Read the book: «Red»

Dear Reader,

If you know me through my thrillers, Red may surprise you. Red is a reissue of the 1995 novel that launched my career. Although this novel doesn’t contain my trademark mystery and high body count, it does offer readers other hallmarks of a Spindler novel: lots of drama and a fast-paced plot, characters you love—and love to hate—complex relationships and an emotional edge. I hope you find Red the novel I intended it to be: a big, fun, juicy read.

As always, I love to hear from my readers. You may contact me at P.O. Box 8556, Mandeville, LA 70470 or through my Web site, www.ericaspindler.com. In addition, visit my Web site to read my blog, learn about special promotions, freebies and to enter my monthly contest.

Thanks again and best wishes,

Red
Erica Spindler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Nathan, my husband, my friend and my love.

For always being there,

for weathering every emotional storm with calm,

reason and love.

I couldn’t do it without you.

Contents

Book One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Book Two

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Book Three

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Book Four

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Book Five

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Book One

1

Bend, Mississippi

1984

No place in the world smelled quite like the Mississippi Delta in July. Overripe, like fruit left too long in the sun. Pungent, like a drunk’s breath at the edge of a whiskey binge. Like sweat.

And it smelled of dirt. Sometimes so dry it coated the mouth and throat, but most times so wet it permeated everything, even the skin. Becky Lynn Lee lifted her hair off the back of her neck, sticky with a combination of perspiration and dust from the unpaved road. Most folks around Bend didn’t think much about the smell of things, but she did. She fantasized about a place scented of exotic flowers and rare perfumes, a beautiful world populated by people wearing fine, silky fabrics and welcoming smiles.

She knew that place existed; she’d seen it in the magazines she poured over whenever she could, the ones the women at Opal’s snickered at her interest in, the ones her father raged at her about.

None of that mattered. She had promised herself that someday, somehow, she would live in that world.

Becky Lynn picked her way across the railroad tracks used not only to ship rice, cotton and soybeans out of Bend, but to divide the good side of town from the bad, the respectable folk from the poor white trash.

She was poor white trash. The label had hurt, way back the first time she’d heard herself referred to by those words; it still hurt, when she thought about it. And she thought about it a lot. That’s the kind of town Bend was.

Becky Lynn lifted her face to the flat blue sky, squinting against the harsh light, wishing for cloud cover to temper the heat. Poor white trash. Becky Lynn had been three the first time she’d realized she was different, that she and her family were less than; she still remembered the moment vividly. It had been a day like this one, hot and blue. She’d been standing in line at the market with her mother and her brother, Randy. Becky Lynn remembered clinging to her brother’s hand and looking down at her feet, bare and dirty from their walk into town, then lifting her gaze to find the other mothers’ eyes upon them, their stares filled with a combination of pity and loathing. In that moment, she’d realized that there were others in the world and that they judged. She had felt strange, self-conscious. For the first time in her young life, she’d felt vulnerable. She had wanted to hide behind her mother’s legs, had wanted her mother to tell the other women to stop looking at them that way.

Becky Lynn supposed that had been back before her daddy had turned really mean, back when she still thought her mother to be an angel with magical, protective powers.

But maybe she had already realized that her mother wasn’t an angel, that her mother didn’t have the ability—or the strength—to make everything all right, because she hadn’t said anything. And the women had kept staring, and Becky Lynn had kept on feeling as if she had done something wrong, something ugly and bad.

Most times now, the respectable folks, even the customers she shampooed down at Opal’s Cut ‘n Curl, looked right through her. Oh, while she shampooed them they talked to her, but mostly because they liked to hear the sound of themselves and because they knew she was paid to listen and agree with them—something their husbands almost never did. But when they came face-to-face with her on the street, they looked right through her. She wasn’t sure if they pretended they didn’t see her because she was one of Randall Lee’s brood or if they truly didn’t recognize her ‘cause they’d never really looked at her in the first place.

But whichever, she’d decided being invisible suited her just fine. In fact, she preferred it that way. She felt less different when she was invisible. She felt…safer.

Becky Lynn took a deep breath as she cleared the railroad tracks. The air always seemed a bit sweeter this side of the tracks, the breeze a degree or two cooler. She stepped up her pace, hoping to get to the shop early enough to spend a few minutes looking over the Bazaar that had come the day before.

Up ahead, Becky Lynn caught sight of a fire-engine red pickup truck barreling past the square, coming in her direction, a cloud of dust in its wake. Tommy Fischer and his jock gang, she thought, her heart beginning to rap against the wall of her chest. Probably on their way to pick up her brother. She darted a glance to either side of the road, to the fields thick with cotton, knowing there was no place to hide but searching for one, anyway. Sighing, she folded her arms across her middle, jerked her chin up and kept on walking.

The group of boys began to howl the moment they saw her. “Hey, Becky Lynn,” one of the teenagers called, “how about a date?” In response, the other three boys began to hoot in amusement. “Yeah, looking good, Becky Lynn. My dad’s Labrador retriever’s been lonely lately.”

That brought a fresh burst of amusement from the boys, and she tightened her fingers into fists, but kept walking, never glancing their way. Even if it killed her, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how much their comments hurt.

Tommy slowed the truck more, swerving to the road’s dusty shoulder. “Hey, baby…check it out.” From the corner of her eyes she saw the two boys in the back of the pickup unzip their flies and pull out their penises. “If you weren’t so ugly,” taunted Ricky, the meanest of the group, “I’d even let you touch it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?”

The urge to run, as fast and far as she could, screamed through her. She fought the urge back, compressing her lips to keep from making a sound of revulsion and fear.

Ricky leaned over the side of the truck and made a lewd grab for her, forcing her to step off the shoulder and into the muddy field. Tommy gunned the engine and tore off, spitting up gravel and dirt, the boys’ laughter ringing in her ears.

Becky Lynn ran then, the gravel road biting the bottoms of her feet through her tattered sneakers, the bile of panic nearly choking her. She ran until she reached the safety of Bend’s town square.

Drawing in deep, shuddering breaths, Becky Lynn leaned against the outside wall of the Five and Dime, the corner building on the railroad side of the square. She pressed the flat of her hand to her pitching stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. Sweat beaded her upper lip and underarms; it trickled between her shoulder blades. The image of the boys, holding their penises and taunting her, filled her head, and her stomach rolled again. They’d never done anything like that before. She was used to their taunts, their obscene suggestions, but not…this.

Today they’d scared her.

Becky Lynn hugged herself hard. She was safe, she told herself. It was getting toward the end of summer, the boys were bored and got off on seeing her squirm. In a month they would start football practice and wouldn’t have the time or energy to seek her out.

Then she would have to face their jeers at school.

She fought against the tears that flooded her eyes, fought against the despair that filled every other part of her. She had nobody. Not one person in Bend she could turn to for help or support. Alone. She was alone.

Even as fatigue and hopelessness clutched at her, Becky Lynn curled her fingers into fists. She wouldn’t give up like her mother had. She wouldn’t. And someday, she promised herself, she would show Tommy and Ricky and everybody else in this two-bit town. She didn’t know how, but someday they would wish they’d been nice to her.

2

Becky Lynn managed to avoid Tommy Fischer and his gang for an entire week. It hadn’t been easy, they had seemed to be everywhere, just cruising, looking for trouble. Looking for something to ease their boredom, she supposed. She had made up her mind it wouldn’t be her.

Darting a quick, uneasy glance behind her, she stepped onto the square and started for the Cut ‘n Curl, moving as fast as she could without running. Bend, named for its location at a bend in the Tallahatchie River between Greenwood and Greenville, had been built around a town square. The civic and commercial center of town, the courthouse, police station and mayor’s office were all located here, as well as the two best dress shops in town—the nearest mall being in either Greenwood or Greenville, the nearest real city Memphis. Shaded by magnolia and mimosa trees, sprinkled with azalea and oleander bushes, the square was the closest Bend, Mississippi, got to the places Becky Lynn saw in her magazines.

But not close enough, she thought, hearing familiar laughter and the gun of an engine behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart flew to her throat. Tommy Fischer had decided to take a swing around the square.

The Cut ‘n Curl in sight now, she started to run, reaching the shop in moments. She pushed through the door with such force that the brass bell hanging above it snapped against the glass.

Miss Opal stood at the first hair station, adding another coat of spray to her platinum blond beehive. She set down the can of spray and turned to Becky Lynn. “What’s the rush, child? You look like you’ve seen the devil himself.”

Driving a bright red pickup. Becky Lynn sucked in a deep breath and forced a smile. “No, ma’am. I just didn’t want to be late.”

Miss Opal smiled. “You’re never late, Becky Lynn. And I want you to know, I do appreciate it.”

Heat stung Becky Lynn’s cheeks, and she folded her arms self-consciously across her chest. “You want me to start straightening up?”

Miss Opal tilted her head and drew her eyebrows together in concern. “You okay today, Becky Lynn? You look a little pale.”

“Yes, ma’am. Fine.”

As if unconvinced, Miss Opal slid her gaze over her, eyes narrowed behind her rhinestone-studded cat glasses. She stopped on Becky Lynn’s feet. “Did you eat this morning?”

