Doesn’t explain the jewelry. Or the happiness I saw. Getting back together again, maybe?
I still don’t trust anything. Especially not him.
“That’s not the usual language, honey,” I say, dryly. “Gaveit to you? You mean you got it in the settlement.”
She stares at me in confusion. “Whoareyou?”
Fair question, but I’m done with this now. “Doesn’t matter. All I want to know is what you can tell me about Declan Hale.”
“Uncle Declan?” comes a high-pitched voice. A child is already halfway into the room, bare feet silent in the carpet. Both of us glance sharply toward her. She’s the same one I saw almost a month ago, wearing a little pair of jeans and a Bluey T-shirt. “Why are you talking about him?”
Uncle?
The word lands with the force of a wrecking ball. I grip the edge of the counter as the floor lurches.
He even told me hehad a sister.
How did I not see it?
Because I convinced myself this woman was more than that. Hiswife.
I couldn’t see the truth for all the lies.
“Sara…” the woman breathes. Then her tone sharpens. “Go back to your play room. Rightnow,young lady.”
The child keeps coming, curious. “Is Uncle Declan here?” She regards me very seriously. “It's Mister DeclanMaddox,” she says imperiously. “DeclanHaleis asillyname.”
Uncle.
My mind is reeling.
Nother husband, after all. Not their divorce, either.
Itusedto be his house. Hegaveit to her. To hissister. Afterherdivorce.
And Hale isn’t even his real goddamn name.
The woman steps quickly to her daughter, lifting her up, shielding her with her body. Looks at me with genuine fear in her eyes. “Please,” she whispers. “Please.”
“What is it, Momma?” the child asks. “Who is this lady? Is she a friend of Uncle Declan’s?”
No, I’m not his friend. A friend wouldn’t come here like this, intruding upon his family.
Hiswiderfamily. His sister, his niece.
My guilt makes me physically nauseous.
I stagger to my feet. I need to leave. My limbs are heavy, my stomach’s squirming. I think I’m going to be sick.
What have I done?
Thirty-Eight
Raven
The woman glances toward the kettle, like it’s an involuntary movement. Then at me, guilt in her eyes. Her emotions are plain to read, her arms gripping her daughter tight.
“You’re hurting me,” the girl complains, voice a whine.
