I nodded and set my palm against his heart.
“Tell me about the studio. Trust me with this.”
I stared at him for a few minutes, then I opened my mouth to speak and closed it. But I had something to say. “I—I can’t.”
“I’ll be your mouth.”
I hesitated, but then… “All right.”
It didn’t escape either of us how the roles had somehow reversed. He was the one who usually had trouble voicing his feelings, not me. Now I was the one who clammed up.
“Everett and one of your ballet teachers,” he said.
If it was possible, all of the air in the universe seemed to be swallowed up and I struggled to find breath. I nodded.
“He fucked one of them,” I said, and looked toward the house, placing blame where it belonged. “I was there. He sent me to get a candy out of the back room, told me it was a treat for working so hard and doing so well. I came out sooner than he expected, I guess…I dropped it…It was the last one…I was crying because I hardly ever got a treat…they didn’t see me…they were in the office…touching and making noises, she was on top, moving against him, his hands on her breasts…the door didn’t lock like it was supposed to…it was the first time that I…”
“That you knew.”
“Yes.” I angrily slapped at a tear streaming down my cheek. “The first time. Not the last. I caught him stumbling into his office at the house once, too. A different woman that time. I didn’t see in detail like the first time, but I knew then they were going to do the same thing. She was a woman my mother hired to help around the house. She was the last—except for men. Eunice shouldered it alone after that.”
“How old? The first time?”
“Six—maybe seven.”
“Baby.” His hand reached up to touch mine, and I had to stop myself from pulling away, from cringing. “Here.” He reached for his sweater. He helped me into it and used my nightgown as a pillow instead. Then he laid me down next to him, so that we were facing each other, the blanket covering us.
“You’ve never told me that before.”
I shook my head. “That’s the first time I’ve ever spoken the words out loud. I only see it in my head.” I shivered and closed my eyes tight.Go away, go away, go away.Jesus, it was like I was that age again and it was happening all over again. Resurrecting the past, speaking the words, had opened old wounds. Suddenly, I felt so tired that my eyes drooped from sheer exhaustion. “Brando?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Hold my hand. Please.”
He reached under the blanket and entwined our fingers together. I had to wiggle my fingers to get him to loosen his grip. “It’ll pass,” I assured him. “I just need some time to forget.”
As he rested his head next to mine, I felt his stare on my face. He was worried that he had hurt me. The memory had, not him. For once, I was thankful to share the burden with someone else, but I also felt guilty for…what? Sharing it? Having him see what I did? Irritation played third fiddle. I could deal with many things, but pity wasn’t one of them.
I turned over, facing him, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. I used his shoulder as a pillow and entwined our legs together. Despite the blanket, my feet were cold.
“Tell me a story, Brando,” I whispered.
“Fair is fair.” He sighed, setting his chin against my head. “Luca didn’t kill the sheriff’s wife.”
Minutes? Hours? I wasn’t sure how long it took me to comprehend what he had said.Luca didn’t kill the sheriff’s wife.I went to sit up, but he kept me down. “What? I don’t understand.”
“That makes the two of us.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means that your father told me that Luca didn’t kill the sheriff’s wife when he thought he was going to die. He hasn’t brought it up since.”
“Was it the drugs? At the time he had quite a bit.”
“No,” Brando said. “He was lucid enough.”
“I still don’t understand. If Luca didn’t kill the sheriff’s wife, who did?”
