The Good Girl. Tara Quinn Taylor
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she forgotten?
Her mind conjured up a picture of her father’s smile, before he got sick, before they knew insurance wouldn’t pay for the transplant that could save his life.
A huge boom brought Mary fully back to the cramped little bathtub, to the children beneath her, shielded by her body. If anything came down on them, she’d catch the brunt of it.
Something crashed in the next room.
“What was that?” Damon shouted, tears evident in his voice.
“The wind,” Mary hollered back above the roar of the storm and baby Kayla’s cries. At least the baby was no longer screaming.
She was pretty sure the roof had just fallen in on the room they’d been standing in moments before.
Chances were she wasn’t going to make it out alive.
She thought of Aunt Marianne, after whom she’d been named. Her mother’s twin sister. Before Marianne’s divorce, before her ex-husband had broken her trust, and her heart, before he’d taken all their money and run, she’d laughed a lot.
She lived with Mary’s mother Bethanne in Florida now. The twins were older, quieter. But they had a group of friends. A comfortable life. Mary, the only child, had her own room in their home, which she visited often. She’d been there the previous month. Her mother and aunt were smiling again—particularly when she was with them.
They’d never thought less of Mary. Though they had to have known what she’d done. Who she’d been.
“You’re a good girl, Mary. Don’t ever forget that.”
Her breath caught, her heart stopping, at the deafening crack that rent the ceiling above them, taking away their light—leaving them in a mostly dark, windowless room, lit only by shadows coming in through the doorway.
“Are we going to die?” Damon’s arms clutched her neck, making it harder for her arms to sustain her weight against the sides of the tub. The tough little boy’s eyes, as she glanced down at him, were wide and vulnerable and filled with terror.
“No!” she yelled, making sure he not only saw the word on her lips but heard it, too. He had to believe he was going to be fine. Belief might be the one savior Damon had left. “It just sounds bad,” she added. “We’re perfectly safe in here.”
“I’m sorry I was mean to you.”
“You weren’t mean, Damon. You were scared. You’re a good boy. A wonderful big brother…”
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