to life, and the sound of her tires on the gravel drive as she peeled away. Once the sound of her car had faded into the distance, he rolled to the side of the bed and found her shoe on the floor.
He picked it up, running a hand over the shiny material. The shoe was so like Hollin. Prim, proper, delicate. She was like a small flower that had been crushed. She was still hurting, still a scared little girl.
It wasn’t fair. As a teen she’d been so full of confidence and life. Always smiling. And then some sick bastard had stripped her of everything. Although she looked the same on the outside, it was merely a shell. It was what was on the inside that counted, and he doubted there was anything left of the old Hollin inside. The Hollin who had once thought she was in love with him.
No, there was nothing left now. Nothing except hatred and contempt for him.
#
At the top of the stairs, Hollin heard voices coming from Chelsea’s room and headed in that direction. She was surprised to see Rachel sitting on the small twin bed, reading to her daughter. It was the first time she’d witnessed her sister do anything that even hinted of motherhood. She was about to tip-toe away and allow them their special time together when Chelsea must have spotted her.
“Aunt Hollin!” she squealed, and Hollin had no choice but to enter the bedroom.
Chelsea was dressed in pink flannel pajamas. Pink was her favorite color, she’d insisted on more than one occasion. When she grew up she was going to live in a pink house, drive a pink car and only wear pink clothing, she’d told her aunt and anyone who would listen. The room had been decorated, with no expense spared, in pinks and greens, flowers and ruffles. A room that any girl would be happy to call her own.
“Hi, sweetheart. You’re all ready for bed, I see.”
“Mommy, I want Aunt Hollin to read to me.”
Rachel looked up from the storybook in her hands and scowled at her sister.
Hollin quickly intervened. “Chelsea, your mom has already started the story. Maybe I can read to you tomorrow night.”
Her niece frowned, but nodded her assent. Hollin kissed her on the cheek. Chelsea smelled of shampoo and little girl. After saying goodnight, Hollin then retired to her room. She took a five-minute shower and climbed into bed, but left the lights on. So much was on her mind, she knew it would be a long time before sleep found her.
Although she hadn’t told her family about going to the trailer that morning and her altercation with Griffin, she’d thought about nothing but that. All day her mind had played war with the idea that he could be innocent. For thirteen years, she’d hated him. Had believed it was him who had hurt her.
She shivered, pulling the comforter up around her for warmth. Rachel chose that moment to walk in, without so much as a knock.
“I don’t deserve her,” she said, shutting the door softly behind her. When Hollin only stared at her with a look of confusion, Rachel went on to explain. “Chelsea. I’m a terrible mother.”
“If this is about her wanting me to read to her--”
“It isn’t.”
“Chelsea doesn’t get to see me very often.”
“It’s not about that, Hollin,” Rachel said. She made her way across the room and flopped into the green velveteen chair. She flicked her bangs off her forehead with the back of her hand. “I neglect her.”
Hollin wouldn’t argue with her there. She’d been in town for nearly ten days, and she’d yet to see Rachel get her daughter off to school. In fact, she usually didn’t get out of bed before noon.
And most afternoons when Chelsea got off the school bus, her mother would be gone. A lot of those times she didn’t return until her daughter was sound asleep, usually in the wee hours of the morning.
Hollin didn’t doubt Rachel loved her daughter, but she either didn’t know how, or care to be, a good mother. And it was unforgivable.
“It’s not intentional. I go to sleep each night telling
He picked it up, running a hand over the shiny material. The shoe was so like Hollin. Prim, proper, delicate. She was like a small flower that had been crushed. She was still hurting, still a scared little girl.
It wasn’t fair. As a teen she’d been so full of confidence and life. Always smiling. And then some sick bastard had stripped her of everything. Although she looked the same on the outside, it was merely a shell. It was what was on the inside that counted, and he doubted there was anything left of the old Hollin inside. The Hollin who had once thought she was in love with him.
No, there was nothing left now. Nothing except hatred and contempt for him.
#
At the top of the stairs, Hollin heard voices coming from Chelsea’s room and headed in that direction. She was surprised to see Rachel sitting on the small twin bed, reading to her daughter. It was the first time she’d witnessed her sister do anything that even hinted of motherhood. She was about to tip-toe away and allow them their special time together when Chelsea must have spotted her.
“Aunt Hollin!” she squealed, and Hollin had no choice but to enter the bedroom.
Chelsea was dressed in pink flannel pajamas. Pink was her favorite color, she’d insisted on more than one occasion. When she grew up she was going to live in a pink house, drive a pink car and only wear pink clothing, she’d told her aunt and anyone who would listen. The room had been decorated, with no expense spared, in pinks and greens, flowers and ruffles. A room that any girl would be happy to call her own.
“Hi, sweetheart. You’re all ready for bed, I see.”
“Mommy, I want Aunt Hollin to read to me.”
Rachel looked up from the storybook in her hands and scowled at her sister.
Hollin quickly intervened. “Chelsea, your mom has already started the story. Maybe I can read to you tomorrow night.”
Her niece frowned, but nodded her assent. Hollin kissed her on the cheek. Chelsea smelled of shampoo and little girl. After saying goodnight, Hollin then retired to her room. She took a five-minute shower and climbed into bed, but left the lights on. So much was on her mind, she knew it would be a long time before sleep found her.
Although she hadn’t told her family about going to the trailer that morning and her altercation with Griffin, she’d thought about nothing but that. All day her mind had played war with the idea that he could be innocent. For thirteen years, she’d hated him. Had believed it was him who had hurt her.
She shivered, pulling the comforter up around her for warmth. Rachel chose that moment to walk in, without so much as a knock.
“I don’t deserve her,” she said, shutting the door softly behind her. When Hollin only stared at her with a look of confusion, Rachel went on to explain. “Chelsea. I’m a terrible mother.”
“If this is about her wanting me to read to her--”
“It isn’t.”
“Chelsea doesn’t get to see me very often.”
“It’s not about that, Hollin,” Rachel said. She made her way across the room and flopped into the green velveteen chair. She flicked her bangs off her forehead with the back of her hand. “I neglect her.”
Hollin wouldn’t argue with her there. She’d been in town for nearly ten days, and she’d yet to see Rachel get her daughter off to school. In fact, she usually didn’t get out of bed before noon.
And most afternoons when Chelsea got off the school bus, her mother would be gone. A lot of those times she didn’t return until her daughter was sound asleep, usually in the wee hours of the morning.
Hollin didn’t doubt Rachel loved her daughter, but she either didn’t know how, or care to be, a good mother. And it was unforgivable.
“It’s not intentional. I go to sleep each night telling
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