Tina Munson had been a pretty young woman when he came to live with her and Paul Munson so many years ago, but a lifetime of abuse and hopelessness had drained whatever beauty she might have once possessed. Her mental state could only be fragile at best. With sadness, Brandon noticed the webbing of lines crisscrossing her face and the dull gray swathes in her once-luxurious dark hair.
She clutched the tiny cross on the necklace she always wore and mumbled to herself, and he waited, knowing she was praying. When she finished, she opened her eyes and smiled through her tears.
“I waited so long for this day. Why did you leave me? What made you run away?”
This was harder than he’d thought. For years he’d hidden, and now that the time had come for him to confess, the words died in his throat. The disheveled little house reeked of poverty and hopelessness. It was obvious the death of Munson had taken its toll on her physically and mentally. How could he tell her that he was the one who’d killed her husband?
“Brandon, dear. Please talk to me. I’ve been so lonely here, all by myself. You, you know Paul died, right?” She hugged herself around the waist. “It was such a shock when they found him.”
“Who found him?”
“Aaron Masters and Samuel Zinn. He never should’ve been drinking so much.”
Brandon stared at her. “What? What do you mean?” The thump of his pounding heart almost drowned out her words.
“Didn’t you know? I thought you must have heard or read it in the newspapers. He’d been drinking at that bar, Imitations, right off Route 61. I warned him so many times not to drink so much because he always got into fights, but”—she pushed back her hair with a trembling hand—“he didn’t ever listen to me. He left the bar after the bartender cut him off. All I know is he was found by the side of the road, beaten and bloody. He died on his way to the hospital.”
A fitting end to a monster. It took all of Brandon’s strength not to fall apart from the years spent holding himself together.
“He was at a bar?” With the roaring in his ears Brandon wasn’t quite sure if he was awake and speaking or if this whole day was a nightmare suddenly turned dream. “But I thought…” He stopped, unable to continue and process how, with one small sentence, his life had been handed back to him.
“You thought what, dear?”
Brandon shook his head, unable to speak. It was over, all over. All at once he was dizzy with freedom and drunk on life. He wanted to scream from the rooftops and run down the street. But most of all, he wanted Tash. He didn’t care anymore what Tash’s sister thought. Life was meant for living, and he’d be damned if anyone would tell him whom he could love.
After he finished here, he’d return to that cozy carriage house and refuse to leave until Tash understood that not another day would go by without the two of them spending it together.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
And it didn’t. The pain had slipped away like sand through his fingers, leaving nothing behind. He was cleansed, freed from the darkness and secrets he’d lived with for so long like a second skin. He was ten pounds lighter and ready, for the first time, to begin again. Restored, alive, and anxious to take back a life he’d almost given up on.
“How have you been living here?” He looked around at the horrid little house. Even without the frightening presence of Munson, the house huddled within itself, as if preparing for whatever unhappiness might cross its doorstep.
“I have my social security, and the church helps me.” She lifted her chin and a spark of some long-ago passion flared, not yet dimmed by her miserable life. “I work in the office. I don’t take charity.”
Brandon’s heart went out to her. This diminutive woman had suffered so much, silently and with dignity. She was as much a victim, if not more, than he and his brothers were, trapped in a never-ending cycle of abuse and pain.
“I prayed for you boys, all three of you. I was happy that you made it out. Because no matter where you ended up, it had to have been better than here. And I’m sorry.” Tears poured from her faded eyes. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect you, Luke, and Ash. You deserved so much better than I gave. I wanted children so badly. God was right not to let me be a mother. Look at what I let happen to you boys.” She crumbled into herself, crying softly.
Brandon gathered her in his arms, letting her weep. It had to be cathartic for her. “It’s going to be okay. We’re all fine.” He rubbed her back, murmuring to her. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”
“I’m so glad he’s dead.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and brushed the hair out of her wet eyes. “I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but God forgive me, he was an evil, cruel man, and he deserved it for everything he did.” Her shoulders shook.
“Did you know?” Brandon had to ask.
“I know how he beat you and how he hurt Luke so badly that last night. I called the police and the ambulance to come to the house. That poor child.” Her eyes clouded with grief. “I only hope he made it through and could forgive me in his soul.”
She didn’t mention Ash, and Brandon wouldn’t. It wasn’t his story to tell, and he doubted Ash ever would bring it up. “I’m a teacher now, Mom. I live in New York City and teach children.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, like you always wanted. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” She hugged him, light as a bird. “Let me make us some tea, and we can sit in the kitchen and talk. I want you to tell me everything.”
Brandon stood and helped his mother off the sofa, keeping his arm around her as they walked to the back of the house. There was no family room in the tiny house, only the kitchen where he would sit with his mother after school and do his homework while she gave him a snack. It was the one room that radiated warmth. The only place he’d ever seen his mother relax—whether she was baking, cooking, or praying at the table before their meals.
He sat at the worn wooden table with its faded tablecloth and cheap plastic place mats, feeling like the years had rolled back and he was a child again. She boiled the water and gave him a plain white mug with a store-brand tea bag. She sat across from him with a mug of her own that Brandon could see held only boiled water. It occurred to him then she might not have another tea bag to use.
Like a slap in the face it hit him how far he’d moved ahead with his life, while here in the countryside, time stood still. Everything was as he’d left it eight years earlier—the faded wallpaper with the water spots from the leak in the ceiling when it stormed, down to the kitschy salt and pepper shakers he’d made in school. He, on the other hand, had gotten his education, become a teacher, and fallen in love.
“Tell me, do you have a girlfriend or someone special?” Her hopeful eyes glanced up at him, shy yet curious.
