The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep by Laurie Stolarz (summer reads txt) 📕

right up and thought of you. Would you like to meet her?”

I drip more wax over the mouth—a dark red glob that seals the lips shut. The last time I met one of her doctor friends, I ended up back in the hospital.

“Terra? The therapist’s name is Cecelia Bridges. You can look her up, check her out. She has a website. I really think it’d be a good idea. Terra?”

“Do we still have cocoa powder?”

“Excuse me?”

“Remember?” I ask. “The mochaccinos you used to make after I got back from the well? And the crossword puzzles we used to do?”

Her face fuzzes with confusion. “That was a really difficult time.”

And this isn’t?

“We were talking about your therapy,” she continues. “It’s not a bad word, you know. I’ve been seeing my therapist for more than twenty years. Your mom saw a therapist too.”

I knew my mom had. She had too many dark days not to warrant the need for outside help. I’d watch her from the hallway, outside her and Dad’s room, as she lay in bed staring at the wall. For years, whenever she was having one of “those days,” Dad would say Mom just needed a little extra space. But eventually he told me the truth, that Mom had been dealing with depression.

“It started back in high school, after she was attacked at a party,” he’d explained. “She got trapped in a room by a boy who was drinking. It’s why we’re always so vigilant with you, why we taught you our rules—so we can help keep you safe.”

The night he told me, I wrote the rules of survival all over my arms, picturing each rule like a scratch Mom might’ve gotten at that party, from her struggle. I wanted to feel the scratches too, to help share her pain.

“Life is hard work,” my aunt continues. “But having a therapist you can trust, whose style works for you, can make all the difference. Mine’s been like pure gold for me. What if it could be that way for you as well?”

“Could we please go back to talking about my mom?”

“What about her?” Aunt Dessa takes a step back. “You know your mother is a difficult topic for me.”

“Because she’s gone?” Or is there something more? Why don’t I remember my mother ever wearing her and Aunt Dessa’s pendant initials too?

“I’m going to make that appointment for you,” she says.

“Okay.” I nod, hoping the agreement will make a difference, make things better.

But she leaves the room without another word, making me feel that it doesn’t.

NOW

23

Later, when I join the chat room, I find that it looks mostly vacant. No one’s typed a message in the last couple of hours.

NightTerra: Hello??? Is anyone else on here?

Paylee22: Terra!!! I’m so glad to see you.

NightTerra: Omg, me too!

NightTerra: Did you get my message?

Paylee22: Yes. Thank you.

Paylee22: I’ve been seriously freaking out.

NightTerra: Why? What’s up?

Paylee22: It’s gotten worse.

NightTerra: What has?

Paylee22: I found a torn page in my mailbox. It’d been ripped out of a book.

NightTerra: Ok …

Paylee22: Not ok. It means he’s getting closer.

Paylee22: He’s warning me.

NightTerra: Ok, slow down. Perspective, remember?

Paylee22: The page is from a book about junkyards. I searched online for one of the paragraphs …

Paylee22: The book is nonfiction, about a guy who gets most of what he needs—furniture, TVs, computer equipment, appliances—from junkyards.

NightTerra: Like a dumpster diver?

Paylee22: I guess.

NightTerra: So, pretty random?

Paylee22: I think it’s a message.

NightTerra: A message about what?

Paylee22: There’s too much to explain.

NightTerra: Not too much for me. I have plenty of time.

NightTerra:???

NightTerra: Peyton???

NightTerra: Is it possible the page got into your mailbox by mistake? Maybe it tore from a book your neighbor ordered and your postal guy didn’t notice, and so now it’s a trigger.

Paylee22: It wasn’t a mistake. We’d already gotten the mail for the day, meaning someone made a special trip to put it in there.

NightTerra: Maybe a kid playing a joke … I once found someone’s math homework in our mailbox.

Paylee22: It’s not a joke.

Paylee22: Like I said, there’s a lot to explain …

NightTerra: Ok, well, I’m here for you, and I want to know.

NightTerra: Pretend I’m sitting right beside you.

Paylee22: Ok, deep breath …

Paylee22: Where I was being kept, in that shed … The only things in there, aside from myself, were a sleeping bag, a jug of water, some trail mix, and a book.

NightTerra: Wait, how come you never mentioned that before?

Paylee22: Which part?

NightTerra: The book.

Paylee22: I don’t know. It just never came up.

NightTerra: What kind of book was it?

Paylee22: From what I could tell, it was about a bunch of people who came together as a family.

Paylee22: They lived in the middle of the woods, in tiny one-room shacks, with their own set of rules, so off the grid, basically.

Paylee22: I didn’t read the book all the way through. And I’m not sure why it was there. Like, did he want me to read it? Was there a message inside it? I was too focused on escaping to give it much attention.

Paylee22: But think about it …

Paylee22: A book left in the shed, a page left in my mailbox …

NightTerra: What was the title?

Paylee22: If only I could remember. I’ve been searching for it online, under topic and special interest. To be honest, I don’t even know if it was true or fictional.

Paylee22: But I think the page is his way of letting me know he’s close.

NightTerra: If that’s the case, then why not leave you a page from that same book—about the family living off the grid—or one about abduction…?

Paylee22: I don’t know. Too obvious? Maybe the page about junkyards is a clue for something that’s going to happen …

Paylee22: I have no idea.

Paylee22: What do you think???

Paylee22:???

Paylee22: Are u still there??? Why aren’t you talking?

NightTerra: I’m not really sure what to think.

NightTerra: But I have to go.

Paylee22: Wait, why? I thought you had plenty of time.

NightTerra: I’ll come on later, ok?

I close the lid on my laptop, trying my best to breathe. A motor clicks on inside my heart, flaring my nerves, jumbling my thoughts.

Is