Whispers Read Online Free PDF Page B

sidewalk and fenders of cars parked along the street. Tears tracked down Samantha’s red cheeks.
    â€œOh, baby,” Claire whispered. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œYou should have told me,” Samantha charged.
    â€œI didn’t know how.”
    â€œI hate him!”
    â€œNo, you can’t hate your father.”
    â€œI do! I hate him.” She swallowed hard, and as Claire reached for her, she yanked away. “And I hate you, too.”
    â€œOh, Sami, no—”
    â€œDon’t call me that!” she nearly squealed and Claire realized Paul had always called Samantha by her nickname.
    â€œAll right.”
    Sniffing loudly, Samantha rubbed the back of her hand under her eyes. “I’m glad we’re moving,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Glad.”
    â€œSo am I—”
    â€œOh, no!” Her face suddenly drained of color. Abruptly Samantha turned around, facing the other direction, willing her body to stop shaking. Claire glanced over her shoulder and saw Candi Whittaker, a slim girl with a tiny waist and breasts no decent twelve-year-old should own, sauntering up the street with another girl Claire didn’t recognize. At the sight of Samantha and her mother, both girls stared, swallowed smiles, and began to whisper. Claire used her body as a shield, blocking the little snips’ view of her daughter, waiting until they’d taken a path that wound past the tennis courts and stopped looking over their small, self-righteous shoulders.
    â€œIt’s all right. They won’t bother you. Come on.” Claire ushered Samantha back along the street, leading her home. Sean was probably right; moving wouldn’t solve their problems. They couldn’t run away. She’d tried that once before a long time ago and the past seemed to forever chase her, nipping ferociously at her heels.
    Now, it had finally caught up to her. She didn’t tell Samantha or Sean that there was another reason they were moving back to Oregon, a reason she didn’t want to face. But she had no choice. Her father, a rich man used to getting his way, had called last week and demanded that she return to Lake Arrowhead, a place that brought back so many nightmares she couldn’t begin to count them.
    She’d protested, but Dutch hadn’t taken no for an answer, and she had no choice but to agree. He knew of her trouble with Paul and had promised to help her relocate, put in a good word with the school district, let her live rent-free in the huge house where she’d grown up, give her a hand as she struggled to find her footing as a single mother.
    She would have been a fool to say no, but there was something more that bothered her, a dark tone in his voice that caught her attention and caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.
    Dutch had intimated that he knew something about the past—not all of it—but enough to convince her that she had to face him as well as what had happened sixteen years ago. So she’d agreed to meet with her father, though her stomach revolted at the thought.
    â€œCome on,” she said to Samantha. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
    â€œIt can’t be,” Samantha grumbled.
    You’re so right, sweetheart. “We’ll make it right. You’ll see.” But even as she said the words, she knew they were lies. All lies.
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    Tessa flipped on the radio and felt the warmth of summer stream through her short hair as her Mustang convertible raced through the Siskiyou Mountains near the Oregon border. The northern California landscape was sun-bleached and desolate, the hills dry. She’d been driving for hours and would have to stop soon, or her bladder would burst from the beer that she’d sipped all the way from Sonoma. An icy bottle of Coors was cradled between her bare legs, the sweat from the glass cooling her skin and soaking the hem of her shorts. Open containers of alcohol