Truth is in the Darkness (Paynes Creek #2) - Heather Sunseri

One

Lil

Twelve Years Ago

This is a really bad idea.

Climbing down the trellis outside my bedroom window, I could hear Grammy’s voice in the back of my mind prophesizing “Nothing good happens after midnight.” That was always her answer when my cousin and I whined about our midnight curfew.

But I was seventeen, and Coop had planned the most perfect night for us. And I wasn’t at Grammy’s house. She would never know that I had snuck out. My mother had passed out on the couch hours ago, so I was pretty certain she’d never notice my absence. Nor would she care.

With eyes closed tightly, I started my Toyota Corolla, praying to the gods that I was right about my mother being dead to the world and the sound wouldn’t wake her. She had come home from her date around ten. I could tell by the way she told me she loved me that she’d been drinking, which infuriated me since she had been driving my car and putting her life at risk. She hugged me and nearly teared up when she said how much she was going to miss me when I went off to college the following year.

That was a lie. My mother was so wrapped up in trying to recapture her lost youth, going out night after night, that me leaving would feed right into her master plan. She wasn’t going to miss me—she was looking forward to the day I was no longer in the house. And so was I. I was already living at Grammy’s half of the time anyway.

I glanced back at the house as I pulled away, and was satisfied to see that no lights had been turned on when I left. She hadn’t woken.

There was something peaceful about driving through Paynes Creek late at night. Very few cars were on the road. Houses and businesses were dark. Even my radio seemed too loud for the silence, so I turned down the volume.

As I neared the Stop & Go, the only twenty-four-hour gas station in our quaint little town, I considered stopping in—I did need gas, thanks to Linda. But I decided I didn’t want to keep Coop waiting. So I made a mental note to fuel up later, then took a right, heading for the meeting spot that Coop and I called our own. We had discovered that the area beside the barn on Old Mr. Kuster’s land was nice and private, the perfect place to hang out, stargaze, and talk about our hopes and dreams for the future.

Coop had wanted to pick me up so that I wouldn’t be driving alone, but I’d insisted that I meet him since he’d be coming from the opposite direction. Besides, I needed the mental prep time.

I spotted Coop’s old pickup truck parked just outside the gate at the entrance to the Kuster farm. I quickly came to a stop, turned off the car, and cut my lights. In the silence, my breathing picked up, and my hands perspired so badly I had to rub them against my jeans.

Why was I so nervous? I wasn’t the least bit uncertain about taking this next step with Coop. He and I had talked about it at length. We loved each other. We planned to get married eventually. We’d probably wait until after college, of course—that would be the smart thing—but we already knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. And we weren’t rushing things; we’d waited a whole year.

We’d even researched and decided what kind of birth control we would use. That had proven to be an easy decision once my dermatologist told me the pill might help with my acne problem. I jumped at the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

So why was I sitting in my car, rubbing my palms against my jeans?

With one last deep, cleansing breath, I opened the car door—cringing when the overhead light came on—and got out. I straightened my sweater and walked toward the gate. Not the side with the lock, but the other side, where it was safer to climb over.

The air on this mid-May night was warm. We’d said our final goodbyes to winter after the late-spring snow shower two weeks ago. Scattered thunderstorms over the past week had left the ground damp and soft, but they’d also brought a nice warming trend.

I eased myself over the fence and started for the barn where Mr. Kuster stored his tractors and farm equipment. As I came