The Forgotten Ones by Holmes Steena

Author:Holmes, Steena
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503951754
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2018-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

ELLE

My ears are ringing by the time David finishes his story. At least, I hope he’s finished. I’m not sure I can handle sitting here for another minute while he feeds me more lies.

That’s what they have to be: lies.

Does he really think I’m going to believe he killed someone and covered it up? That my grandmother was sick enough that she would not only poison someone but then bury her in their own backyard? That’s insane.

He paints a bleak picture of insanity, but I’m not buying it.

David lies there, staring out the window, his face soaked with the tears that began flowing the moment he started talking about what Sundays were supposed to be like.

He almost had me there. Almost.

But Grace’s words ring in my mind over and over. After today, I finally hear them.

Everyone has their own version of the truth. His is mired with age. It has to be.

David is using his blanket to wipe his face, an obvious avoidance tactic so he won’t have to look my way.

Not that I mind. I’m not sure I’ve schooled my features yet.

“You must think I’m a blathering idiot,” he mumbles into the blanket.

Think? That would be a yes.

I give a slight shrug of my shoulder instead of saying the words. He catches the gesture and nods, as if understanding. He shrugs himself.

“Not only are you a blithering idiot, but you’re also a tired and cranky old man who needs his rest,” says Brennley.

I jump when I realize she’s standing right next to me. How long has she been there?

“I’m telling my granddaughter a story.” David frowns. “That doesn’t make me tired or cranky.”

The look my best friend gives him says otherwise.

“Fine. Whatever. I’m allowed a little crankiness at this stage of the game. You’re too young to know any better.” David rolls his eyes.

Brennley squeezes my shoulder, then leaves.

The heavy weight of uncertainty settles in the two feet that separate us.

“Never seems to be enough time, does there?” David says.

I lean forward and rest my hand on the sheets beside his arm, careful not to touch him.

“I don’t think there will ever be enough time.”

“When . . . when you were at the house. Did you see the crosses?”

I shake my head.

I hadn’t seen any crosses. But then, I hadn’t walked behind the garage either. According to his story, they should be there.

Now I’m not sure if I want to look for them. I’m not sure I believe his story.

They wouldn’t have buried Gertie’s stillborns behind their home, would they? She would have been rushed to the hospital each time she miscarried. Right? I realize this would have been in the fifties, but they weren’t that backward—despite being in a small town.

I can’t believe that David would willingly bury the body of a hitchhiker either. Or then have the audacity to raise that girl’s child as his own.

Besides, I would have met Bella—wouldn’t I? She’d have been more than just my mother’s imaginary friend.

Unless David is the one not right in the head.

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