Free Buried Truth by Dana Mentink Page A

returned to the truck just as his phone rang. He smiled at the sight of the familiar number.
    “Hello, Aunt Jean.”
    “Hey there, Billy. It’s a wonder an old aunt could get such a busy young fellow on the phone.”
    He laughed. “I’ve always got time for you.”
    “You’ve always got time for my pie, more like it.” Her voice grew serious. “I was remembering all those warnings you gave me about this Birch fellow and how I should be on the lookout and such.”
    A flash of foreboding crept up his spine. “Yes?”
    “Well, I found an envelope on my porch this morning with your name on it.”
    Panic flashed through him. “Don’t open it. Don’t touch it.” He was already gunning the motor to life.
    “Too late. The dogs got it and I had to wrestle it away.” She chuckled. “At least we know it wasn’t rigged to explode.”
    Bill could hardly hear over his pounding heart. “Just leave it alone and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    He disconnected and drove as fast as he dared toward Aunt Jean’s.

SEVEN
    H eather had to stop several times before she made it onto the airplane. A lacerating pain stabbed through her heart. Her mother was back, but not for her daughter. The woman had come merely for a rent-free place to live, after all the years of silence, all the years of pain. Heather had been praying since she was ten for her mother’s return and now she couldn’t understand why.
    God, why does this have to hurt so much? And why now?
    “Can I help you find your seat?” a dark-haired flight attendant offered.
    Heather realized she was standing in the middle of the aisle. She shook her head and tried to take some deep breaths as she trudged to her seat.
    Her mother’s face was fixed in her memory and she could not tear it away.
    The strong features, the perfect posture.
    The hands that she had longed her whole life to hold.
    Think about Miami. You can start over, away from Mother and Oscar.
    And Bill.
    She felt his concern in the way he’d put an arm around her shoulders.
    His job was to get you on the plane, Heather. Don’t mistake his actions for anything else.
    So many years, she thought. So many years it had taken for her to recognize that the root of her bad decisions, her helplessness against alcohol, was the blinding need to ease the hurt from her mother’s abandonment. She did not understand for one minute why her father would allow his runaway wife back in his own life. He’d never officially divorced her, and Heather didn’t understand that, either. Surely Margot had hurt him as badly as she had hurt Heather by walking away without a backward glance.
    Skin stinging with cold and emotion, she listened again to her father’s voice mail message.
    I’m asking you to take care of …
    Heather filled in the rest.
    Your mother.
    Take care of the woman who had left her? Walked out and never looked back? His request was another slap of betrayal. She fought a surge of helplessness that she had not felt since she’d gotten sober, the nasty spiraling storm that thundered through her. Was there no one left to be her safety in this storm? Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed a clumsy, stumbling prayer.
    Help me. Please.
    She willed the passengers to board the plane, to get the machine off the ground and as far away as possible. Sunlight pouring through the round window caught her attention and she peered down on the tarmac below. Some orange-vested workers bustled around, driving small carts and talking into radios.
    She peered closely at their faces. Was Oscar down there somewhere? Blended in with the employees? Would he decide to go after Bill in earnest after she was gone?
    Nothing will stop this guy… .
    Her hands began to shake and she had trouble breathing. Mother, Oscar, Bill. Her world was spiraling out of control and the only thing that would help was to leave this place immediately.
    The flight attendant appeared at her side again. “Are you okay, ma’am? I notice you look upset. Are