Certain the woman could see her toes poking against the too-tight canvas sneakers, Becky Lynn shifted, propping one foot self-consciously on top of the other. “Well…no. But I wasn’t hungry.”

Miss Opal shook her head, which was as close to critical as she ever got. Becky Lynn had long ago decided that the hairdresser had about the biggest heart in Bend. Rumor around town held that Miss Opal came from trash herself, from over in Yazoo City. Rumor also told that she had managed to escape by cracking her daddy over the head with an iron skillet and emptying his pockets of his pay. Becky Lynn didn’t believe any of it, Miss Opal seemed way too nice to have done any of those things. And if she had, Becky Lynn figured her daddy had deserved it.

“You’d better run right over to the Tastee Creme. Marianne Abernathy is our first appointment and if the doughnuts aren’t here, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Miss Opal made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Ever since Doc Tyson put her on a diet, Ed counts each bite she puts in her mouth. I reckon she’s been looking forward to getting her hair done all week.”

She opened the cash drawer, took out a five and handed it to Becky Lynn. “Go on now and get those doughnuts. And don’t forget the ones with the strawberry jam.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Becky Lynn hesitated at the door, thinking of Tommy and his pickup full of boys. What if they were out there waiting for her? She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked hopefully at her boss. “You sure you don’t want me to straighten up first? It would only take a few minutes. I’d be happy to do it.”

The woman frowned and shifted her gaze from Becky Lynn to the bright day beyond. She returned her gaze to Becky Lynn, looking her straight in the eye. “You’re sure nothing’s wrong, child? Because if there is, I want you to feel you can come to me.”

Becky Lynn stared at the older woman a moment, a lump in her throat. Could she go to Miss Opal? If she told her what the boys had done, what would she say? Would she believe her? Becky Lynn gazed into the woman’s kind eyes and thought that maybe she would.

She wanted to tell, so badly the words trembled on the tip of her tongue, begging to jump off. She wanted to be assured that everything was going to be all right, that Tommy and his jock gang wouldn’t bother her again. That they would be punished for what they’d done to her.

Right. And purple pigs flew around the town square. Becky Lynn squeezed her fingers into fists, crumpling the bill. Even if Miss Opal believed her, nothing would change. Boys like Tommy and Ricky, from families like theirs, would never be held accountable. Not when the offense had been committed against the likes of her. That wasn’t the way things worked in Bend, Mississippi.

She swallowed past the lump and shook her head. “No, ma’am. Everything’s fine. I was just wondering…has the mail come yet?”

Miss Opal made a sound of amusement, looking relieved. “Becky Lynn Lee, you know as well as I do, the postman doesn’t come till almost noon. Now go on and get those pastries.”

Becky Lynn made it to and from the Tastee Creme in record time.

And without a sign of Tommy Fischer’s truck. Fayrene and Dixie, the other two hairdressers—stylists, they liked to be called—arrived just as Becky Lynn got back with the box of doughnuts.

Fayrene breezed by in a suffocating cloud of the Chanel No. 5 her boyfriend had given her for her birthday the week before, and Dixie stomped in complaining of her husband’s latest get-rich-quick scheme, something about raising catfish in their back pond.

As the morning passed, their conversations buzzed around Becky Lynn—that tacky Janelle Peters was cheating on her husband again; Lulie Carter had gotten herself engaged to a professor from the college over in Cleveland and those bad Birch boys (poor white trash) had been caught smoking marijuana.

She let them talk, keeping half an ear trained on the door, waiting for the postman’s cheery greeting and praying today would be the day the new Vogue came. She liked all the glossy magazines, Bazaar and Cosmopolitan and Elle, but Vogue was her favorite.

Becky Lynn didn’t know if everyone could see that Vogue was the best, but to her it practically shouted its superiority. (After all, didn’t cream always rise to the top?) And from her reading, she knew that only the best photographers shot for Vogue, that the top models fought for the covers. Production quality was, to her admittedly untrained eyes, flawless.

She didn’t just look at the photographs—she studied them, their angles and locations, the way colors, values and textures were combined, and the mood created by using the various elements together. And she studied the models, their positioning and expressions, their hair and makeup and clothes.

Although she would never have the courage to admit it out loud, she figured she’d gotten pretty good at recognizing which pictures were the best. They were all good, but some…just seemed to have something special. A magic. Or sparkle. Just the way some of the models had something that made them stand out from all the others.

She wished, just once, she could find out if she was right. It would be fun to—

“Ouch! Becky Lynn Lee, that water is too hot.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Baxter,” she murmured, adjusting the temperature. “How’s that?”

“Better.” The woman shifted her considerable weight and glared up at her. “You need to get your head out of the clouds and pay better attention to your job. You’re lucky to have it.”

After all, you are poor white trash. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I swear, you people just don’t take anything seriously. Why, just last night, I was saying to my Bubba…”

And so the morning went. Finally, just after twelve, the postman arrived. And her prayers were answered. The August Vogue. She held the magazine almost reverently. Isabella Rossellini graced the cover. Again. She’d held that top spot in June, too. July had been Kim Alexis. They were two of fashion’s best.

Opal gave Becky Lynn permission to take her lunch break, and hugging the magazine to her chest, she grabbed a leftover doughnut and headed back to the storeroom. Although she could have taken a seat in the waiting area out front, or at one of the unoccupied stations, she preferred to be alone.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she gazed at the cover with a mixture of admiration and envy. Isabella’s eyes, dark, velvety and inviting, practically jumped off the page; the model’s lips, curved into a provocative half smile, were full and tinted a deep rose. The photographer had closed in on the model’s face, focusing on the eyes and lips, creating an image that was at once fresh and sophisticated.

What must it feel like to be so beautiful? she wondered, taking a bite of the doughnut. Powdered sugar from the pastry sprinkled onto the glossy photo, and she brushed it carefully away. What must it be like to be so admired, so sought after? To be so beautiful?

What must it be like to be loved?

Longing, so sharp it stung, curled through her. It must be wonderful, she thought, taking another bite. It must be like living a dream.

“What do you see in those things, anyway?”

Startled, Becky Lynn looked up. Fayrene stood in the doorway, studying her over the tip of her lit cigarette. Rarely did anyone inquire after her thoughts, and never had Fayrene, the self-appointed queen of the Cut ‘n Curl. She swallowed. “Pardon?”

“Those magazines.” The blonde gestured with the cigarette and her bracelets jangled. “The way you study them.” She shook her head and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “If you ask me, it’s weird.”

“Leave the girl alone,” Opal called from around the corner in the mixing room. “She’s on break, and she’s not hurting anybody.”

Fayrene pouted. “I wasn’t trying to be a smartass or anything. I really want to know. I mean, I like to look at the pictures, too. But not like that.” She turned back to Becky Lynn, arching a neatly penciled eyebrow in question.

Cheeks on fire, Becky Lynn lowered her gaze to the glossy image before her. How did she explain something she felt so deeply? How did she voice dreams that were so close to her heart yet so far from reality? And if she found a way, would the other woman understand—or laugh?

Her hands began to shake, her palms to sweat. She cleared her throat, then met Fayrene’s gaze once more. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “It’s just that the models are all so…beautiful…so sophisticated, and all. I just look at them and think—”

“Becky Lynn,” Fayrene interrupted, waving the cigarette again. “Wake up! I mean, I like to look at those gals and dream once and a while, too. But you can’t dream your life away.” She shook her head and her bleached-blond mane tumbled across her right shoulder. “As I always say, no sense reaching for a star, you’re never going to catch one. Besides, even if you did manage to, it’d only burn your fingers.”

With this obvious attempt at cleverness, Fayrene paused, waiting for a response. When Becky Lynn didn’t give her one, she made a sound of irritation. “Work with what you have. You’re tall as most men and have a face that…well, let’s be honest, girl, you’re never going to be prom queen. I mean, your features alone are all nice, but put together, they…”

Fayrene hesitated as if really looking at her for the first time. A strange expression crossed her face, then she shook her head. “But you do have good eyes and teeth, and if you would just give me a couple hours with your hair and a bottle of bleach, we could change that carrot top of yours to a sensational-looking blon—”

“Fayrene,” Dixie interrupted, “Bitsy’s timer went off a couple minutes ago. If you frizz her hair again, she’s going to pitch a fit.”

Fayrene swore and started back out into the shop. She stopped and looked back at Becky Lynn. “Think about what I said, girl. Not everybody can be somebody special.”

Becky Lynn slumped back against the wall, the other woman’s words having sucked the pleasure out of the moment. She looked down at the photo of Isabella Rossellini, the image blurring with her tears. Fayrene had missed the point. Sure, she dreamed of being as beautiful and self-confident as the women in the magazines, but she wasn’t an idiot. And she didn’t want to be prom queen.

Her love of the glossies wasn’t about being beautiful. It was about dreaming of a wonderful place nothing like Bend, a place where boys didn’t expose themselves to girls who hadn’t done anything more than be born poor and ugly. It was about being accepted, about being loved.

