Chapter 3
Lydia called Louisa confused.
Heather called her a liar.
Walter called her spoiled.
Nobody answered the question.
“What did you say about Adam?”
Lydia crossed her arms.
“Children misunderstand adult conversations.”
“Then explain the adult conversation.”
“No.”
Heather laughed bitterly.
“You secretly run a Mafia organization and suddenly everything needs explaining?”
I stared at her.
“Adam was my husband.”
“And our brother.”
“Then answer.”
Walter stepped forward.
“Control your tone.”
I almost smiled.
“You slapped me ten minutes ago.”
“Because you became hysterical.”
“Hysterical?”
“You attacked family over a haircut.”
I looked at Louisa.
Thin pajamas.
Uneven hair.
Red marks around her waist.
Walter followed my gaze.
“She needed discipline.”
“For overhearing you?”
Silence.
There.
I turned back to Louisa.
“What did they say?”
She rubbed her eyes.
Three-year-olds don’t preserve conversations neatly.
They preserve pieces.
“Grandma said Daddy should’ve listened.”
My chest tightened.
Lydia interrupted:
“That could mean anything.”
Louisa continued:
“And Grandpa said the road was only supposed to scare him.”
Walter’s face changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
Adam died on a winter road.
Blackwood Pass.
His car left the mountainside during a snowstorm.
I had been told poor visibility.
Ice.
Bad luck.
“What road?”
Nobody answered.
I stood.
“Walter.”
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn grief into paranoia.”
Heather added:
“Adam drove too fast.”
I looked at her.
“You weren’t there.”
She froze.
I hadn’t asked whether she was.
Lydia closed her eyes.
I stepped closer.
“How do you know how Adam was driving?”
Heather recovered.
“Everyone knew.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“The only report I received said the road was icy.”
Walter snapped:
“He was angry.”
Another mistake.
I turned.
“Angry about what?”
Silence again.
Louisa whispered:
“Daddy said no.”
My skin went cold.
“Who told you that?”
She pointed at Lydia.
“Grandma.”
Lydia looked at her with pure irritation.
“If the child knew how to keep quiet, none of this would be happening.”
There it was.
Not denial.
May you like
Blame.
And suddenly Adam’s death became the second thing in this house that had been called an accident only because Lydia wanted everyone to stop asking questions.
