Page 42 of Finding Limits

“So why go?” I ask.

“Because thirty-two years ago I took a brand and a vow to be wherever a Carson needs me to be.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sure Garrett would understand, is it a special occasion?” I’m not entirely sure how churches out here in the real world run, but Mitch is obviously feeling the pressure to be there today.

“No, just a plain old Sunday service. There's a woman who’s come to town and is playin’ some mind games.”

“The one who sent the head?”

“The…” Mitch looks stunned by my knowledge. “How did ya… Savannah.” He shakes his head and looks even angrier.

“Mitch, you don’t have to keep things from me. I got a pretty good idea that this place wasn’t your run-of-the-mill ranch when I saw that brand on your chest. You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“Well, she’s invited Garrett's wife to some fancy luncheon after church and Maisie is insistent on goin’.” I can tell he’s not impressed by that.

“Garrett wants us to have a strong presence in church today. Leia and Savannah are helpin’ with the bake sale after, and he wants eyes everywhere. So, here I am, dressed up like a dog's dinner ready to sing my praises.” He shakes his head furiously.

“So why do you hate church so much?” I know from what Savannah has told me that Mitch has endured way worse than an hour in church for the Carson cause.

“Church don’t hold good memories for me, darlin’.” He puts on his shoes and avoids eye contact.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask, everyone I speak to tells me that talking is the best way to get over my trauma, maybe it would work for Mitch too.

“No, I don’t.” He stands up and I quickly take his hand.

“Please, Mitch. I don’t like us having secrets.”

“You really wanna know?” He sighs, and when I nod he sits back down and squeezes my hand.

“When I was a boy my parents used to take me and my sister to church every Sunday. My mom and sister would dress immaculately, my father would polish his shoes, and mine, to ensure we all looked our best. We’d smile, we’d talk to everyone in the congregation. Then we’d come home. Dad would drink, and Mom would pay for it. Every Sunday was the same.” He clears his throat as the bad memories come back alive inside his head.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I place my other hand over the one I have linked with his.

“Did they separate?” I’m curious about where they are now. Mitch never talks about his parents.

“No, when his beatin’s started to extend to my sister, Mom started fightin’ back. One argument got outta hand and Dad ended up pushin’ Mom down the stairs. My sister was only young and I remember her screamin’, beggin’ her to wake up. The ambulance took her and she was in a coma for three weeks, just lyin’ there asleep.

Dad visited every day, actin’ like a lovin’ husband, pretendin’ it was an accident and willin’ her to come back to us. But I knew she was gone.”

“Mitch.” I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to watch someone you love die like that.

“He told me to stick to the story that she fell, and said if I didn’t, child services would take Harriet away and I’d never see her again.”

“And did you?”

“I stuck to his story, I hugged my sister when they turned Mom’s life support off then I held her hand while she got buried into the ground.”

“And do you speak to your father now?” I ask, fascinated by the past Mitch has had. I knew he had a nephew, but he never mentioned a sister before.

“My father’s dead,” he rasps, sliding his hand through his beard.

“And did you make peace with him before he died?” I know from reading the Bible that forgiveness is strength, it sets you free. It’s what I keep searching for whenever I think of my sister.

“Everleigh…” Mitch grips hold of me as if he’s scared I’ll run away. “I’m the one who killed him.” His expression is blank as he waits for my reaction.

She says nothing in response, just stares back at me, and I instantly regret being so damn honest when she stands up and heads toward the bedroom. Slouching back in my chair I scrub my hand over my face in frustration. What was going through my head when I admitted that? Things are good between us. So fuckin’ good, and now I’ve ruined it. I’ve never tried to hide who I am from Everleigh, but there are some things that you just have to hold back.

I hear the door click a few minutes later and when I see that Everleigh has changed into a cute, floaty dress that almost touches the floor, I study her up and down as she stands herself in front of me.

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