Chapter Thirty
Abby
I watched a turtle shuffle slowly out of the water up onto the beach. I had been sitting there for a while, but I'd lost track of time. I wasn't crying anymore. Now I was just tired. My mind wasn't racing anymore. I was just upset. Shaken.
I hadn't thought about what I would do if anyone knew who I was in a long time. I mean, I wasn't even that person anymore. I hadn't used that name or looked like that in years.
It was like being dunked headfirst into really cold water. Part of me thought I should have known that it would happen eventually, and the other half was just really comfortable believing everything had happened in the past and the rest of the world had left it there like I had.
I hated it had been that easy to unsettle me. It wasn't like I was in danger or anything. My father was dying in prison. I wasn't in contact with anybody who had known me in the past, and if they wanted to track me down, they wouldn't be able to. I had changed my name, and years had changed my appearance.
All that was left was that scar.
Was that what had given it away? I wasn't even sure that that was common knowledge. I had never read any of the articles written about what had happened. Why would I? I had been there. I knew what had happened. I'd probably never forget.
It was just upsetting. That was it. I had left Texas. I hadn't even stepped foot on the mainland since I had landed on Lanai. As far as I was concerned, Frances McCune didn't exist anymore. Abby Terrell had taken her place. She had made something of herself and had a place she could call home, far away from the ugly things that had happened. She had friends, people who loved her. People who treated her like a normal girl and not a sideshow freak because of the things that her father had done.
I hated that it was still who I was: that monster's daughter. I hated that as much as I had tried, I wasn't allowed to just be me anymore. I’d had my life taken from me, and all the years here that I had spent trying to have something that I could call mine because I had built it by myself were all for nothing. He hadn't killed me, but Randall McCune — my father — had taken my life.
I concentrated on the natural sounds around me. The water and the wind. I concentrated on what was real and what I could feel. The things that mattered. It calmed me down, coming here and being able to hear my own thoughts. I was alone, but it wasn't lonely. It was noisy, but it wasn't deafening. My own little place I knew I could run when it was me who had made the choice to. Not where I had to hide because my father had made living impossible.
I thought about going back, but I wasn't ready yet. The worst had passed; now I just wanted to regroup before I had to pretend like nothing was wrong again. I knew I could do it. It would just take time, more time to get me back to a place where it didn't plague me so much anymore.
I looked behind me, suddenly hearing a sound. There was someone else on the beach. I smiled sadly realizing who it was.
I sat quietly as he approached and sat next to me in his dark jeans and shirt.
"How did you know where to find me?" I asked him.
"You told me this is where you came to get away," he said.
"Why did you come after me if you knew that was what I wanted to do?"
"Because you were there for me when I needed you. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Well, you can see," I said shrugging. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" he asked. I looked at him. He was looking at me. "If I fucked up, if I did something last night, I need you to tell me. I'm not smart enough to figure it out on my own," he said. I raised my eyebrows.
"Nate, it wasn't you. Last night was amazing. This was something else."
"I wish you came to me instead of running away," he said.
"I didn't run away."
"I was looking everywhere for you. Nobody knew where you were."
"I'm sorry I worried you. I just needed some time to cool off."
"What happened?" he asked gently.
I was silent. I carried the secret of what had happened like it was me who had committed the crime and not my father. If I told him, yet another person would know my secret shame. What if he thought it made me fucked up and a monster like my father? What if he knew that if it ever got out, the media would be all over me and that wasn't what he wanted? What if he just thought I was somehow guilty by association and didn't want to handle my baggage?
"I can't say," I whispered.
"What could it possibly be? There's no way it’s worse than what I told you."
"It might be," I warned.
"I don't care. I want to help you," he said.
Just do it, I thought. What was the worst thing he could do? Leave? He was going to do that anyway. I took a deep breath.
"I was born in Texas," I started. "It was a small town. Rochester. My father and mother owned a small ranch. I was their only child. I'd work on the ranch every day when I wasn't in school. Everyone knew us. Everyone really liked us. My dad was a stand-up guy, community leader, church member... That was why it was such a shock when he did what he did."
"What did he do?" he asked.
"Do you recognize the name Randall McCune?" I asked. He paused for a second.
"It's a little familiar."
"He killed six people in Texas six years ago. He entered a house where a family of five were sleeping. He killed everyone as they slept. He went back to his house and held his wife and child hostage inside while the police attempted to get everybody out without using excessive force.
“He killed his wife, but was apprehended before he killed his child. She was fifteen years old when it happened," I said, remembering the scene as I narrated it.
"Did you know the family?"
"I still have the scar from where he almost used the knife he used on Mom to kill me," I said, my voice cracking.
"Oh my God, Abby," he whispered. I felt hot tears pour down my face.
"I had to leave. I had my name changed and was kept in a group home. They let me emancipate myself from my father because of the circumstances, and as soon as I turned eighteen, I was allowed to move out of state.
“I came here, and I haven't looked back since. He went to prison, where he will stay until he dies. I haven't contacted him since.
“Today, a couple of hotel guests recognized me. They knew my story and who my father was. I've been trying to get away from him and what he did since I was still a kid. I thought it had been long enough and I had run far enough, but I guess not."
"I'm so sorry that you went through that," he said.
"I am, too. I couldn't live the rest of my life known as that monster's daughter. It just ruffled me, what happened today. I needed a little time to get over it."
"Why didn't you tell me anything?" he asked. I laughed.
"Because I couldn't have normal baggage like a kid, or kleptomania, or something. Related to a serial killer? That makes me guilty by association. I'd stay away from me if I were you. It might be hereditary." He laughed lightly.
"Nothing your father did is your fault."
"He's still my father. Whether people think I'm like him or not, they think I'm a freak because of who raised me."
"You're not a freak. He committed those crimes on his own. You aren't responsible for any of it. Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already." I smiled. He moved closer to me and put his arm around my waist, kissing my temple.
"Did you hear about the story?"
"I must have, but it happened a while ago," he said.
"So, you've forgotten. I've tried so hard to do that. I thought I would be safe here. Out of his shadow. Of all the things I could possibly be known for…" I said darkly.
"They had no right to say that to you. Even if they did know, they should have kept it to themselves."
"It was a nightmare during the trial. They made me take the stand with my neck bandaged up. Then afterward, they wouldn't leave me alone. People were scared of me or wanted to interview me. They wanted to write their articles and human interest pieces. Laugh, point their fingers."
"I'm so sorry, babe," he whispered. He kissed me again. "None of that can touch you now."
"But they know," I protested.
"They are going to leave at some point and without proof, it's just a story from two wackos who wanted to start a rumor." I leaned my head against his shoulder.
"What if they won't leave me alone? When he said it, I remembered everything like I was there again."
"I'll take care of them," he said.
"How?" I asked, turning to look at him.
"Let me do this for you, Abby," he said, not answering my question. "Come on. You can't spend the whole day here. The sun is going to go down soon.”
"Just a little while longer?" I asked. We sat there twenty more minutes before he walked me to the car he came in and drove us back to the hotel.
He peeled my clothes off and put me in my bed when we got to my house. He made me tea and sat with me until I fell asleep, talking to me and letting me talk.
I wasn’t a freak when I was with him. My past didn’t exist. It had shaken me, what had happened, but I needed this. He’d help me get over it.