The Search The Secrets of Crittenden Cou - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,51

I’m glad you think I am.” When Deborah smiled, Abby continued. “My grandmother told me it’s not a good idea to try to guess why God does the things He does. His plans are far bigger than ours could ever be.”

“Well said, Abby,” she said softly. “What your grandmother said is gut advice, for sure. It’s human to doubt, though. Our mind plays tricks on us. Makes us doubt what our parents taught us. Or what the Bible says. Sometimes that’s the hardest thing not to do.”

Abby’s gaze was piercing. “When I was following my girlfriends on that field, everything inside of me was saying that it was the wrong thing to do. That I should stop and turn around. I really wish I had listened.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Deborah, do . . . do you think that voice was God?”

“I do not know.” And that was the truth.

“If I would have listened to that voice, I wouldn’t have been in the field. And someone else would have discovered . . . your brother. Maybe Jessica and Emily. Maybe somebody else . . .” Her voice trailed off with a shrug.

Deborah understood her confusion. What would have happened if Abby hadn’t discovered Perry’s body when she did? Would things be better for her parents if they still held a grain of hope?

Or would they all have delved into a darker place by now, not only sitting in silence in the evenings, but letting the doubts and worries and blame take hold of them. Turning what was already a terrible situation into something far worse?

She weighed her words carefully, then realized that there were no “right” words. What was in her heart counted. “That might be true. But perhaps other people might have been so disturbed by what they saw that they wouldn’t have told anyone. Or perhaps they would have been too afraid to know what to do. But what’s done is done. And please know that I don’t blame you, Abby. I never have.”

“Who have you blamed, then?”

Ah, so Abby was smart enough to know that Deborah wasn’t strong enough to not blame anyone.

That no matter how easy it was to hope and pray for forgiveness, it was a far different thing to realize that instant forgiveness was almost impossible to do.

“I blame everyone and no one.”

As Abby’s eyes widened, she continued. “The truth is that I blame Perry and the detective and myself and my parents.” She paused as the waitress refilled their mugs of coffee. “I blame Walker and Lydia and the drugs— And . . .”

“And?”

Unable to say the truth, unable to mention the letter she’d found in Perry’s bedside table, Deborah shrugged and lied yet again. “And then? And then I try my best to blame no one at all.”

Seemingly satisfied, Abby forked another piece of pie.

And Deborah wondered if she was becoming more and more like her brother with every day.

Chapter 17

“I used to know the name of just about every person in Crittenden County . . . until Perry started hanging around those men from the city. Then I was glad some folks were strangers.”

WALKER ANDERSON

There was something wrong with Beth.

From the moment Frannie had walked in and had taken a good look at her friend’s expression, she’d known something was off. Beth’s expression was distant, and her questions and comments awkward.

It was if they were strangers—or as if Beth was walking through a dark cloud.

Whatever the problem was, Frannie was determined to get to the bottom of it.

But first, she needed rest. Her eyes were so tired that she was struggling to keep them open. As soon as she had made a wonderful cup of hot tea, she went to bed and lay down. Moments later her eyes drifted closed and she was settled into the bed for a quick nap.

It happened to last for two hours.

When she woke up, Frannie went in search of her friend. She discovered Beth sitting in one of the uncomfortable ladder-back chairs lining the front parlor’s walls. Beth was sitting perfectly still, staring hard at the front door. So intently, in fact, that she jumped when Frannie entered the room.

“Bethy, are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Beth still hadn’t moved a muscle. “For starters, you’re sitting in front of the door like a beagle needing to be let out,” she teased.

Beth rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t staring at the door.”

Still attempting to discover the source of her discomfort, Frannie said, “It’s okay with me