“So that’s why,” she concludes, her voice barely above a whisper, “when I heard what you’d done, all I could see was that alley. All I could think about was my dad. The way that night destroyed our family. And I was scared.”
“Not of me?” I say or ask, I’m not sure.
“No. Maybe,” she admits. “Of what you represented. Of the violence I’ve spent years trying to forget.”
I nod, letting her words sink in. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Her eyes search mine. “Because I need you to know it wasn’t about not trusting you. Or it was.” She sighs. “I don’t know. I got scared and ran away. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
I stand, needing to move, to process. The floor creaks beneath my feet as I pace to the window and back. “My turn, I guess.”
She waits, patient, giving me space to find the words.
“I’m innocent.” The words sit between us like a punchline. Her brow lifts with a silent snarky remark. “I guess every con man says that, doesn’t he?” I can’t help myself and laugh, a quick burst that surprises even me.
She laughs too, the sound warming the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
I haven’t told anyone else in my life the truth, but things are changing since I came to Big Love, it seems. She’s about to become one of the few people who know. I trust her enough to keep it locked down, to not put my family in the line of fire. “I took the fall for my brother.”
Her eyes widen, disbelief mingled with curiosity. “Jethro?”
I nod, watching the gears turn in her mind.
“That jokester beat someone up?”
“He’s a lot different than you think,” I say, thinking of Jethro’s easy smile, how he uses it to hide. How he used it to get by back then. “He was in a dark place.”
“What happened?”
A dry lump forms in my throat. Her eyes hold mine, unwavering, urging me to continue. She wants to know. She really wants to know, and I find myself telling her everything.
At the end of the story, her eyes turn misty.
“So you took the blame.” Her voice is soft, filled with something that feels like admiration. I see the understanding in her eyes, the way she pieces it all together.
I nod, relieved that she understands, that she can see beyond the headlines and the mugshot.
“Jethro was a mess back then,” I explain, the memories still raw. “He was barely holding it together.”
“So when he got into that fight…”
“He would have lost much more than I did.” The words come out harder than I intended.
Nora stands, crossing the space between us. She stops justshort of touching me. “You did it for your brother? Four years in jail?”
A short nod.
“Does Junie know?”
I shake my head. “No, and it will remain that way.”
The weight of that trust hangs between us. I see her processing it, the enormity of what I’ve shared.
“Thank you,” she says finally. “For telling me.”
“I should have told you sooner.”
Her hand reaches for mine, hesitant at first, then more certain. Her fingers are warm against my skin. “We both kept things hidden. Things that shaped us.”