“Fayrene gets a bit caught up in herself sometimes,” Miss Opal said from the doorway. “She wasn’t trying to be mean.”

But she was, anyway. Becky Lynn swiped at a tear, horrified at the show of emotion. After a moment, she looked up at the other woman. “Isn’t it all right to dream, Miss Opal? Is it so wrong to wish for something you know you can’t possibly—” Her throat closed over the words, and she shook her head.

Opal crossed the room, stopping before her. She laid a hand on Becky Lynn’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No, child. It’s not wrong. Now, come on. I need you to do a shampoo.”

Becky Lynn stopped at the end of the dirt driveway and gazed at the small, square house before her. Home. She hugged the magazines Opal had given her tightly to her chest. In the fading light, its once-white exterior, now chipped and gray, looked even more dismal, more beaten—as if even the house had given up hope of something better. The picket fence that circled the property, once, she supposed, white and jaunty, was now dingy and broken.

She started up the driveway, dragging her feet. Funny how fast the hours at Miss Opal’s passed, and how slow the ones here did. Time had a way of doing that, she thought. Of standing still for misery.

Becky Lynn smelled the whiskey the moment she stepped onto the sagging front porch. She hated the sweetly sour smell. Sometimes she would wake in the night and feel as if she were being suffocated by it. It permeated everything, her clothes, the furniture and bedding, her father’s skin.

Her life.

Becky Lynn couldn’t remember a time before the reek of whiskey.

Until that moment, she’d managed to forget today was Friday. The day her father got his pay. The day he drank the best, Jim Beam sour mash. He bought a fifth on the way home from the foundry, and he drank until the bottle was empty or he passed out, whichever came first. The rest of the week he settled for the best he could afford. Most times on Thursdays he couldn’t afford anything, so he slept. Becky Lynn looked forward to Thursdays almost as much as she did the arrival of the new glossies. Almost.

Through the tattered screen door she heard “The Family Feud’s” closing music. Why her father loved that show so much, she couldn’t fathom. He never laughed. He never tried to predict the highest scoring answers. Other than an occasional grunt, he just stared at the television screen. And drank. And drank.

Considering the time, her father had no doubt been at that very thing for a couple of hours now, just long enough to have gotten stinking mean, just long enough to be spoiling for a fight. If she had been just a few minutes earlier, if she had arrived in the middle of the lightning round, she would have had a much better chance getting inside without her father noticing.

Cursing her own timing, she slipped quietly through the door. She knew exactly where to place her hands so the door wouldn’t squeak, knew precisely how far to push it in before it scraped the floor.

She held her breath. Her father’s back was to her as he stared at the TV, and pressing herself against the wall, she inched toward the kitchen. If she was lucky, she would avoid his ire tonight. If she was lucky, she would be able to ease by him and—

“Where do you think you’re goin’, girl?”

Becky Lynn stopped, recognizing his tone, the slurring of his words, from a hundred times before. Her stomach turned over; the breath shuddered past her lips. So much for luck.

She swung toward him, forcing a tiny, stiff smile. “Nowhere, Daddy. I just thought I’d see if Mama needed a hand in the kitchen.”

He grunted, and raked his bloodshot gaze over her. A shiver rippled through her as he stared at the apex of her thighs. When he met her eyes again, his were narrowed with suspicion. “You been out whoring around?”

“No, sir.” She shook her head. “I had to stay late at Opal’s. We were busy today, even for a Friday.”

“What d’you got there?”

She tightened her arms on the magazines. “Nothing, Daddy.”

“Don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ girl!” He lurched to his feet and crossing to her, ripped the magazines from her folded arms. She bit back a sound of dismay, knowing the best way to avoid the full brunt of Randall Lee’s fury was to be as quiet, as agreeable, as possible.

He stared at the magazines a moment, spittle collecting at the corners of his slightly open mouth. Then he swore. Wheeling back, almost losing his balance, he threw the magazines. Becky Lynn jerked as they slammed against the wall. “How many times I told you I don’t want you readin’ this shit. How many times I told you not to spend money on—”

“I didn’t!” she said quickly, breathlessly. “These are the old issues. Miss Opal gave them to me. If you’d check the mailing labels, you’d see—”

“You tellin’ me what to do, girl? You sayin’ I’m dumb?” He took a menacing step toward her, his fists clenched.

“No, sir.” Becky Lynn shook her head vigorously, knowing that she had somehow, once again, crossed the invisible line. But then, it had always been like this with her father. She’d never had to do anything in particular to set him off.

Her mother appeared at the kitchen door, her face pinched and pale, her eyes anxious. “Becky Lynn, baby, why don’t you come in here and help me with the supper.”

A ripple of relief moved over Becky Lynn, and she sent her mother a look of gratitude. Randall Lee didn’t like interference and he wasn’t averse to turning his rage onto his wife. And it was an awesome rage. But then, her father, at six foot four inches tall and as big as a tree trunk, was an awesome man.

“I’d better help Mama,” she whispered, taking a step toward the kitchen.

Her father grabbed her arm, his big hand a vise on her flesh. She winced in pain but didn’t try to jerk away.

“How much you make today?”

“Twelve dollars.” Seventeen, counting the five she’d tucked into her shoe.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’d better not be lying to me.”

She straightened and looked him right in the eye. “No, sir.”

“Empty your pockets.” He dropped his hand and stepped away from her, weaving slightly.

She did as he asked, handing him the money. He looked suspiciously at her, counted it, then handed her two dollars back. She stared at the crumpled bills, thinking of the heads she’d washed that day, of the hair she’d swept off the floor. And of the fact that there would probably be enough money for her father to drink Thursday night.

Bitterness welled inside her, souring in her mouth. She supposed she should be happy, she thought. Most times, he took it all.

Her brother, Randy, came in then, the screen door slapping shut behind him, and her father’s attention momentarily shifted. He swung toward his oldest child. At eighteen, Randy, who had been held back in the third grade, was already as big as his father. And almost as mean. His disposition on—and off—the field had moved his fellow football players to nickname him Madman Lee. “Where’ve you been, boy?”

Randy shrugged. “Out with the guys.”

Randall Lee opened his mouth as if to comment, then just snorted with disgust and turned back to her.

Randy shot her a cocky glance and ambled toward the kitchen. Frustration welled up inside her. Her father rarely attacked Randy. Not Randy, star tackle on the Bend High School football team. Because he was a jock, and because he had the right friends, boys like Tommy Fischer.

No, he saved all his hatred and bitterness for her. He always had. And she didn’t know why.

Suddenly furious at the unfairness of it, she jerked her chin up. She looked at her father, not bothering to hide her contempt. “May I go now?”

“You’ll go when I say so.”

“Why do you think I’m asking?” Idiot. Asshole.

At her tone, a mottled red started at the base of his thick neck and crept upward. He grabbed her arm again, but this time he twisted it until she cried out in pain. “Where’d you get the right to put on airs?” he snapped. “Just like your mother, thinkin’ you’re some kinda queen.” He dragged her to the room’s single window, twisting her arm again, forcing her to face her reflection. Tears stung her eyes and she fought to keep them from spilling over. “Take a look, girl. What man’s ever goin’ to marry you? Tell me that.” He shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “I’ll probably be stuck looking at your ugly mug for the rest of my life. Now get outta here, it makes me sick to look at you.”

He flung her aside, so violently she hit the wall, much the same as her magazines had only moments before. Her head snapped back, cracking against the wallboard. Pain shot through her shoulder. She sank to the dirt floor, thinking, oddly, of the pretty pink and white linoleum at Miss Opal’s. Flecked with silver, it was always so clean it shone.

Shaking her head to clear it, she sucked in a deep breath and using the wall for support, eased to her feet. Her father had returned to his place in front of the television, and she saw him bring the bottle to his lips. She stared at him a moment, hatred roiling inside her, the urge to lunge at him, to claw and hit and scratch, thundering through her. Its beat matched that of the blood pounding in her brain, and she pictured herself doing it. Just walking up to him and smashing her fist into his face.

Becky Lynn squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the urge. She wouldn’t lower herself to his level. For even worse than living the nightmare that was her life, was living his. Becoming like him.

Besides, he’d probably beat the hell out of her before she could get in the first punch.

She limped to the kitchen. Her mama and Randy were there. Her mother chattered softly about the things that needed to be done that weekend, and Randy stood by, his stance uncomfortable and stiff. Neither of them met her eyes, but Becky Lynn could see it in their faces, in their downcast gazes: If it wasn’t you, it might be me.

She couldn’t say they were wrong. She knew they weren’t. And she knew that was why Randy never inter-ceded for her, why her mother never openly tried to comfort her. They didn’t want to incur Randall Lee’s wrath.

Becky Lynn squeezed her fingers into fists. She’d inter-ceded for Randy before; she had stepped into the line of fire on his behalf. She had done the same for her mother; she still did.

They didn’t even have the guts to look at her.

