“Yes, tell her I’ll take it.” I acknowledged the Lovejoys with a genial glance as I speed dialed Trace.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey, you.”
“Hey yourself.” His welcoming voice soothed my frayed nerves. “Dr. Rosen has an opening for me tomorrow morning. Are you free?”
“Yeah. Of course, but are you sure you’re ready for this?”
My heart fluttered. “No, but he thinks I am.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
No Rainbows
SHANNON
____________________________
Twelve years ago….
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Sheriff Jackson Gray murmured. His ragged brows arched above moss-colored eyes. “I just want to understand what happened. Your mother’s gone now, but I know she’d want you to tell the truth.”
I rocked back and forth in Auntie’s easy chair. My pulse raced. My heart pounded. So far, Uncle Jackson had spoken in a gentle voice, yet impatience lurked beneath the surface. It gave his tone an edge he couldn’t hide.
Five minutes ago, he’d stuck a needle in the back of my hand. It was attached to a tube that connected to an IV bag he’d hung on a pole beside my chair.
Overhead, a ceiling fan churned, the sound like one of those cartoon pterodactyls swooping in for its prey. Light speared from a brass floor lamp he’d set right next to me. It shone so bright, I had to squint to see.
“Shannon, honey?” he continued. “The day your mother died, why’d you stay home? This is official police business. You gotta tell the truth. Otherwise….”
“What?” I croaked.
“You’ll be leaving me no choice.”
Panic burned into me. “Will I go to jail?”
I had no reason to think otherwise. He’d done the same to Trace two weeks ago.
“Really, Jackson!” Auntie’s voice exploded from the rear. She was perched behind me, on the window seat next to Uncle Sears, and I imagined her standing ramrod stiff, with her tiny hands balled on her narrow hips. “This isn’t one of your prison camps, and she’s not a POW. She’s a child, damn you!”
“Shut up,” Uncle Sears hissed. “You know what’s at stake.”
Uncle Jackson smiled at me again, a smile that skirted his eyes. “Yes, honey. I’d have to take you in. Maybe even stick you in a cell. I don’t want to do that. Just tell me what I need to know, and everything’ll be fine. Okay?”
Clad in pink pajamas, I dragged my legs up tight against my chest.
“Now why did you stay home?”
In a muted whisper, I said, “It was volleyball day.”
“So?”
I don’t want to talk about this. Blessed Virgin please make him stop. “I…had to wear shorts.”
“You wanted to wear something else?”
My heart skipped. “Yes.”
“Why, Shannon?”
Please! “Because,” I muttered. “People would see.”
“See what?”
Help me! I’m begging you. I rested my chin against my thighs. “Ah…m-my skin. They’d see my skin.”
“What was wrong with it?”
Tears stung. There was no way out of this. “I h-had…bruises.”
Auntie gasped.
In a move that took a split-second, Uncle Jackson’s gaze dashed from me to her. He delivered a swift but silent rebuke, then looked at me again. “Where were these bruises?”
I sniffed and hugged my knees tighter, afraid if I let go, I’d fall apart. “On my legs. My arms. My back.”
“Did you tell anyone else about this?”
“N-no. Mother said the rainbows were our secret.”
His face paled. “Rainbows?”
I sniffed again. “My bruises—that’s…that’s what she made me call them. Something about G-god giving Noah a rainbow after the…the flood. She said that’s why Noah never forgot—because of the rainbow. So s-she told me that every time I looked at…at the colors, I should remember not to upset her.”
Auntie gasped again.
The sheriff’s throat worked. “Your Mother didn’t give you any bruises,” he said, clearly disturbed. “Do you hear me? You stayed home because you had a stomach ache, understand?”
I shook my head fitfully and my hair slapped my damp cheeks. My eyes were swollen from crying. “Can I please go back to bed?”
“That’ll be enough, Jackson!” Auntie stormed around and stood behind the sheriff. Uncle Sears followed. “Can’t you see she’s—”
The sheriff didn’t move, just flashed a beefy palm to silence her.
My gaze zigzagged from Auntie, whose face was soft with empathy, to Uncle Sears, whose mouth was a grim slash, to Sheriff Gray, whose eyes had narrowed to slits. We’d been at this for more than an hour. I’d answered what seemed like a million questions. Now I wasn’t sure of anything.
I whimpered. “I’m so tired.”
“I won’t be a party to this.” Auntie burst into tears and fled down the hall. Her rapid footsteps echoed.
Uncle Sears moved away. He watched his wife’s retreat through hooded eyes and leaned against the wall. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically warm and soothing. “Gumdrop? Were you upset when Trace got fired?”
I stopped mid-sob. The question took me aback. “Y-yes, of course.”
“When you get upset, what happens?” Uncle Sears asked.
Took me a second or so to think. “Um…I-I cry sometimes. Why?”
The sheriff sent him a nod of approval.
Uncle Sears stepped forward. His hands were clasped behind his back while he circled me, his pace slow and easy. I’d seen him do this at the courthouse. Mother had taken me once when I was five just to watch him work.
“Well, you cry when you get upset,” Uncle Sears remarked, his silver-blonde head tilted in thought. Like Father, he’d gone prematurely gray. “Don’t you feel sick sometimes too? I know when I get upset, all kinds of things happen. I’m nervous, and my stomach starts doing strange things.”
That surprised me. Nothing ever rattled Uncle. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. All the time.” He grinned, just like Father used to. They were twin brothers, after all. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat—did you have breakfast that morning?”
“No,” I said feeling the first measure of calm.
“See? It was your stomach. Wasn’t it?”
“Um-yeah. I guesso.”
“And your Mother never gave you bruises, did she?”
I raised cautious eyes. “Yes.”
“No, she didn’t,” he said with a warm smile.
I started rocking. Oh, yes, she did.
In front of strangers, Lilith Bradford became “nice Mother,” but “mean Mother” always returned once “nice Mother’s” audience had gone.