Free The Drowning Game by LS Hawker

for the one I now held in my hand.
    Where had it come from? I wanted to dig through that box, but I heard the front door open and the old farmer say, “Thanks a lot, Keith.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Mr. Dooley said. “See you in church.”
    The front door closed.
    I slid the photo in my bra, sealed the box back up, and put Dad’s Mac on top. I was sweaty and cold, and that picture burned against my skin. I felt like it was glowing through my clothes.
    What else was in that box?
    I came down the stairs, shaking. “I want that box in the upstairs hall,” I blurted.
    Mr. Dooley froze and didn’t answer right away. “I’m sorry?”
    â€œI want that box.”
    A longer pause. He turned to me but didn’t speak.
    â€œDid you hear me?”
    â€œYes, Petty, I heard you. No need to shout. That box is the property of the trust.”
    â€œSo I can have it and Dad’s laptop if I marry Randy,” I said. “Right?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “The laptop will be stored inside the box, sealed and in my possession.”
    â€œDoes Randy know what’s in it?”
    â€œI couldn’t say. I just know that your father instructed him to remove the box and his laptop from the home and deliver them to my office for safekeeping.”
    I couldn’t think of anything to say. Why couldn’t I speak? Why couldn’t I be like Detective Deirdre Walsh and demand what I wanted? I grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled.
    â€œI’m certain your dad had a good reason for not giving you access to these things. Best not to think about it.”
    My dad was still controlling everything from beyond the grave.
    â€œBut—­”
    â€œYou always trusted his judgment in the past, didn’t you?” Mr. Dooley’s sharp tone startled me. Then he softened it again, but I didn’t believe anything he said anymore. “There’s no question in my mind that marrying Randy is the right thing. I was reading the other day that arranged marriages are actually some of the most successful. In the old days, they happened all the—­”
    I turned and ran out the door. Randy was sitting in his truck and saw me come out. He got out of the truck and opened the passenger-­side door for me. I got in and buckled up. I was light-­headed and almost giddy as I sat staring out the window, marveling at how often and how quickly I’d gone from excitement to total despair and back again over these last two days. How I’d been committed to killing myself. Until I saw my mother’s face.
    â€œEverything all right, gal?” Randy said.
    â€œYes.”
    Randy kept the country music turned up on the drive back, for which I was grateful. All I could think about was my mother’s face against my skin, and how I wanted to be home alone to think about it.
    Before I knew it, we were in front of my house. Randy put the truck in park.
    â€œI’m gonna be coming by every day to make sure you’re okay,” he said.
    â€œYou don’t need to do that.”
    â€œDooley and me, we discussed it and we decided I do. Now that your daddy’s gone and you’re all alone in this house, you need someone to protect you.”
    â€œI got the dogs.”
    â€œYou can’t be too careful.” I wasn’t sure whether this was a helpful warning or a threat. “What with your grief and all, you probably aren’t thinking too straight. Just let me and Dooley figure out what’s best for you.”
    Figure out what’s best for you. Because that’s what men did. What lawyers and dads and husbands did for girls. Decided what was best for us. Because we can’t think straight. Because we’re confused. Because we don’t understand.
    â€œSo I’ll be by later. Maybe you’ll ask me inside for a beer.”
    This time he didn’t pretend to lock me in. He let me go, because he’d be back