She drew in a shuddering breath, pain spearing through her shoulder once more. She was so weary of living alone with her fear. With her despair. Wasn’t Randy? Wasn’t her mother? It hurt to hold it in, day in and day out. Didn’t they long, as she did, to share their pain? Didn’t they long to have someone to whisper with in the dark, to hold on to and love?

Tears stinging her eyes, Becky Lynn shifted her gaze to the other room, to the magazines scattered obscenely across the floor. Her gaze landed on an old Vogue, on model Renée Simonsen’s beautiful, smiling face.

Someone to whisper with in the dark, she thought, hopelessness clutching at her. Someone to lean on, someone who would give her one perfect moment without fear. Her eyes swam; the model’s face blurred. Turning her back to the glossy image, she crossed the kitchen and began to help her mother with the peas.

3

“Becky Lynn, baby, come here.”

Becky Lynn stopped at the front door. Feeling like a prisoner who had gotten caught a moment before she’d made her escape, she turned to her mother. The other woman stood just outside the kitchen; she wore the floral print housecoat Becky Lynn had bought her two Christmases ago. The rose pattern which had been so vibrant and pretty when she’d purchased it, looked tired and gray. Like her mother. And everything else in this house.

Becky Lynn gazed at her mother’s gaunt face and shadowed eyes, pity moving over her. And fear. Fear that by age thirty-six she, too, would look beaten and without hope.

She pushed the thought away, and forced a smile. “What is it, Mama?”

Her mother’s lips curved into a wispy smile. “I thought I might brush your hair.”

Becky Lynn hesitated. She’d planned to hike to the river before it got too hot, and spend her day off from Opal’s sunning and reading. She had several magazines, a soft drink and a sandwich packed in her knapsack. It would be her last opportunity before school started; she’d been on her way out the door.

She darted a glance over her shoulder, to the bright day, and bit back a sigh. Her mother derived too much pleasure from it to deny her this ritual. The river would wait.

“That sounds nice, Mama,” she said, smiling again. She set down her knapsack and crossed to one of the chairs around the kitchen table, choosing one that faced the window.

Her mother positioned herself behind Becky Lynn and began, with long, smooth strokes, to pull the brush through her daughter’s hair. Familiar with the ritual, Becky Lynn wasn’t surprised when her mother began to tell a story about her own childhood. The only talks they’d ever had, the only moments of mother-daughter comradeship, had been while her mother ran the brush through her hair.

Becky Lynn had often suspected that she was her mother’s favorite, although she never understood why. Perhaps because her father hated her, perhaps because she looked so much like her mother’s father or because she reminded Glenna Lee of someone else she’d once known, someone who had been kind to her. Whatever the reason, she held that suspicion to her as if it were the most prized possession on earth.

“It’s the color of strawberry soda pop,” her mother murmured after a moment. “You get it from your Granddaddy Perkins. You never met him, he died just after you were born.”

About the time Daddy lost the farm, Becky Lynn thought. Because of his drinking. And laziness. But she didn’t say that. “What was he like?” she asked instead, even though she already knew. Her mother had talked about Granddaddy Perkins many times before. He had adored his only child. And Randall Lee had despised him.

She sensed her mother’s smile. “He was a nice man. A good husband, a good daddy.” She laughed lightly, the sound faraway and youthful. “He called me his little princess.”

A lump formed in Becky Lynn’s throat. How, after being someone’s princess, had she ended up with a man as base and cruel as Randall Lee? Why had she married him?

And why did she allow him to treat her and her children so badly?

Becky Lynn wanted to ask her mother, the questions teased the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it. She couldn’t ask; her mother had been hurt enough. “He sounds nice, Mama.”

“Mmm. He was nice.” Her mother continued brushing, but Becky Lynn knew her thoughts were far away.

After a moment, the older woman murmured, “Did I ever tell you about the dress I wore to the prom? It was white and dotted with these pretty little pink flowers. The most delicate pink you ever saw. I felt like a princess in it.” She laughed softly. “And my date looked like a prince. He wore a tuxedo and brought me a rose corsage. It was pink, too.”

A rose corsage. Becky Lynn imagined her mother, a blushing teenager, wearing that frilly white dress, the cluster of roses pinned to her chest, and tears flooded her eyes. She fought the tears back, fought the emotion from clogging her throat. “Your date, who was he, Mama?”

Her mother hesitated, then shook her head. “Nobody, baby. I forget.”

She’d asked the question before; she’d gotten the same answer. But her mother hadn’t forgotten, Becky Lynn knew. The boy had been someone special. So special, her mother feared saying his name.

Becky Lynn fisted her fingers in her lap. Her father wasn’t even in the house and her mother was afraid. “I thought you and Daddy were high school sweethearts?”

The brush stilled for a moment, then Glenna Lee began stroking again. “After your Granddaddy Lee’s heart attack, your daddy had to quit school to work on the farm. He didn’t go to the prom.”

And he never forgave you for going, did he? Becky Lynn drew her eyebrows together. What else did he not forgive her mother for? “But where did you meet him?” she asked. “The boy you went to the prom with, I mean.”

Glenna hesitated again, then murmured, “He was from the high school over in Greenwood. My daddy knew his. He arranged it.”

“Granddaddy Perkins didn’t like Daddy much, did he?”

Her mother tugged the brush through her hair, and Becky Lynn winced. “No, not much.”

“But you married him, anyway.” She heard the accusation in her own voice and for once, didn’t try to hide it. “Why did you, Mama?”

Her mother paused, then dropped her hand to her side. The brush slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table. “Your daddy wasn’t always…the way he is now. Having to quit school changed him. He got bitter. He started to drink. Try to understand, baby, he was the star of the football team his junior year and had dreams of playing ball for a college, of being a professional player someday. He dreamed of getting away from Bend.”

Try to understand? Becky Lynn froze, disbelief and fury warring inside her. Did her mother want her to feel bad about what Randall Lee had given up? Two weeks had passed since he’d knocked her around and the bruises he’d given her had finally faded to faint green blurs. It had been a full seven days before she’d been able to shampoo a customer without wincing. Everyone at Opal’s had noticed and whispered about her behind their hands.

She laced her fingers in her lap, trying to control the anger surging through her. She didn’t care what Randall Lee had given up; she would never forgive or excuse him his cruelty. Never.

“What about your dreams?” Becky Lynn asked, her voice shaking. “You had dreams, too, Mama.” She twisted to look up at her mother. “And what about mine?”

The other woman met her gaze; in that instant, her mother’s eyes were clear, full of life and hope. “You’re smart, Becky Lynn,” Glenna said, a tremor of urgency in her voice. “You could go to college, make something of yourself. You’re special, baby. I’ve always known it.”

Dry-mouthed and stunned, Becky Lynn gazed at her mother. “You really…think so? You think I’m…” She couldn’t say the words; they felt wrong, foreign, on her tongue. They felt impossible.

“I do, baby. That’s why your daddy…why he… You’re special. You’re strong.” Glenna cupped Becky Lynn’s face in her hands. She shook her lightly. “Listen to me. You can make something of yourself. Have a career. A life away from Bend. You could go to Jackson or Memphis.”

Becky Lynn covered her mother’s hands with her own. “You could come with me, Mama. He wouldn’t come after us, I know he wouldn’t.”

The light faded from her mother’s eyes, and she extricated her hands from Becky Lynn’s. “Your scalp’ll be raw if I brush anymore. Go on now, I know you had plans.”

Becky Lynn shook her head. “But, Mama, I don’t understand. Why won’t you come? Why—”

“Go on, baby,” she said again, turning her back to Becky Lynn. “Your mama has things to do.”

Glenna Lee started for the doorway, stopping when she reached it. She looked over her shoulder at her daughter. Becky Lynn saw resignation in her eyes. “I’ll be here when you get back, Becky Lynn. I’ll always be here.”

Her mother’s words stuck with Becky Lynn during her hike to the river. She held them close to her heart; she replayed them like a mantra in her head. You’re smart, Becky Lynn… You could make something of yourself… I’ve always known you were special.

Her mother believed in her. She’d never voiced that belief before, nobody had. Not ever. Until today. Becky Lynn tipped her face up to the cloudless blue sky and smiled. It felt wonderful. Magical, even. She never would have guessed how something so small could make her feel so big.

The river in sight now, she cut across Miller’s Lane, heading for the shade on the other side. In the short time she’d been with her mother, the sun had crawled considerably higher in the sky, the temperature seeming to have doubled with it. Even the birds had quieted, as if saving their energy for later in the afternoon, when the sun dipped once more.

Becky Lynn stopped and wiped her forehead, longing for the Coke tucked inside her knapsack. It seemed impossible that September was only a matter of a few weeks away; it felt as if the heat would never break. But that’s the way summers were in the delta, hot, humid and as long as forever.

By the time she reached the river, her T-shirt was soaked and her hair clung uncomfortably to the back of her neck. She selected a shady spot under a big, old oak tree, sank to the ground and dug her soft drink out of her bag.

She popped the top and took a long swallow. The sweet, fizzy drink tickled her throat and nose, and she took another long swallow before easing her head against the tree and closing her eyes. Becky Lynn held the cool can to her forehead, smiling to herself, thinking again of her mother’s words…and of the day she would leave Bend behind forever.

