Southern Heat (Southern 6)

I walk over to the window and look outside at the sun slowly waking up. I stand here looking out for I don’t know how long, until Shirley comes back with her, and Willow has her eyes closed.

“She had a headache,” Shirley says. “She couldn’t open her eyes without having sharp pain, so we gave her something.”

“How long will she be out?” I ask as she locks her bed wheels.

“Shouldn’t be long,” she says. “But she was very quiet.” I nod at her, and she walks out of the room.

I sit in the chair and watch her sleep. Her head moves side to side, and then her eyes fly open, and she closes them right away. I get up, going over to the blinds, and close them. “See if this is better.”

She opens her eyes slowly, nodding her head. I don’t have time to tell her anything because there is a knock on the door.

I look over and see my father standing there, wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves. “Hi,” he says, and I look over at Willow, who looks at my father and then at me.

“Willow, this is my father, Casey,” I say, and my father walks over to her and smiles.

“Willow, good to meet you,” he says.

There is another knock on the door, and I look up to see my uncle Jacob and uncle Beau. “Hey,” they both say, coming into the room. Willow’s eyes go from one to the other as she tries to figure out who everyone is.

“This is my uncle Jacob,” I say, pointing at my uncle, and I see in her eyes that she recognizes the name. “Then my uncle Beau.”

They smile at her, and then another knock makes us look at the door. I look over at the same time as Willow, and then she screams.

My head turns in slow motion. Everyone in the room turns to look at Willow, who is shaking in the middle of the bed. “Oh my God,” she says, trying to move out of the bed. I get to the side of the bed as she tries to get as far away as she can. “He’s here.”

Chapter 12

Willow

My body shakes, and I can’t even stop it, the sound of my heart pounding out of my chest. I try to turn and escape off the bed when Quinn puts his hands around me. “It’s okay.” His heat from his hand soaks right through my hospital gown, and I look up at him. His soft blue eyes calm something inside me. “Promise.” I don’t know why, but something in the way he says those words, I believe him.

“I’m not my father.” The man speaks, and I turn to look at him, finally taking in his appearance. His body is much bigger than his father’s, his eyes just a touch lighter. His face not sunken in and filled with hatred.

“I’m Mayson,” he says, and I let go just a bit and sink back into the bed.

I look at Quinn, who just nods his head, telling me that what this man is saying is the truth. “What are you all doing here?” I ask, my voice trembling as I look at all the men standing in my room.

“We have questions for you,” Quinn’s father, Casey, says. They look the same and could be brothers. His father has a bit of white at his temples, and Quinn is a bit wider than his father, but everything down to their eyes is the same.

“I thought I was talking to the sheriff,” I say, looking at Jacob. Sitting in the middle of the bed, I feel my mouth suddenly dry as my hands shake. I sink back into the warmth of the bed, hoping that it spreads through my body.

“You will be,” Jacob says, and Quinn walks over to the table. I want to yell at him not to leave me. I want to tell him that I want him beside me, but I just let him go. “The investigation has been ongoing, and lots of people have been working on it. I hope this is okay?” Quinn grabs the white cup and brings it over to me.

I ignore the cup of water that Quinn holds in his hand, refusing to give them any leverage over me. “What do you want to know?” I look at all of them, and my eyes go to Mayson as he stares at me. I wonder if he knows what I went through. I wonder if he can tell the hell I’ve lived in. I wonder if he knew all this time and ignored it.

“Who are you?” Mayson asks before anyone else.

“My name is Rosemary Davis.” I give them my full legal name. I look at their faces and see that they have never heard of me, which means I covered my tracks. “But I was always crying as a child, so they called me weeping Willow instead.”