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“Did you open it?”

“No. I threw it away.”

Armand fell silent and glanced at the wet grass at his feet.

“I don’t want, or need, your money,” Daniel was saying. “I can look after my own family. And I don’t need you to keep me safe. Never did. And this—” Daniel raised the half-eaten crêpe. “What’s this? More patronizing? Treating me like a child?”

“What’re you talking about?” Far from being angry, Armand was completely confused. “Coming here was your idea, not mine.”

But Daniel was beyond rational thought.

“I’m not the only one who lied yesterday.” Daniel’s voice was raised. Almost shouting. “You did, too.”

“Me?”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I know the truth. Mom knows the truth. And I at least didn’t betray you to the cops. Didn’t humiliate you. Neither did she.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you weren’t in the special forces. Because to admit it would be to admit you could’ve killed Monsieur Plessner. But you were, weren’t you.”

“Non. Never. Why do you say I was?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Daniel shouted, and threw his crêpe at his father. It hit his jacket and fell to the grass, but Armand didn’t move. “I heard. That’s how I know.”

“Heard?”

“You and Mom talking, downstairs. It was Christmas Eve. I was excited about Père Noël, so I crept onto the landing. And I heard.”

“What?”

“You told Mom about taking a job with the special forces. You told her about the hostage takings, the terrorists, the raids on organized crime. All the terrible things. You said it was dangerous, that the death rate was high. But it was something you had to do.”

Armand’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. He remembered that conversation. Years ago. But that wasn’t how it went.

“I never accepted the job. The job I agreed to do was to train recruits. That’s all. To try to get them as prepared as possible for whatever they’d face. You have to believe me.”

“Right, like you believe me? I know you’re lying. I know what I heard. I saw Mom crying. You made her cry. And every day after that, when you went to work, I knew you weren’t coming home. I hated you for that.”

“Oh, my God, Daniel, is that why you shut me out? Because you thought I was going to be killed?”

“Because you cared more for others than you did for us. For me. And yes, because you were going to die. And I couldn’t … How could I love you … how could I care … when …” The words came out haltingly, as a wail. The same sound he’d made as a boy, hurtling down from too great a height. “How could I … ?”

“All these years?” Armand whispered, unable to find his voice. His eyes burning. “All this time?”

Who hurt you once, so far beyond repair / that you would greet each overture with curling lip?

The lines from Ruth Zardo’s poem exploded in his head. In his chest.

Me, he realized with horror. I did.

“I used to have nightmares,” said Daniel.

“I remember.”

And he did.

Daniel crying out in his sleep. Armand and Reine-Marie had gone to him, gently waking the boy with hushed assurances. Then the look of horror on Daniel’s face when he saw his father.