Words failed me. I looked for the hate and couldn't find it. I saw the early years, and how the three of us had been. Golden. The feeling rose in me and I almost cracked.

"It's true, isn't it?"

He said nothing.

"Mom knew about Sarah and the baby. That's why she killed herself. Because of what that did to her. That betrayal."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He didn't have to say it.

"How did she find out?" I asked.

"I told her," he said. "She deserved that much."

I looked away from him. Some part of me had been hoping that this was all a mistake. That I could still come home. "You told her and she killed herself."

"I thought it was the right thing to do."

"A little late to worry about that."

"I never stopped loving your mother-"

I cut him off. Did not want to hear it. "How did Miriam find out? I'm pretty sure you never told her."

He turned his palms up. "She was always so quiet. She lingered around corners. She must have heard Dolf and me talking about it. We did from time to time, usually late at night. She probably figured it out years ago. It's been at least a decade since I spoke of it out loud."

"A decade." I could barely get my head around the way Miriam must have suffered with that knowledge, what she must have felt when she saw the old man's face light up every time Grace walked into the room. "You hurt so many people. And for what?"

"I'd like a chance to explain," he said, and like that, the gla.s.s in my mind started tumbling.

"No," I said. "I don't want to hear you justify what you did. I would either throw up or come out of this bed and beat you where you stand. There is nothing you can say. I was wrong to even ask. My mother was weak, worn down by poor health and disappointment, already on the edge. She found out you had a daughter and it pushed her over. She killed herself because of you." I paused under the weight of what I was about to say. "Not because of me."

An invisible force seemed to crush him. "I've had to live with it, too," he said.

Suddenly, I could not stand it. "Get out of here," I said. He started to turn, and the ice flowed back into me. "Wait. It's not going to be that easy. Tell me what happened. I want to hear it from you."

"Sarah and I-"

"Not that part. The rest of it. How Grace came to live with Dolf. How you lied to both of us for almost twenty years."

He sat without asking, dropped from the knees. "Grace was an accident. It was all an accident."

"d.a.m.n it..."

He tried to straighten. "Sarah thought she wanted the child. Thought it was fate, meant to be. She took her to California to start a new life. Two years later she came back, crippled, disillusioned. She didn't much care for being a parent. She wanted me to take the child."

"Why do you keep saying 'the child' when you mean Grace?"

He tilted his head. "Grace is not her real name. I gave her that name."

"Her real name... ?"

"Sky."

"Jesus."

"She wanted me to take the child, but I had a new family." He paused. "I'd already lost one wife. I didn't want to lose another. But she was my daughter...."

"So you bribed Dolf to raise her. You gave him two hundred acres to help hide your secret."

"It wasn't like that."

"Don't-"

"The land was for Grace to inherit! She deserved it. None of this was her fault. As for Dolf, he was lonely. He wanted the job."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

"It's true. His wife left him years ago. He never sees his own daughter. Grace has done great things for him."

"Even though it's all a lie."

"He was in a dark place, son. We all were after your mother died. That child was like the sun rising."

"Does Grace know?"

"Not yet."

"Where's Janice?" I asked.

"She already knows, son. I told her. There's no need to drag her into this."

"I want to see her."

"You want to hurt me. I understand."

"This is not about you. We're done with that. This is something else entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"Get Janice," I said. "Then we'll talk."

New pain flooded his face. "I killed her daughter last night. She's sedated, and even if she weren't, I doubt that she is ready to speak with either one of us. She's not doing well at all."

"I need her to be here."

"Why, for G.o.d's sake? None of this was her fault, either."

I felt disconnected from his suffering. "Tell her that I'd like to talk about Florida."

"That makes no sense."

"Just do it."

CHAPTER 34.

Grantham came an hour later, and I gave my statement. He pushed for details on the shooting and I told him that my father had had no choice. That was no favor to the old man, just simple truth.

Grace or Miriam.

Hard, brutal choice.

He also wanted to talk more about the death of Zebulon Faith. He wanted to know why I had a shotgun in the trunk of my car. But that was another county. Not even his case. I told him to leave me alone, and he had no choice but to comply. I was not Danny's killer. Nor was I Zebulon Faith's. He knew that now.

