Everything You Are(96)
“For real?”
“I’m so sorry,” Braden says.
“What are you sorry for?” Jo snaps. “You’re not the one who was having an affair.”
“It happened because of the cello—”
“An excuse,” Jo says. “If it wasn’t that, she’d have found something else. I remember the way those two looked at each other. Let me guess—when he went off on his fishing trips, he didn’t go alone.”
“Seriously?” Allie asks again. “I kinda thought Mom was, like, perfect. Always right.”
“The last thing I want to do is tarnish her memory—”
“It helps,” Allie says, “that she wasn’t perfect.”
“See?” Jean says. “They’re stronger than you think.”
“I’m not done yet,” he says grimly. “I sat out here all night, in the place that it happened, hoping it would all come back. It didn’t. But reason doesn’t take me to a good place.” He pauses. “Mitch came up here to ask me to divorce Lilian so they could be together.”
“Bastard,” Jo says, then adds, “God rest his soul.”
“So I put that together with this other tiny little flash. I keep seeing him sitting out here by the fire, right where Dennis is sitting now. And I punched him.”
“Sounds like he deserved it,” Dennis says. Len looks thoughtful, listening.
“You’re not putting the pieces together.” Braden raises his voice for emphasis. “Mitch comes out here to tell me he’s been with my wife, that he’s the father of my son. He was a threat to my family and my music. I hated him, in that moment. Enough to kill him.” He waits, letting his words sink in.
“Whatever happened out here was so horrific, my own brain has protected me from remembering. Phee here thinks it was so intense that my brain has also protected me by taking away the use of my hands. Do the math. Two men alone, one of them in a murderous rage, and the other one ends up dead. What do you all think happened?”
“You couldn’t,” Allie breathes. “You wouldn’t.”
“We know I hit him. And then he drowned.”
“He had a heart attack,” Jo protests. “That’s what the autopsy showed. It was a time bomb waiting to happen, they said.”
“And maybe that bomb wouldn’t have gone off if he hadn’t fallen through the ice into shockingly cold water. How do you think that happened, Jo? An outdoorsman like Mitch? He knew better than to walk on the ice this time of year.”
She’s weeping now, softly. “He was drunk.”
“Not that drunk, Jo. I think we all need to face the truth. I killed Mitch.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
PHEE
Phee stares at Braden, stricken. This is not at all what she had in mind when she planned this intervention. She’d fully believed, curse or no curse, that there would at least be healing here. A new connection between Braden and Allie. Forgiveness. Hope.
Braden’s eyes meet hers, and his lips twist in a half smile. “Sorry, Phee. There’s no magic fairy-tale ending. No reversible curse. Everything that has happened to me happened because I deserved it.”
He shifts his attention to his daughter, who is weeping silently. “Allie, honey, I would give anything to undo all of this . . .”
She makes an inarticulate sound, then gets up and climbs the stairs, head bent, not looking back.
“I’ll watch her,” Steph says, following.
Braden drops his head into his hands.
All of them sit in a shocked, awkward silence. Phee can’t stand to watch Braden’s suffering, her eyes wandering out over the expanse of the lake.
“This story isn’t over,” her grandfather’s voice says.
Phee takes a breath. “There are flaws in your logic,” she says. “He died here, that’s clear. But when the ambulance came, he was up at the cabin.”
“You had severe hypothermia,” Jo adds. “You were cut and bruised. Frostbite to your hands and feet. How did that happen?”
“I don’t remember.”
Phee hears music. The cello has been blessedly silent since they arrived, but now a melody drifts into her ears. Braden hears it, too. His head comes up. And then she realizes it’s not in her head, not this time. Every head turns toward the cabin.
“What is it?” Dennis asks.
Braden closes his eyes. “The last song I ever played.”
Katie, uncharacteristically silent, gets up and climbs the stairs toward the cabin. By unspoken agreement, the rest of the Angels follow. Then Jo. Braden stays where he is, and Phee holds out a hand to him.
“Come on.”
“I don’t want—”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
He laughs, short and harsh. “You think I’ll, what, kill myself? Add that to Allie’s burden?”
“She’s playing for you,” Phee says. “You need to let her know you hear her.” Her hand remains outstretched. Finally, he accepts what she is offering, lets her tug him up to standing. Together they climb the stairs, side by side.
Allie, playing the cello, looks whole for the first time since Phee has met her. Her eyes focus immediately on her father, who drops Phee’s hand and stands immobile, as if he’s been flash frozen, an ice sculpture of a once living man.