Her smile faded. But leaving Bend meant leaving her mother. Glenna Lee wouldn’t go. She’d made it clear that she felt some sort of responsibility to stay. Some sort of responsibility to her husband.

Why? Becky Lynn drew her eyebrows together. Did she love him? Is that why she stayed? If so, how could she? How could she feel anything but fury and hatred when she looked at him?

What was between her mother and father that she didn’t know about?

Maybe nothing. Becky Lynn frowned and took another swallow of her drink. She didn’t like to think that, didn’t like to think that her mother stayed with her husband because she didn’t have the guts to leave him, or because she was resigned to her fate.

A twig snapped behind her, and Becky Lynn twisted to look over her shoulder. Her heart stopped, then started again with a vengeance. Coming from the direction of the road was her brother and his gang.

“Well, looky, looky, Randy,” Tommy called out. “It’s your little sister.”

At the boy’s mocking words, she scrambled up, collecting her knapsack and soft drink. She’d hiked forty minutes to get to this spot; she’d claimed it first. And now, right or wrong, fair or not, none of that mattered. All she cared about was getting as far away from these boys as fast as possible.

“Where ya going, Becky Lynn?” Ricky drawled, planting himself in front of her. “You’re going to make us think you don’t like us.”

“Yeah,” said Tommy, moving to Ricky’s right. “You’ll hurt our feelings.”

“I’m going home now,” she said as calmly as she could around her thundering heart. “Excuse me.” She made a move to step past Tommy; he blocked it.

“Excuse you?” Ricky taunted. “I don’t think so.” He angled a glance at Tommy. “What do you think, Tommy?”

“Nah.” The boy grinned, and a shudder moved up Becky Lynn’s spine. “I don’t think so, either.”

She tried again, this time moving to her left. Ricky blocked her. Tears pricked her eyes, and she fought against them. It wouldn’t do for them to know how helpless and vulnerable she felt. Taking a deep breath, she inched her chin up. “Let me pass.”

“Where are our manners? You didn’t say the ‘P’ word, Becky Lynn.” That brought fresh snickers from the boys.

Fear soured on her tongue. She swallowed. “Let me pass…please.”

“Well…since you asked so nice.” Ricky smiled thinly and stepped aside.

Relief, dizzying in its sweetness, spiraled through her. She started past him, but didn’t get three steps before he grabbed her arm, stopping her. Relief evaporated, replaced by a fluttering panic. She should have known they wouldn’t let her go before they’d had a chance to really humiliate her.

“Don’t you touch me, Ricky Jones,” she said, jerking her arm from his grasp.

The boys made a collective sound of amusement. Ricky took another step closer. Behind her, Tommy blocked a retreat. “She said that just like a queen, didn’t she, boys?”

“Yeah,” Tommy chirped in. “A queen bitch.”

Becky Lynn dared a glance at Randy. He slid his gaze away, his expression twisted into a resigned grimace. He wasn’t going to help her, she realized, the panic clutching at her. She was on her own. Always on her own.

Screwing up her courage, she forced herself to take one step, then another. When she took the third, Ricky grabbed her bottom and squeezed, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her right cheek. Her control snapped. She took physical abuse from her father; she had all her life. She wasn’t about to take it from this spoiled boy. She swung around and slapped his hand as hard as she could. “I told you not to touch me, Ricky Jones!”

For one moment, electric with tension, the boys were quiet. A cloud moved over the sun; the breeze stilled. Somewhere above them a bird screamed. Then fury lit Ricky’s eyes. And hatred. She recognized both from years of seeing them in her father’s.

She’d made a mistake. A big one. Her breath caught as real fear moved through her. The kind of fear that stole one’s breath and free will. She ordered herself to run; her feet wouldn’t move. Instead, she stared at Ricky Jones in dawning horror. He meant to hurt her.

A cry in her throat, she ran. She didn’t get ten feet before Ricky caught her and dragged her back. Her Coke slipped from her fingers and hit the ground, the carbonated beverage foaming from the can’s small mouth. She squeaked in fear as she fought to free herself.

He shoved her up against the tree, which only minutes ago had offered her such sweet shelter from the sun. The bark bit into her back, and she smelled beer on his breath. Her stomach rolled, and she made a sound of revulsion and fear.

“Come on, guys,” Buddy Wills said suddenly, nervously. “Leave her alone. Let’s go have some fun.”

“We’re having fun right here,” Ricky said softly, not taking his gaze from hers. “Aren’t we, Randy?”

Becky Lynn glanced pleadingly at her brother; he looked physically ill. “Randy,” she begged, twisting against Ricky’s grasp. “Please, make him stop. Plea—”

Ricky planted his open mouth on hers. He tasted of beer and tobacco; his breath was foul. He stuck his tongue deep into her mouth, and she gagged, straining against his grasp.

He kissed her again and again, his mouth open, sloppy wet with spit. He plastered his body to hers, and his erection pressed against her abdomen. She whimpered low in her throat, and squirmed, a shard of bark digging into her shoulder blade, piercing the thin fabric of her T-shirt.

Ricky dragged his mouth from hers, and looked over his shoulder at his buddies. She saw the laughter in his eyes, the triumph, and fury exploded inside her. Enraged, she wrenched an arm free and swung at him, catching him off guard, nailing him in the side of his head. “You bastard! Get off of me!”

“Sonofabitch!” Ricky stumbled backward, then lunged for her again. “Cunt! Bitch!” He slammed her back against the tree, so hard she saw stars. “Tommy, Christ, give me a hand here!”

Tommy jumped forward and pinned her arms. She fought him as best she could, twisting, arching, trying to kick.

Ricky put his hands on her breasts, squeezing them, pinching at the nipples. “Hey, Tommy, these are some nice little titties. Have yourself a squeeze.”

“No!” She freed a foot and managed to jam it onto one of theirs, but without enough force to do anything but amuse them.

Tommy laughed and pulled at her breasts. “Ricky’s right. How’d we miss these, guys? All we’d need now is a paper bag. Come on and have a feel, Buddy.”

The other boy took a step back, shaking his head. “No way. This isn’t right.” He looked at Randy. “It’s not right.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Becky Lynn flailed her head back and forth as the two boys continued to paw at her. “Please,” she whispered, horrified beyond words by what they were doing to her, humiliated and ashamed. “Please… Randy…don’t…let them…”

She looked at her brother, begging him, and saw the fear and horror in his eyes. In that moment, she realized he cared more about being one of these boys’ friends than he did about her, his own flesh and blood.

“If her tits are good,” Ricky said, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth, “maybe her pussy’ll be okay, too. What do you think, Tommy?”

“No!” She arched her back, straining against Tommy’s hands. “Leave me alone… Randy…don’t let them—”

Ricky shoved his hand between her legs, and she screamed, vaguely wondering why she hadn’t before. Tommy slammed his hand over her mouth, catching the sound. She bit down, heard Tommy’s oath and tasted blood. His blood.

“You wet yet, Becky Lynn?” Ricky asked, grinding his fingers against her. “Huh, baby?” He poked at her through the denim of her shorts, and she cried out in pain, the sound muffled by Tommy’s hand.

“Shit, guys,” Buddy said, stepping forward, looking as if he was going to puke. “This isn’t right. It’s Randy’s sister, for Christ’s sake.” He grabbed Ricky’s arm. “Come on, man. Leave her alone.”

Ricky jerked from the other boy’s grasp, fury tightening his features. “Get your own piece, asshole.”

Buddy looked at Randy. Becky Lynn could see that if Randy didn’t put up a fight, Buddy was going to back down, as well. And she would be lost.

Randy moved to stand beside Buddy. “Leave her alone,” he said, his voice shaking.

“What’s a matter, Madman? Afraid?”

Randy, bigger than all of them, curled fingers into fists. “Fuck you, Fischer. I’m not afraid of anything. You want to take me on? Just say the word.”

For long moments, the boys faced one another. Then Ricky and Tommy dropped their hands and stepped away from Becky Lynn. “Hey, man, we didn’t mean any harm. We were just havin’ a little fun. That’s all.”

Becky Lynn ran. Leaving her precious magazines, not bothering to straighten her T-shirt. She ran until sweat poured from her and each breath tore at her chest and side.

Fun. They were just having a little fun.

A sob wrenched from deep inside her. Dear Jesus, she’d wanted to die, and they’d just been having a little fun.

Becky Lynn didn’t slow even when she caught sight of her house. Limping, gasping for breath, she reached it. Her mother stood on the front porch, still wearing the floral housecoat. She stared blankly out at nothing, and her gaze flickered to her daughter as Becky Lynn climbed onto the porch. But she didn’t speak, didn’t comment. Becky Lynn knew that she didn’t even see her. Not really.

Becky Lynn pushed through the screen door. Her daddy sat in a stupor on the couch. She moved past him; he didn’t acknowledge her in any way. Thank God. She didn’t know what she would have done if he’d chosen that moment to lay into her. She only wanted to be alone. To be in her own bed. To never be touched again.

