The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (10 best books of all time TXT) 📗

“Shhh,” you say, more breath than word. “It’s okay. Shhh.”

Almost since you were old enough to listen, people have spilled the contents of their hearts into your arms. Mom says it’s your eyes—big, brown, understanding. Your father’s. But listening was one thing. You always hoped you sounded like someone who knew what to say.

But you understand now. Knowing what to say is easy. Think of what you want to hear most in this world—what you would never let yourself ask for—and tell them.

And then later, when you’re alone, say it to yourself.

Twelve THE SECOND DAY

I DON’T SLEEP much that night.

I try, for a while. But after a few hours I move to the living room couch. I can’t relax unless I can see both doors. Throughout the night, I keep looking at them. The front door made of heavy wood. The back door of sliding glass over my shoulder, within tantalizing reach.

Around three a.m., I finally call Sheriff Jones. She answers so quickly the phone must have been in her hand.

It’s a short, delirious conversation: she tells me that I’m making the right choice, that she’ll ensure I don’t regret it, that she’ll help as best she can, and that I should rest until the morning. I ask if I should call Maggie Williams. She tells me she’ll figure it out soon enough.

I fall into an uneasy doze by the window, snapping awake at every little sound.

I don’t know what I’m expecting Mayor Williams to do, exactly. I don’t know what she can do. And if she can still see the future, maybe she already saw what I was going to choose. All I know is that for the past few hours, I’ve heard the voice of that man, yelling from his car.

What gives you the right?

I don’t know what gives me the right, exactly. But this isn’t some nameless something anymore. Whatever they want, they’re trying to tell me. And maybe it’s Alex’s words still ringing in my ear. But I think I should try to listen.

And since our conversation, that stirring over my shoulder—the feeling I’ve come to recognize as the Flood—feels a little closer. I wonder if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

As the light spreads across the pavement, my phone buzzes with a text. I pick it up, heart hammering. But it’s not Mom, or Flora.

Rose, it’s Christie Jones. I’m heading out for an interview, should be back by late afternoon. Felix is picking you up.

I start to respond but pause when I see she’s typing something else. Eventually, my phone buzzes.

Can you check on Cassie when you get to the station?

I laugh softly. Sounds like that conversation didn’t go well. Sure, but I’ve only known her a day?

She likes you, Christie types back.

She seems really sure her parents didn’t do this, I type.

The response comes a few minutes later. See, this is why she likes you.

I toss the phone to the couch cushions and try to close my eyes a little longer. I don’t sleep very deeply. But when I open the door to wait outside, there’s a note, in a flowy feminine hand, sitting on the doormat:

Have it your way.

I spend the rest of my wait on the front steps, watching the road.

Felix pulls up eventually, looking as tired as I feel. So at least we’re in the same place emotionally.

His stare sharpens a little when I get closer, though, and I can feel him watching me as I offload my bag into the back seat. I manage a weary smile as I wave.

He takes a breath, and I tense. But he doesn’t ask why I’m giving the Flood a chance, or if I considered the mayor’s offer, or any of what I’m expecting to hear.

“Are you okay?”

For a long, blank second, all I can do is stare. It’s been a while since anyone asked me that.

“What?” I say.

“Sorry.” His eyes get wider. “You’ve got kind of a . . .” He indicates his face with a circular gesture, which is both impossibly vague and immediately understandable.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly.

“I mean, if you say so,” he says. “But if there’s anything I can do . . .”

I give him a look across the hood of the car. And then I swallow. “Can I drive?”

He blinks. But he doesn’t ask. He tosses me the keys, and he starts to walk around to the passenger’s side.

I take a second to adjust the seat, the mirrors, I slide the keys into the ignition. And it unties a knot I’d forgotten was there.

Felix, buckling his seat belt, smiles at me. “What’d you do about the mayor?”

I smile queasily back. “Blew her off.”

He nods, long and serious. “Power move.”

I snort. “And you guys? What’d you find?”

“In terms of actual information?” Felix says. He doesn’t elaborate, but his grimace says it all. “Not to worry, though. Allie has a Plan.”

“Oh,” I say. “Good. What?”

“Well, first of all, we’re detouring a little,” he says. “Head to Gibson Repairs, and we’ll go to the station from there.”

Reflexively, I glance at the dashboard panel, and he quickly adds, “Not for me, don’t worry. You’ll see when we get there.”

And as we pull up next to the garage, I still don’t get it. It’s not until I get a closer look at the strip mall across the street that I realize where we are: sitting exactly opposite Paul’s Pawn and Loan.

Theresa herself is leaning against the garage when we pull up, and as Felix rolls his window down, she unceremoniously thrusts a piece of paper into his hand. “It’s not a complete list or anything,” she says. “I do work from time to time, you know.”

Felix unfolds the paper, and I catch a lengthy list of names. “No, this is perfect,” he says. “And the people you’ve seen more than once are at the top?”

“I can follow simple directions, Felix,” she drawls. “You gonna tell me what this is about, or do I have to get