Page 51 of Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter

He covers the onion mound with a napkin as if the very sight is offensive. “No onions. Can’t stand the things.”

“You have totellthem no onions, Mr. Crawford.”

“I did.”

Penny flashes a tight-lipped smile as she relocates his tray to the dresser. “I’ll make sure they look more carefully next time. Until then …” She guides him into a wheelchair. His prosthetic leg clanks against the footrest. “… we’re going to bingo in the common room. Providence, would you like to join him? Mr. Crawford does better when he has a teammate.”

“I should probably get—actually, I’d be happy to join. Is it okay—can I use the bathroom in here?”

“Of course. We’ll be in the common room.” Penny leans in closer to me and takes my hand. She weaves her fingers between mine. “And I’m so sorry about your mom. I know we were never close, but you have my number. When my mom died a few years ago … sometimes it helps to talk to someone who knows how it feels.”

I count to five after they leave the room and slip into the bathroom, which is more barebones than I expect. No shelves, nooks, or crannies, completely without the ingenious little hiding places I was counting on. The cabinet beneath the sink is my only option. It’s deep enough and cluttered enough to be a suitable hiding place.

I take the gun from my purse. I’ve already emptied the clip and wrapped the firearm in paper towels, fastened by rubber bands around the handle and barrel. I wedge it between the wall and a plastic shelving unit filled with razorblades and single-use flossers.

Come find it now, Josiah.

I am wandering through the aisles of the grocery store like a lost cruise ship passenger, arms full of off-brand cornflake boxes, when my phone rings.

“You have a call from an individual in custody at the—” The automated female voice is replaced by a garbled recordingof Josiah. “—the Tillman County Sheriff’s Department.” The automated voice returns. “If you wish to accept, please press 1.”

The line rings interminably. My imagination fires on all cylinders, jumping from one scenario to the next at breakneck speed until finally I settle on the one that brings me joy. I’m not the type to pray, but I shoot one into the sky anyway.Please, God, let it be my father. Let it be the old man.

“You’re my one phone call, bitch. Get your ass down here.”

“What did you do, Harmony?”

CHAPTER

15

August 18th

12:12PM

WE ARE INthe interrogation room at the sheriff’s station. I know these cold, concrete confines. I see this room in my nightmares, where I am trapped like a caged animal and I claw at the walls until blood leaks from beneath my fingernails.

Harmony stretches her hands on the table between us, her wrists bound close in handcuffs. They’re too tight on her. They were too tight on me too. By the time they free her, there will be deep, throbbing, red indentations encircled around each of her wrists, and she will keep her hands close together for hours, as if they are still chained.

“I was thinking about how the old man used to lock us in the linen closet after church. Pig.”

Her words pull me back into the moment. “I’ve spent years trying not to think about it.”

“It’s boarded off. He’s literally nailed wooden boards over that door.”

“Mostly I think we’re lucky he didn’t do that while we were in there.”

“I’ve been—” She tosses a glance over her shoulder at the unsubtle one-way mirror, where Josiah and company are no doubt observing us. She leans toward me. “I’ve been in here forhours. I’m so bored. I started to see if I could remember some of the verses he would make us recite in there, but I … you must remember some of them. You were always the best at Bible verses. All I remember is how morbid they all were.”

“‘And cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’”

“Do you remember one about an unpardonable sin?”

I shake my head.

“I’ve been turning it over in my head, since I’ve beenstuck in here for ages!” Harmony shouts at the mirror. “Is there an unpardonable sin? Is there something so horrible even God can’t forgive?”

“Blasphemy, now that I think about it.”

---