by fear, in shock. That’s why I was one of the last people to be accounted for, hours after the storm, even after Susan’s body had been recovered. I heard people—my own parents—frantically calling my name, but I couldn’t respond. I was literally frozen from fear.”
“That follows what you wrote in your book.”
She bobbed her head once.
“So why don’t I believe you?”
Her chin went up a fraction. “Believe me or not, that’s your problem.”
“You’re damn right it is. I’ve got somebody trashing my airplane all because of you and the can of worms you opened. And this is a big, fat, juicy, squiggly one. You falter every time I ask whether or not you followed Susan and Allen Strickland.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“No. I mean—Yes, I’m sure. No I didn’t follow them. You confused me before and you’re trying to now. When I left the pavilion I ran toward the boathouse.”
“Okay, so why did you choose to warn Steven of the storm, and not your sister?”
“I didn’t make any such choice,” she exclaimed.
“But you did, Bellamy. You just said so. You went toward the boathouse because you’d seen Steven going in that direction.”
“That’s right.”
“Is it?”
She wiggled forward on the seat of the swing, trying to reach the ground with her toes. “Let me down.”
Instead, he moved in closer, using his body to hold her in the swing and the swing off the ground. “Did you find Steven? Were you able to warn him to seek shelter?”
“No.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Of course I’m sure. That’s why I was alone when they found me in the rubble.”
“You didn’t go after Susan? You didn’t see her after she left the pavilion?”
“No and no.”
“Did you also testify to that under oath?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“Because?”
“Because no one ever asked me. Until
“So if you didn’t swear otherwise, you might’ve followed her and Allen into the woods.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No?”
She set her chin stubbornly and refused to answer.
He joggled the chains of the swing. “A.k.a?” he said in a singsong voice. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Why are you bullying me about this?”
“I’m only trying to get to the absolute truth.”
“I’ve told you the absolute truth.”
“You didn’t chase after Susan.”
“No.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“Too bad.”
“Why does this point trip you up?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Yeah. It does. How come? There’s gotta be a reason.”
“Let me down, Dent.”
“Did you run after Susan?”
“No.”
“You didn’t?”
“No!”
“Bellamy?”
“
She gasped in stunned surprise at her own admission, and for several seconds they stayed frozen, their faces inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes. Then her head dropped forward and she repeated miserably, “I don’t know. And that’s the absolute truth.”
He’d pressured her for clarification, but hadn’t really expected it to be this consequential. If he had it to do over again, he might have relented sooner. As it was, he needed to get a grasp of the worrisome implications.
He pried his fingers from around the chain and, with that hand, tipped her head up. Tears were sliding over the freckles on her cheekbones. Her eyes were wet, deeply troubled, haunted.
“I can’t remember,” she said hoarsely. “I’ve tried, God knows. For eighteen years I’ve tried to bridge the gap. But that span of time is blocked out in my memory.”
“Specifically, what
“Specifically? I remember going down to the boathouse and seeing Susan drinking with her friends. Specifically, I remember her coming back, dancing with Allen Strickland, and making a spectacle of herself. I remember watching them leave the pavilion together.”
She looked at him and said helplessly, “But it’s like… like the broken center line on the highway. Sections of time are missing where I don’t remember what I did, or what I saw.”
She hiccuped a soft sob. “Yesterday I told you that I wrote the book so I’d be able to throw it away and forget it. But that was a lie. I wrote it in the hope of
“And what I think… what I’m afraid of… is that someone read the book, and knows what I left out. He knows whatever it is that I can’t remember. And he doesn’t want me to.”
Chapter 9
Dent wished he could dismiss her fear, but he’d come to the same unsettling conclusion. Someone was afraid that the constant retelling of the story would unlock a memory that had been sealed deep inside her subconscious for almost two decades.
Bellamy the child with a faulty memory hadn’t represented much of a threat to that individual. But Bellamy the woman with a best-selling book definitely did.
Also Dent feared that this elusive memory she so desperately wanted restored was one better left in the vault of her subconscious. Her psyche had blocked it for a reason. She might later regret learning why she’d been protected from it.
But he had selfish reasons for wanting her to recapture it, primarily his own vindication. So for the time being, he would keep his concerns to himself and continue to help her.
With the pad of his thumb, he wiped the tears off her cheek, then, using his thigh to hold the swing steady, cupped his hands in her armpits, lifted her off the seat, and lowered her to the ground. Even then, he withdrew his hands with reluctance.
He took a cautious look around. It had been five minutes since the lovers had come up for air. Paw-Paw and his wife had given up on the ball toss and had packed their grandson into their van and left. A forty-something man in shirtsleeves and slacks had parked his dusty sedan, gotten out, and walked straight to a picnic table, where he sat down and immediately opened up both his collar and his cell phone. While talking into his phone, he ogled the cheerleaders, who were doing flips. Dent figured the guy had timed his visit to the park when he knew they’d be there.
