank God.
“If it helps, I think you did the right thing. We were kids, screwed-up kids. And you got her away from here, from him. You gave her a chance.” Cooper shifts in his chair, and his shoulder bumps against mine. “I heard you today. When you said your granddad was the only person who ever loved you. That’s not true, you know.” I turn my tear-drenched face to his, find him already watching me. “Other people have loved you, still love you. Your mother. Allegra.” His warm fingers slide between mine. “Me.”
I wonder when Cooper got so strong, strong enough he’ll risk saying words I could easily throw back at him like knives. He knows me, how awful I’m capable of being, and he trusts me anyway. For the first time, the changes in Cooper give me something akin to hope. Hope that I can be more than the sum of all my miserable parts.
The breath I take feels like it’s burning all the way down, the hand I raise to smooth back his hair trembles. I could hurt him now and he might still forgive me, but I wouldn’t forgive myself. Not this time, not again. Not for taking something good, the one good thing I’ve finally found in this fucked-up world, and twisting it into something ugly. Enough things turn to shit all on their own without me adding to the pile.
“That morning in your kitchen when I was such a bitch?” I say, speaking around a mouthful of tears. My heart is trying to push its way out of my chest, battering against bone, and I grab harder onto Cooper’s hand to steady myself. I tell myself if he can be brave, so can I.
“Yeah?”
“Can we try that again?”
Cooper nods, a smile winking at the corners of his mouth. “We could start over,” he says, the same words he spoke in his kitchen. “Couldn’t we?”
“I thought there were no clean slates,” I remind him.
“Not a clean slate.” He grips the back of my neck with a firm hand that still somehow feels gentle. “A second chance.”
Before his mouth reaches mine, I stop him with a hand against his chest. “I’m going to fuck this up sometimes,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate. “I think that’s pretty much a given. For both of us.”
His kiss doesn’t erase the ache inside of me. It doesn’t miraculously heal me, make everything all right. But it’s a start. A damn good start.
—
I help Cooper load the last box into the back of the U-Haul trailer and slam the door. “That’s it?”
“Yep.” He smiles at me, and I smile back. “Ready?”
I nod and climb into the truck. Punk, already inside, greets me with a face-full of doggie breath and a juicy kiss. I watch as Cooper locks his front door, slips the key back through the mail slot. Once he’s behind the wheel, he looks at me over the top of Punk’s head. Anticipation curls in my stomach, stretches out into my limbs, and pulses at the tips of my fingers. I’m not used to this feeling, of looking forward to what comes next.
“So, where to?” Cooper’s decision to sell the garage, pick up stakes, and leave Osage Flats with me came fast. But we’ve never actually decided on our final destination. Somewhere other than here, somewhere new to both of us, is as far as we’ve gotten. “West?” Cooper says. “East? North? South?”
“Those are all the directions,” I say and squirm away when he flicks my thigh. I lean back in my seat with a smile. “Surprise me.”
A grin stretches across Cooper’s face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I look over at him. “God knows it won’t be the first time.”
Cooper laughs, puts the truck in gear, and pulls out onto the highway. I close my eyes. I don’t need to know which direction we’re going or where we might end up. It’s enough to know I’m leaving Roanoke behind for good, although part of it will always be with me in the memory of Allegra’s smile, my mother’s tears, my granddad’s fierce and unspeakable love. In the faces of all the Roanoke girls I see every time I look in a mirror. But this time I’m not running. I know running doesn’t get you anywhere. You can’t outrun what’s inside of you. You can only acknowledge it, work around it, try to turn it into something better. I may not know exactly where I’m headed, but this time I’m choosing my own destiny. I stick my arm out of the open window and ride the warm breeze with my outstretched hand.
Thank you to my amazing agent, Jodi Reamer. You were always my “dream agent,” but I never thought that dream would one day turn into reality. Or that the dream would be as great as my imaginings. You are the very best advocate, cheerleader, and occasional therapist (all writers are neurotic, right?!) I could ask for, and I’m so thankful I have you by my side. And a special thanks to Alec Shane, who ensured this book made its way into Jodi’s hands.
A huge thank-you to my editor, Hilary Teeman, who believed in and “got” this book from the very first read. Working with you has been such a joy. You showed me the road and then took your hands off the wheel and let me steer, which is exactly what I needed. Thank you to Rose Fox, for your fine editing skills and for answering my endless e-mails without ever losing your patience. To Molly Stern, Lance Fitzgerald, Rachel Rokicki, Sarah Breivogel, Jillian Buckley, Danielle Crabtree, and everyone at Crown, thank you for all your hard work on behalf of this book. And a special thank-you to Emily Kitchin in the United Kingdom, who has worked with me on three books now and isn’t sick of me yet.
These acknowledgments would not be complete without a heartfelt thank-you to Tal Goretsky, who is responsible for the gorgeous cover, and Anna Thompson, who designed the beautiful interior pages. You both did incredible work and I’m so thankful for your patience, vision, and
creativity. And to all the librarians, bloggers, booksellers, and readers, thank you so much for all you’ve done to support my books. No writer could make it without you.
During the writing of The Roanoke Girls, I called upon the expertise of several people to make sure I had my facts straight. First and foremost, a huge thank-you to Dr. Adam Wineinger who answered my endless questions with both patience and good humor (I think at one point I sent five e-mails in the space of as many minutes). A thank-you also to Deputy Sheriff Devin Phillips of the Clay County, Missouri, Sheriff’s Department and retired Deputy Coroner John Zieren for the insight and information they provided. Any mistakes (or liberties taken with the facts provided) are my own.
Holly, thank you for reading this book (multiple times) and always remaining as enthusiastic as the very first time. But more important, thank you for being who you are to me. I couldn’t make it through this crazy life without you. Thank you to Meshelle, Michelle, and Trish, for being my steadfast, funny, always-have-my-back crew. I feel lucky to have found “my people.” Thank you to my mom, Mary Anne, my dad, Rod, and my in-laws, Fran and Larry, for your support and love and for never asking when I was going to get a “real job.” And to my stepdad, Bob, I know you’d be cheering loudest of all. I miss you every day. To all my other family and friends, near and far, thank you for believing in and loving me. You make my world a brighter place.
Thank you to my children, Graham and Quinn. The two of you are the best things I’ve ever had a hand in creating, and watching you grow into kind, smart, interesting, opinionated people is the great joy of my life. And thank you to Brian, the only person I could live with every day and not want to smother with a pillow. You still, after all this time, make my heart beat a little faster. And much gratitude to Larry the cat, who uses my legs as a pillow and makes sure I never get lonely while writing.
And finally, thank you to my Stevenson and Stafford grandparents and great-grandparents. You introduced me to small-town Kansas life (which was, thankfully, much sunnier than what’s portrayed in this book): homemade ice cream, trips uptown, carousels in the park, Fourth of July parades. They are a part of my story, and when I sat down to write this book I knew they needed to be a part of Lane’s story, too. Thank you for showing me the way.