The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,49

time with Tammy. And it was the love Tammy had given her as an innocent child that had sustained her through the darkest chapter of her life, which was why Mary felt so guilty for having left Tammy behind.

She winced as her mind carried her back to that first year she’d been kidnapped when she’d been chained to the toilet in the Skinner mansion—what Jeff and Nora did to her whenever she displeased them. One time she hadn’t been allowed any food for two days, and if she wanted water, she had to drink it out of the toilet. Without question, it was one of the lowest points of her life—so low that she’d wanted to die.

But every so often, Tammy would sneak down and slip a piece of paper under the door—a crayon drawing of stars or hearts or flowers with the words “I love you” written in jagged, imperfect letters along the bottom—and those small gifts had made all the difference. Tammy even shoved a piece of bread under the door so that Mary could have something to eat. To this day, nothing had ever tasted so good.

A tear dropped onto her arm. Mary hadn’t realized she was crying, but she didn’t bother trying to hold back. She couldn’t stop, even if she wanted to. Yes, Tammy belonged to Jeff and Nora, and Mary didn’t want anything to do with them. But Tammy hadn’t been treated much better than Mary. And then, at only thirteen, Tammy had lost both parents when Jeff and Nora went to prison.

Mary had known that would most likely mean Tammy would be put into foster care, which was why she beat herself up so often for not taking the girl with her. But she’d been only nineteen when she’d been faced with that decision, and she hadn’t been allowed to go to school since she was kidnapped, so she had no education. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to care for one child, let alone two.

Besides, she knew the Skinners would never truly be out of her life as long as Tammy was in it. They’d write to Tammy, or Tammy might want to write to them, and as soon as they got out, they’d try to contact her.

That was something Mary simply couldn’t take on, so she’d left Tammy, changed her name, moved away and never looked back. She’d believed that was the only way she could recover and provide a decent life for her own daughter.

But what had her leaving cost Tammy?

She wasn’t sure she could bear to find out.

Intending to flush the letter down the toilet—whatever she’d done, it was too late to change anything—she stood and lifted the lid. But she’d only torn it four times when she stopped. She should at least be brave enough to read what Tammy had gone to so much trouble to tell her, shouldn’t she?

“Damn it,” she whispered. “Why? Why did you have to write me?”

Maybe the letter was just to warn her that Nora was out and had changed her name. Or maybe it was about that offer of money Mr. Owens had mentioned.

It could be that innocuous.

Or it could be something else entirely. After so much time, Mary had no idea how Tammy had turned out. She could be as bad as her parents. Or maybe Nora was using Tammy to get in touch with her. Nora was that crazy. She’d always claimed she “loved” Mary.

Still, Mary couldn’t bring herself to destroy the letter, couldn’t hide it for fear someone else would come across it, especially while Taylor and Caden were living in the house, and she couldn’t turn her back on Tammy again—not if Tammy needed her. This could be her only opportunity to right an old wrong.

Steeling herself for whatever the letter might say, she pulled the pieces of it out of the bits of envelope and arranged them like a jigsaw puzzle on the vanity.

Dear Bailey,

I’ve often wondered what I would say to you if I ever had the chance.

Well, this is my attempt to figure that out.

First of all, I’m sorry for what my parents did. I know those may feel like empty words, far too easy to say when nothing can change what you went through. But they’re sincere. I’ve spent most of my life, to this point, anyway, trying to come to grips with the question that has burned uppermost in my mind—why. Why were my parents so evil when almost everyone else’s parents