When he left, I thought I might go for the morphine after all, push the b.u.t.ton before I did what I had to do. I was in such agony that, at times, it made me shake. I almost folded, but Robin called and the sound of her voice helped. "It's been over three hours," she said.

"Patience," I told her, and tried to will it on myself.

They showed up two hours later.

My father.

My stepmother.

She looked worse, if possible, than he did. Her lids drooped and one hand clutched at air as if she saw something to hold on to where the rest of us did not. Uneven lipstick, hair in disarray. It looked like he'd pulled her straight out of bed. But when she sat and faced me, I saw the fear in her, and knew, then, that I was right.

"Close the door," I said to my father. He closed it and sat. I faced Janice. I wanted to be angry, and part of me was. The rest, however, was overcome by melancholy.

She was a mother first, and she had her reasons.

"Let's talk about the night that Gray Wilson was killed."

Janice started to rise, then stopped. She sank back down. "I don't understand...."

"Miriam was covered in his blood. She brought it into the house after she killed him. That's why you said it was me. That's why you testified against me. To protect Miriam."

"What?" Her eyes went wide and white. Hands clawed into the fabric of her skirt.

"If you said it was somebody else, and the cops found blood in the house, then the story would collapse. It could not be a stranger. It had to be someone with access to the house. Upstairs, especially. It couldn't be Jamie or my father. It had to be me. I was the only one you weren't close to."

My father finally stirred, but I raised a hand before he could speak. "I always thought you believed it. I thought you saw someone that you honestly mistook for me." I paused. "But that's not it. You had to testify against me. Just in case."

My father spoke. "Are you insane?"

"No. I'm not."

Janice put her hands on the chair and pushed herself up. "I refuse to listen to this," she said. "Jacob, I'd like to go home."

I pulled the postcard from beneath the sheet, held it up so that she could see it. One hand settled at her throat, the other reached for the chair. "Sit down," I said. And she did.

"What's that?" my father asked.

"Gray Wilson, unfortunately, is ancient history. Dead and buried. I can't prove a thing. But this"-I waved the card-"this is a different matter."

"Jacob..." She reached for his arm, fingers curling around his wrist. My father repeated the question. "What is that?"

"This is choice," I said to him. "Your choice."

"I don't understand."

"Whatever demons pursued Miriam, they'd been after her for a long time, and Janice knew all about them. Why she hid them, I can't pretend to understand. But Miriam was sick. She killed Gray Wilson because she thought she loved him and because he didn't want anything to do with her. Same thing with Danny Faith." I paused. "The k.n.o.b is hard to get to. You'd need a truck for the body, and Danny was a large man."

"What are you talking about?" my father asked.

"Miriam couldn't get Danny into that hole all by herself."

"No," he said. But he knew. I saw it in his face.

"I don't think Miriam mailed this card, either." I flipped the card so he could read the back. Having a blast, it said. "It was mailed after Danny died."

"This is ridiculous," Janice said.

"Janice took Miriam to Colorado within a day or two of Danny's death. You can route through Florida on your way to Denver. I made some phone calls this morning. An hour and forty minutes to change planes. Plenty of time to drop a postcard in the mail. The police can verify the travel itinerary. The dates will match." I held my father's eyes. "I doubt that this card has Miriam's prints on it."

My father was silent for a long time. "It's not true," Janice said. "Jacob..."

He did not look at her. "What does any of this have to do with choice?"

"Whoever mailed this card was trying to conceal the fact that Danny was dead. The police will want to speak with the person that mailed this card."

He came to his feet, voice loud, and Janice twitched when he spoke.

"What choice, G.o.dd.a.m.n it?"

The moment drew out, and I took no pleasure in it. But it had to be done. Too many wrongs littered the road behind us: betrayal and lies; murder and complicity. A mountain of grief.

I placed the card on the edge of the bed.

"I'm giving it to you," I said. "Burn it. Hand it over to the police. Give it to her." I pointed to Janice and she shrank away. "Your choice."

They both stared at the card. n.o.body touched it.

"You made other phone calls?" he asked. "What other calls?"