Page 9 of One of Six

Father narrows his eyes, unsure of the sincerity behind my apology. There was none, however, it sounded real to my ears.

I add, "I told the truth last night. I didn't recognize the person who released me. I could have died in the car Daddy. He saved my life. I couldn't breathe; it was so hot. Maybe that's why the person helped me."

"Hmm," he mutters. "I do agree David shouldn't have done that. However, it served you right for dressing like a slut."

Keep your mouth shut, Bea!

Stuffing my mouth full of pancakes, I fall silent.

Luckily, my father drops it and leaves for work. That leaves me alone with my mother.

"What time will Jason be here?"

"Seven sharp. I have made you an appointment with Donna for eleven. I've instructed her to cut the length off. A bob will make you look more mature."

I gap. "I am not having my hair cut short. It would be wild, and Father will be cross with us both."

"It was your father's idea," she replies.

I place my fork down and stare. "I will take all the beatings, but I am not cutting off my hair."

"It's only hair, Beatrice," she says, exasperated. "It will grow back."

"It won't need to grow back because it is not being cut. You ask my prospective grooms if they want me with long or short hair. I bet you they will choose long."

I stand, my mother slams her hands on the table. "What do you know about what a man wants?" Her eyes narrow.

"I read." I snicker unable to stop myself. "A man likes to have hair to hold onto when his woman is down on her knees blowing him." I slap a hand over my mouth in horror.

I stun mother into silence.

A giggle escapes while I watch Mom flush. I'm probably as red as my hair. I scamper from the dining room with my mother's "Beatrice" flying after me. I dart outside and run over the back lawn toward the river. After last night, I doubt mother will tell father what I said. She'd be too embarrassed. I'm not even sure where those words came from. I'm going to hell.

At the river, I find a shady area to stand and watch the water rush past me. It's quiet and peaceful, far from the anger in the house.

Shrubs across the way rustle before a man appears. He faces me, and I gasp in surprise.

"You look pretty," Atilio says.

"What are you doing here?" My gaze roves over the man, my mouth dry.

"I thought I'd call and see if you're okay. My brother told me what the sheriff did to you."

My hand automatically goes to my cheek. Atilio's eyes fly wide. "He hit you?"

“My uncle didn’t.” I clear my throat. "Please, will you thank Nico for rescuing me. I was freaking out. I couldn't breathe."

Atilio nods, his eyes not moving from my face. "Nico said you thought he was Essex."

"I did at first. Then I realized it wasn't." I shrug and nod toward the house. "I didn't tell them who it was. I won't."

"That's why he hit you, isn't it? They wanted a name?"

"Yeah." I figure it's pointless to lie to him. I spent my life living in fear. I don't want to lie to the Redds.

"It might be best if you refrain from riding through town for a few days. Let the incident settle. I don't want my uncle putting two and two together."

"You have a point. I'll tell the others." He keeps his eyes on me, and I start to blush. He smiles. "You have unusual hair."

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