Becky Lynn slipped into her bedroom, crawled onto the mattress and pulled the blanket over her. She curled into a tight ball, trembling so violently her teeth chattered. So cold, she thought, curling herself tighter. She was so cold.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and her head filled with the suffocating smell of Ricky’s breath, hot against her skin, filled with the feel of Ricky’s tongue poking in her mouth, with the sensation of being trapped, overpowered.

She shoved a fist into her mouth to keep from crying out. Why had Ricky and Tommy done that to her? What had she done to deserve such cruelty? Such loathing?

Why her? Why always her?

Tears, hot against her cold flesh, slipped from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, pooling at the corners of her mouth. She’d been trapped. Like an animal. Unable to free herself, unable to escape.

A sob caught in her throat. She’d fought them. But they’d been stronger; they’d held her down. The sob forced its way past her lips, ripping through the quiet room. They’d put their hands on her; she hadn’t been able to make them stop, hadn’t been able to escape.

She’d wanted to, more than anything in the world. She still did. Escape Tommy and Ricky. Her father.

Escape her life.

Hopelessness overwhelmed her, and she pressed her face into the sagging mattress, tears of shame and despair choking her. As she cried, the nightmare of the last hours began to dim, being replaced by those magic moments with her mother earlier. You’re special, Becky Lynn…You could make something of yourself… You could move away from here.

Becky Lynn curled her fingers into the rough, frayed blanket, holding on to those words, their warmth licking at the cold. Somebody thought she was special. One person in this world believed in her. That meant something. It was important.

If nothing else, it would get her through another day.

4

Fear became Becky Lynn’s constant companion. At school and Miss Opal’s. At the bus stop in the mornings, walking home from work in the evenings.

Razor sharp, the fear left her every sense heightened, her every nerve twitching. Waiting. For the worst to happen. Waiting for the moment when she would come face-to-face with Ricky and Tommy, for the moment when they would find her alone and completely vulnerable.

Oddly, the same fear that heightened her senses also numbed them, creating a wall between her and the world, a barrier that kept her from experiencing anything but her fear.

So she lived with it. She ate it and slept with it, it accompanied her to school and work. She awoke in the night, breathing hard, bathed in sweat, feeling suffocated by the emotion. Sometimes she awakened to the smell of Ricky’s foul breath, to the sensation of his hands on her breasts, between her legs, and she would hold the pillow to her face to muffle her cry of terror. Of revulsion. Those nights she would be unable to sleep again. She huddled under the blanket, watching light touch the sky, praying for sleep yet praying more that it wouldn’t come.

She had lost weight. Her eyes had become shadowed. Already quiet, she had stopped talking at all. No one had noticed. Not her mother or a sibling, not a teacher or Miss Opal.

But then, she hadn’t expected that anyone would. Just as she hadn’t considered telling anyone what had happened. She knew, in her heart and gut, that telling would only make her situation worse.

Becky Lynn retrieved the broom and dustpan from the back of the beauty shop and began cleaning up. Miss Opal had just finished her last appointment of the day and Fayrene and Dixie had left more than an hour ago. It had been slow, even for a Wednesday.

She tucked a hank of her hair behind her ear, moving the broom over the shiny floor, making sure she found every corner and cranny, wanting to do a good job for Miss Opal. The woman had gone to the high school principle and convinced him to give Becky Lynn special dispensation to miss last period study hall so she could work afternoons at the Cut ‘n Curl.

Becky Lynn bent to maneuver the broom under Fayrene’s workstation. She had needed the money, and she was only too happy to get away from school early. She drew her eyebrows together in thought. She had feared the first day of school, feared seeing Ricky and Tommy, so much she’d been physically ill. Yet that day and the ones following had slipped by until a month had passed without incident. The boys hadn’t approached her again. They hadn’t touched her, hadn’t exposed themselves or teased her much at school. In fact, they had been distant. Almost polite.

She had told herself that she was safe. She had told herself they had forgotten her, that they were busy now with football, their girlfriends and school functions.

Yet, no matter how often she reassured herself, something about their distance unsettled her. And her sense of being threatened grew with every day.

She frowned and swept the last of Mrs. Peachtree’s gunmetal gray hair into the dustpan. In the delta, the quieter, the more still and heavy the air, the worse the coming storm was going to be. That’s the way the air had felt to her every day since the river. Heavy, ripe with waiting and so still she could hear her own heart pump.

Maybe they had scared themselves, she thought, shuddering. Maybe Buddy Wills’s words had sunk into their thick skulls.

Or maybe Randy had demanded they leave her alone.

She tightened her lips into a grim line and emptied the dustpan of hair into the trash. Her brother was no hero—especially hers. The last thing he would ever do was stick up for her. He had made that clear the day by the river and every day since. The bastard wouldn’t even look at her.

The bell jangled against the shop’s glass door. Becky Lynn glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Miss Opal’s husband, Talbot. He usually stopped by around this time to see how his wife was doing and to find out what she had planned for dinner.

Instead, Ricky and Tommy sauntered through the beauty-shop door, their lips twisted into self-satisfied smirks. She froze, a chill racing up her spine. Had they come looking for her?

Of course not. Becky Lynn drew in a deep breath, working to calm herself, to slow her runaway pulse. She wasn’t alone. They couldn’t touch her now, they couldn’t hurt her.

“Hello, boys.” Opal snapped the cash drawer shut and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Miss Opal, ma’am.”

Tommy stopped at the counter, Ricky a step or two behind him. Becky Lynn tightened her fingers on the broom handle, praying neither of them looked her way.

“Mama sent me by to pick up a bottle of that strawberry shampoo she likes so much. She said to tell you she’d pay you when she came in on Saturday.”

“That’ll be fine.” Opal took the receipt book out of the drawer and began writing up the transaction. “We goin’ to win that big game Friday night?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ricky said proudly. “We’re goin’ to kick some Wolverine butt.”

“You bet,” Tommy added. “Those boys’ll be sorry they ever came to Bend.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Miss Opal rummaged under the counter, then made a sound of annoyance. “I had a bottle of that shampoo set aside to take home myself. I bet Fayrene up and sold it. Lord knows, I shouldn’t expect her to walk ten feet.”

“Becky Lynn,” she called over her shoulder, “fetch me one of those strawberry shampoos from the display in back. You know which one I mean.”

Becky Lynn watched in horror as Tommy and Ricky turned and looked at her. The broom slipped from her nerveless fingers, clattering against the linoleum floor. She stared stupidly at them, unable to breathe, to move.

Ricky’s mouth curved into a cold smile. Her heart began to thrum, her palms to sweat. She’d wanted to die, and they’d just been having a little fun.

Miss Opal frowned. “Becky Lynn? The shampoo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, turning and crossing to the Redkin display. She took a bottle from the shelf, her hands trembling so badly she almost dropped it.

A little fun. They’d just been having a little fun.

She carried the bottle to Miss Opal, her eyes downcast, her feet leaden.

“Hiya, Becky Lynn.”

She lifted her gaze to Ricky’s, terror choking her. He looked her straight in the eye, arrogantly, without apology or fear. His gaze, as flat and emotionless as a shark’s, mocked her. She had a sense that he knew everything she felt, and that she amused him.

She curled her fingers into fists. Because of who he was, he thought he could get away with anything. “Hello,” she said, digging her nails into her palms, her voice high.

He smiled again, this time broadly for Miss Opal’s benefit. “I haven’t seen you much around school. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

Aware of Miss Opal’s gaze, she shook her head, her mouth dry. “Nowhere. I’ve been…nowhere.”

Ricky picked up the bottle of shampoo and tossed it to Tommy. “We’ll catch up with you later, Becky Lynn. Right, Tommy?”

The bottle slapped against Tommy’s palm, and he wrapped his fingers around it. “Yeah. One of these days.”

A sound of fear escaped her, small and breathless. It slipped unbidden past her lips, and Miss Opal looked at her sharply. “Becky Lynn, that delivery of products still needs to be unloaded and checked in. It’s in the storeroom. See to it now, please.”

Becky Lynn nodded, relief stealing her breath. She turned and fled to the storeroom. Once there, she brought her trembling hands to her face. “We’ll catch up with you later,” Ricky had said. “One of these days.” Tommy had agreed.

She had been right to feel threatened; she hadn’t been paranoid. Ricky and Tommy hadn’t forgotten her; they had just put her on hold.

From out front, Becky Lynn heard Miss Opal tell the boys goodbye and to say hello to their mamas, then heard the bell jangle against the door.

Bitterness rose like a bile in her throat; tears burned the back of her eyes. No one would ever believe Tommy and Ricky were anything but model young gentlemen, no one would believe they could do any wrong. Not them, not two of Bend’s favorite sons.

Becky Lynn crossed to the product shipment and knelt on the floor beside the box. She took out the packing list, the printed words and numbers swimming in front of her eyes, her tears making reading it an impossibility.

Where could she hide? How could she protect herself? She lowered her head to the box and rested her forehead against it. The tears slipped down her cheeks and off the tip of her nose, splashing onto the packing list clenched in her hands. She had no one to turn to, no one who would believe her.

