Credence by Penelope Douglas EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Penelope Douglas
- Genre: Coming of Age Fiction, New Adult & College Romance
- Publish Date: 13 January 2020
- Size: 4 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
It’s strange. The tire swing in the yard is the only thing that
makes it look like a kid lives here. There were never any
drawings in the house. None on the fridge or walls. No
children’s books on the shelves. No shoes by the front door or
floaties in the pool.
It’s a couple’s home. Not a family’s.
I stare out the window, watching the tire sway back and
forth in the breeze as it hangs from the oak, and absently rub
the red ribbon in my hair between my fingers, feeling the
comfort of the smooth surface.
He always had time to push her on the swing, didn’t he?
He had time for her.
And she for him.
Walkie talkies shoot off beeps and white noise somewhere
behind me while footfalls hit the stairs and doors slam above
me. The police and paramedics are busy upstairs, but they’ll
want to talk to me soon, I’m sure.
I swallow, but I don’t blink.
I’d thought the tire swing was for me when he installed it
ten years ago. I was allowed to play on it, but my mother was
the one who really loved it. I used to watch them out my
bedroom window late at night, my father pushing her and the
magic of their play and laughter making me want to be in the
middle of it. But I knew as soon as they saw me the magic
would change. It would disappear.
So, I stayed at my window and only ever watched.
Like I still do.
I bite the corner of my mouth, watching a green leaf flutter
past the swing and land inside the tire where my mother sat
countless times. The image of her white nightgown and light
hair flowing through the night as she swung on it is still so
vivid, because the last time was only yesterday.
A throat clears behind me, and I finally blink, dropping my
“Did they say anything to you?” Mirai asks me with tears
in her voice.
I don’t turn around, but after a moment, I give a slow
shake of my head.
“When did you last speak to them?”
I can’t answer that. I’m not sure.
Behind me, I feel her approach, but she stops several feet
back as the clank of the first ambulance gurney jostles and
creaks down the stairs and is carried from the house.
I tip my chin up, steeling myself at the distant commotion
outside as the paramedics open the front door. The calls and
questions, the horns honking as more people arrive, beyond
the gates, where the media can no doubt see the body being
When did I last speak to my parents?
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