“We need to talk.” Miss Opal came into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Becky Lynn wiped away the tears on her cheeks, then darted a look over her shoulder. Miss Opal stood just inside the room, hands on her hips, her expression stern. “Ma’am?”

“Becky Lynn Lee, I want you to tell me what’s going on with those boys.”

Becky Lynn gazed at the other woman, a glimmer of hope blooming inside her, pushing at her fear and despair, at her loneliness. She could tell Miss Opal. Miss Opal would believe her.

She drew in a shuddering breath. “You mean Ricky and Tommy?”

“Yes.” The hairdresser took a step toward her, shaking her head in disappointment. “Just because some folks around Bend think you’re trash doesn’t mean you have to act like it.”

Becky Lynn frowned, her heart beginning to pound. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“You’ve been sleeping around with those boys, haven’t you?”

“No!” The word ripped from her as she jumped to her feet. She faced her boss, hurt and betrayal swelling inside her, souring in her mouth. The only person who had ever been supportive and kind, the only person she had ever thought she could, just maybe, turn to, believed she was no better than a tramp.

“I would never…those boys…they—”

“Becky Lynn Lee,” Miss Opal interrupted, her expression and tone righteous, “you listen to me. Your reputation is yours alone. Nobody can take it from you, and likewise, only you can throw it away. And once it’s gone, it can never be retrieved.”

Becky Lynn thought of that day by the river, her head filling with the memory, her stomach turning with it. Ricky and Tommy had touched her when she hadn’t wanted to be touched, they had taken without asking, without consent. She would never feel clean again.

She faced Miss Opal, all her hurt, all her anger and fear, her humiliation, rushing to her lips. “You’d never think those boys would do something wrong…something awful! Oh, no, not fine upstanding boys like Tommy Fischer and Ricky Jones. You could never imagine that they might…that they might hurt me.”

Becky Lynn fisted her fingers. “I thought you…cared about me. I thought you believed I was something better than everyone else did. I see now that I was—”

She choked back the words, and swung away from Miss Opal once more, curving her arms around her middle, holding and comforting herself because no one else would.

“What are you saying, Becky Lynn? Did those boys—” The older woman cleared her throat. “Did they touch you?”

“Yes,” she whispered, not turning, not wanting to see Miss Opal’s expression.

Miss Opal’s silence deafened. Becky Lynn turned and faced her, spine ramrod straight. “What are you going to do now? Fire me? Call me a liar?”

For a long moment, Miss Opal said nothing. Then she sighed, the sound old and defeated. “I’m sorry, child. So…sorry. I do believe you.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Though I wish I didn’t.”

Miss Opal sighed again. “You were behaving so strangely…and those boys, there was something about the way they looked at you. I jumped to the conclusion that you…had…that you were…”

Sleeping with them. Just the way poor white trash would. Becky Lynn lifted her chin defensively and drew in a ragged breath. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, her voice thick. “If I’m not fired, I’ll finish unpacking that order now.”

Miss Opal touched her shoulder lightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “Please forgive me.”

Becky Lynn shuddered. Miss Opal’s touch was gentle, reassuring.

She would love to be held, would love to lean against the older woman and sob out her fears. She would love to forget what Miss Opal had accused her of. But she knew better than to do any of those things. When she forgot her place and who she was, she got hurt.

She shrugged off Miss Opal’s hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I will worry about it. I’m fond of you and…and I feel terrible about what I just suggested. You’re a good girl, and I knew you wouldn’t do that, but I… Look at me, Becky Lynn. Please.”

Becky Lynn turned and met her boss’s eyes. Miss Opal looked genuinely distressed. Her already hawkish features were pinched, her eyes soft with regret. As she gazed at the other woman, some of her anger, her indignation, slipped away. Even as she softened, she inched her chin up.

“You’re right to be angry with me. I was wrong, and I’m terribly sorry.” Miss Opal caught her hands. “Now, Becky Lynn,” she said quietly but in a tone that brooked no argument, “I want you to tell me what those boys did to you.”

Becky Lynn shook her head and tugged against the other woman’s grasp. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked you, Becky Lynn Lee.” She tightened her fingers. “What did those boys do to you?”

Becky Lynn gazed at Miss Opal, the truth pressing at her, begging to be told. She sucked in a deep breath. She wanted to tell; she wanted someone to believe her. She wanted Ricky and Tommy to be punished.

But she was afraid.

As if reading her thoughts, Miss Opal reached out and tipped her chin gently up. “You can trust me, child,” she said softly, as if reading her thoughts. “I promise I’ll help you if I can.”

Becky Lynn lowered her eyes to her toes. Her heart began to thunder; the blood rushed to her head until she was dizzy with it. “They…touched me. Ricky and Tommy…they shoved me up against a tree and they—” Tears flooded her eyes, hot and urgent. “They touched my breasts and my…”

She lifted her eyes to Miss Opal’s, tears blurring her vision. “They wouldn’t stop. I begged them to, but they…wouldn’t.”

The hairdresser made a sound of distress and drew Becky Lynn into her arms and against her bony chest. “Poor, baby. Poor, sweet child.” She stroked Becky Lynn’s hair, murmuring words, sounds, of comfort.

“They wouldn’t stop,” Becky Lynn repeated, reliving the horror of those minutes. “Buddy tried to talk them into leaving me alone, but Randy just stood there. My own brother—” She buried her face in Miss Opal’s shoulder.

The hairdresser’s hand stilled for a moment, then she resumed her rhythmic stroking. “Becky Lynn,” she asked quietly, “did those boys…did they rape you?”

She shook her head, sniffling, tears soaking the other woman’s blouse.

“Thank God for that.” Miss Opal took in a deep, thoughtful breath. “Did you tell your parents?”

Becky Lynn eased away from Miss Opal and met her eyes, her own still swimming. “Daddy wouldn’t have…believed me, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have done anything about it. And Mama, well…she’s got enough troubles of her own.”

Miss Opal’s lips tightened with disapproval, but she didn’t comment.

“Did you tell one of your teachers, a school counselor, or—”

She shook her head again. “I didn’t tell anybody.”

“Then we must decide what we’re going to do.”

“Do?” Becky Lynn repeated, stunned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can either go to Ricky’s and Tommy’s parents or to the police—”

“No!” Becky shook her head again, this time with growing alarm. She could imagine what Tommy’s and Ricky’s parents would think of her accounting of events, could imagine how the police would react. Within hours, Bend would be buzzing with the story about how that trashy Becky Lynn Lee lied about the stars of the Bend High School football team. She couldn’t bear the thought of people talking about her that way. She couldn’t bear the speculation.

Panicked, she clasped her hands together. “Don’t you see? Nobody will believe me. They’ll think I was the one…that I wanted attention. It would be awful, I couldn’t stand it.”

“You can’t let them get away with this,” Miss Opal said, her voice tight. “It isn’t right.”

“You didn’t believe me at first, why would anyone else?”

The older woman sighed heavily. Becky Lynn could see her boss struggle to decide the best thing to do.

“Please, Miss Opal. Please don’t tell.” Becky Lynn caught the older woman’s hands, fear coiling around her, squeezing at her chest until she could hardly breathe. “I’m afraid of what will happen if you do. They might—”

“What could they do, child? It’s keeping something like this secret that will hurt you. We must go to their parents or the authorities.”

“No, please…” Becky Lynn clutched Miss Opal’s hands. “Just promise me you won’t tell. Please.”

The hairdresser made a soft sound, part affection, part reticence. “All right, Becky Lynn. I won’t tell. For now. But I don’t like it.”

“Thank you, Miss Opal. Thank you so much.”

“But you must promise me that if those boys do anything to you, anything at all, you’ll come to me at once.”

Becky Lynn smiled. “I will. I promise.”

The woman touched Becky Lynn’s cheek lightly. “I don’t want you to think you have no one to turn to. Never again.”

5

Becky Lynn promised, and as the days slipped into weeks, she was filled with a sense of well-being and security. Partly because Ricky, Tommy and their gang never bothered her and partly because Miss Opal had taken to watching over her like a mother hen.

The older woman insisted on driving Becky Lynn home from work, insisted that when she did walk, she take the most traveled routes, and had even taken to sending Fayrene or Dixie for the pastries on Saturday morning. Fayrene had herself in a snit over it, but Miss Opal didn’t seem concerned in the least over the other hairdresser’s pique. She always found a more pressing job for Becky Lynn, one from which she couldn’t be spared, even for a few minutes.

Becky Lynn smiled to herself as she scrubbed the first shampoo bowl. For the first time in her life, she had a sense of what it must be like to have a mother, a mother in the real sense of the word, even if only part-time. It was nice to have someone who worried about her, someone who cared about what happened to her. It made her feel special. It made her feel cocooned and safe.

“Becky Lynn, you sure you can make it home without a ride?”

She lifted her gaze to Dixie. The other woman stood at the shop’s front door, buttoning her coat. Becky Lynn nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s not even dark yet.”

The hairdresser looked longingly over her shoulder. Her last two appointments had canceled, and she wanted to go home. Becky Lynn couldn’t blame her—it had been a busy day, and she had a family to take care of.

She returned her gaze to Becky Lynn. “You’re sure? Miss Opal was pretty insistent that I drive you. She made me promise.” Dixie pursed her lips in thought. “I could ask Fayrene.”

Becky Lynn had no doubt how that request would be met. The other hairdresser was in back now, sulking because Dixie was going home and she would have to stay and close the shop. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Okay.” Dixie fastened a scarf around her cap of curls. “Miss Opal sure was tickled about going to see her granddaughter cheer at that pep rally. You going?”

Becky Lynn shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, okay then. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

As Dixie stepped out into the gathering dusk, Becky Lynn had the sudden urge to call her back and beg her to wait. The words, the plea, sprang to her tongue. She took an involuntary step toward the door, starting to call out, then stopped, shaking her head at her foolishness. If ever there was a night she didn’t need to worry about walking home, it was tonight. As key players on the Bend High football team, Tommy and Ricky, and just about everybody else in this football-crazy town, would be busy at the pep rally.

She shook her head again, and went back to scrubbing the shampoo bowls. No, tonight she had nothing to fear.

Forty-five minutes later, she and Fayrene parted company at the square. Although just past five, shadows already swallowed the peripheral edges of the square and pressed inward, gobbling up the last of the light.

Becky Lynn looked straight ahead, toward the main road and the brightly lit homes and neighborhoods that lined it, then to her right and the road that led across the railroad tracks and through the worst part of Bend but straight to her house. She could save twenty minutes. Her stomach rumbled, and the shadows eased closer.

She tilted her face to the darkening sky and thought of her promise to Miss Opal, thought of the hour and of Tommy and Ricky and the pep rally.

Even as a chill crawled up her arms, she shook her head and angled to her right, cutting across the square, moving as fast as she could without running. Tonight she had nothing to fear.

In minutes, she had left the lights of the square behind and was crossing the railroad tracks. As she cleared them, she noticed the quiet. No slamming doors reverberated through the night, no mothers called their children to dinner, no cars roared past. Not even a breeze stirred the trees.

She had passed into the part of Bend called Sunset. Due west of the square, the sun always seemed to set, bloody red, right on top of Sunset. Considered the worst part of town, worse even than her own shabby neighborhood, it housed the dirt poor.

The people who lived here were the ones her father felt superior to. These were the ones he put down and called names and hurt whenever he had the chance. She’d always thought that a sick, human failing, that need to find and denigrate someone less fortunate than yourself.

She shuddered and lifted her face to the dark sky.

She should have taken the long way.

Becky Lynn stepped up her pace, hiking up her collar higher on her neck. She glanced nervously to her sides. The sparsely populated area had homes that were nothing better than shanties, some of which were former slave cabins, left over from when this land had been part of a prosperous plantation; cotton fields and dilapidated out-buildings. She’d walked this way hundreds of times before; she had never felt threatened, had never been afraid.

Had Miss Opal taken such care of her that now, without the woman’s guardian gaze, she felt afraid? Silly, she thought, hugging herself. She was being silly.

From her left, she heard a sound, something soft and thick, like a muffled laugh. From her right, the scurry of something through the grass, some small frightened animal, then the sound of a twig snapping.

Becky Lynn stopped in the middle of the road, her heart hammering against the wall of her chest. She looked around her, peering into the shadows. “Is anyone there?”

Silence answered her, louder than any voiced reply. She sucked in a sharp breath and started walking again, stopping at the sound of her own name. It floated on the night air, called in a ghostly voice, the kind of voice used on Halloween by kids trying to scare one another, laced with both cunning and amusement.

Ricky and Tommy weren’t at the pep rally.

They were here.

Her heart in her throat, she started to run.

From her right came the sound of someone running through the overgrown fields. A moment later, Ricky darted out of the shadows ahead of her, his smile eerily white in the darkness. “Hello, Becky Lynn.”

She stopped in her tracks, fear rising like bile inside her. It turned on her tongue, threatening to choke her. She swallowed, fighting to find a shred of calm. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, Becky baby. We’ve been waiting weeks for you.” He grinned and her blood went cold. “Just like we promised. Right, Tommy?”

“Right,” the other boy answered, stepping out from the shadows to her left. “How’ya doing tonight, baby?” With a jerk, Tommy yanked another person forward. Buddy stumbled into view.

Buddy looked sick. He had something she couldn’t make out clutched in his hand. She searched the shadows for her brother, but they’d obviously left him behind.

She took a step backward, glancing frantically around her, looking for a way to escape. Why had she done this? Why hadn’t she listened to Miss Opal? She breathed deeply through her nose, working to keep her wits—what was left of them—about her.

“Lost your guard dog tonight.” Ricky made a clucking sound with his tongue. “What a pity. For you.”

Tommy laughed and Buddy hung his head.

“Bet she’s going to enjoy seeing her granddaughter cheer. Right, Tommy?”

“I’d enjoy it, too, Ricky. She’s one fine little piece.”

They closed ranks and took a step toward her. Her fingers and toes went numb, the inside of her mouth turned to ash. A light burned from the house just behind her to her left. If she could just make it to that door, maybe someone there would help her.

She took another step backward, frantically searching for a way to distract them, for something that would give her the moments she needed to make it to that doorway. “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “Please.”

Ricky laughed and took another step toward her. “Now, why should we go and do that?”

“I haven’t done anything to you. I just want to be left alone.”

“Seems I remember you slapping me.” Ricky turned to Tommy. “Do you remember that?”

“Sure do.” Tommy grinned. “Slapped the shit out of you, right in front of us.”

“Look,” she said, panic clawing at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just—”

“What did you think you were going to accomplish by telling Miss Opal?” Ricky asked, his upper lip curling. “What did you think our parents were going to do? Spank us?”

Miss Opal had gone to their parents? Becky Lynn struggled for an even breath. She hadn’t kept her promise? “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Did you really think anyone was going to believe we would touch you?” Ricky sneered. “Our parents laughed. They were offended at the suggestion.”

“C’mon, guys,” Buddy piped up suddenly, his voice high with nerves. “Let her go. If we’re late for the rally, coach will have our heads.”

“What do you think he’s gonna do?” Tommy snapped, swinging toward the other boy. “Bench us for the big game? No way. Can’t win without us.”

“Buddy, you fuckin’ pussy.” Ricky practically spat the words. “We talked about this, we can all get a crack at her and still be suited up in time.”

They meant to rape her.

With a sound of fear, Becky Lynn turned and ran. Her fear made it hard to breathe, it clutched at her chest even as she pushed herself to run faster. Her feet pounded on the dirt road, rocks bit into the bottoms of her feet, she angled off the road and toward the lit doorway.

Safety within reach, she opened her mouth to scream for help; one of them tackled her from behind, knocking her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She tasted dirt and her own blood, pinpoints of light flashed behind her eyes.

In the next moment, a hand was forced over her mouth and she was being dragged, Ricky at her head and Tommy at her feet, from the side of road and behind a dilapidated shed. She struggled, dimly aware of Buddy following behind, dragging his feet.

If she had any hope, she realized, it was Buddy. If only Ricky would take his hand off her mouth, she could beg Buddy to help her; she could scream. But he didn’t, and his grip partially covered her nose, as well, and she felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen.

Dear God, she thought, struggling for air, this couldn’t be happening to her! The words played through her head like a continuous tape.

“You got the paper bag, Buddy?”

“This has gone far enough.” Buddy cleared his throat nervously. “I mean, joking about it was one thing, but—”

Ricky tightened his grip on her and glared at the other boy. “You going to be a pussy all your life, Wills? Or are you a faggot? Give me the goddamned bag!”

The boy hung back, his face white with fear. “What if we get caught? What if—”

“We’re not going to get caught.”

“What if she tells? Jesus, Ricky, we could go to jail!”

“You are such a fucking girl, Buddy.” Ricky laughed, the sound twisted and evil. “Who’s going to believe her? Nobody, that’s who. Our folks didn’t believe Miss Opal, they laughed at the thought that we would touch her. You think I would do this if I didn’t know I could get away with it?”

They were raping her because they knew they could get away with it.

And because they thought she was nothing.

“Now bring me the goddamned bag so I can put it over her head. Then help hold her down.” Ricky’s hand slackened as he faced the other boy.

They were going to put a paper bag over her head so they wouldn’t have to look at her. Sons of bitches! Bastards! Fury ate her fear, and with Ricky’s attention diverted, she propelled herself up, knocking him sideways. Enraged, she flew at Tommy, raking his face with her nails. He howled with pain. He pried her off him, then wheeling back with his fist, punched her.

His fist connected with her jaw, and her head snapped back, pain shooting with blinding intensity through her skull. She reeled backward and hit the ground, her head cracking against a rock. Pain shot through her head, then light. Brilliant white and blinding.

Everything went black.

When Becky Lynn came to, she saw only black, could only draw a shallow breath, closed as she was in the damp, tight box. Disoriented, she tried to move her hands but found them anchored, found her legs nailed down, stretched at a painful angle.