The Winters(77)

“Yes, very much.”

“Then you’ll do as I ask.”

“That’s not how it works. I want to know what’s going on. And you have to tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why? Max, you know you can tell me anything.”

“If I told you this, you would leave and never come back here.”

“Then you don’t know me.”

I placed a stool directly in front of him and sat. I was now his benevolent interrogator, our knees touching. I watched his face go through a remarkable series of emotions, from stubborn coldness to pity for me to reluctant surrender.

“I’m very tired,” he said. “Of all of it. Of everything.”

“We had a long night.”

“No, I’m tired of the lies. If you hadn’t been here when the police came just now, I would have happily raised my wrists for the handcuffs. I would have told them to take me to the station. Because I have nothing left in me. No fight left.”

My blood cooled. Hairs on the back of my neck lifted.

“She was right,” he continued, his eyes welling up. “She said she’d win everything in the end. She was right.”

“Who?”

He said nothing for a moment. Then he let out a laugh. “God, Dani’s smart, isn’t she.” He sounded like a proud father. “She’s so smart. Rebekah always focused on her looks, trying to get her hair just right, sending her off to dance lessons and manicures. But that girl’s got a hell of a brain. I always said she could be anything she wanted to be, if she could just develop some character. Did I ever tell you how beautiful her mother was?”

“You didn’t need to. There’s evidence of that all over this house.”

He smiled at me. “You think I’m talking about Rebekah. No, she was all makeup and filters and some very good work. I’m talking about Dani’s birth mother. Before the drugs took over. When she was young, she had this natural beauty. She was completely unaware of it. Like you. Too bad she had none of your goodness. She said she’d win everything in the end. And she just might be right.”

“But . . . she’s dead.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Where?”

“About a mile from here.”

“Wait, who are you talking about?”

“Dani’s mother. She died about a mile from here. Right after she smashed the car into a tree.” He sounded blithe, matter-of-fact. “She was alive. Briefly. She looked right at me. And then . . . the car exploded. The fire spread so quickly. I couldn’t . . .”

No. That’s not right. Now I was angry. What he was saying was very wrong. These were not the correct facts, not the ones he’d given me, that I had memorized, had turned over and over again like worry stones in my pocket. I took him by the shoulders.

“Max, no. That’s how Rebekah died. You told me Rebekah smashed her car into a tree and that started a fire. And Dani’s mother died later. In the city. Are you now telling me that Dani’s mother was driving the car?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t understand. Then where was Rebekah? How did Rebekah die?”

His answer came swiftly and unadorned.

“She was murdered. In the greenhouse,” he said, “a couple of feet from where I buried her.”





TWENTY-SEVEN


I felt myself pulled backwards, the walls expanding around us, curving as if time itself were slowing down so I could take in this madhouse version of events. My senses heightened like an animal’s, tuning in and out of every sound and sensation: the hum of the fan above the stove, the angry crows outside, my heart banging against my rib cage. I looked towards the hallway that led to the greenhouse, fully expecting Rebekah to be standing there, summoned by the confession, a gray specter in a bloody dress.

“Max.”

His gaze was on the floor. I clapped loudly. He blinked at me a few times, until he recognized my face.

“Before the police come back with a warrant, you have to tell me. Is Rebekah still buried in the greenhouse?”

“Yes.”

I reeled. Poor Dani. She was telling the truth.

“Did you . . . did you kill Rebekah?”

He got up from the stool and paced, stopping to tent his fingers to steady himself, like a lawyer prepping an opening statement.

“No. I didn’t kill Rebekah. You have to believe that before I tell you anything else.”

I didn’t know what to look for on his face; I was not a trained expert on lying. All I knew was that in that moment, and much to my relief, he looked and sounded like Max again, the man I loved, who I had always taken at his word.

“Do you believe me?”

“I do. Yes. But if you didn’t kill her, who did?”

“Dani’s mother.”

I closed my eyes. The story Dani told me about that night collided with Max’s, forming something new, and so much darker.

“It was self-defense. I think.”

“You think?”

“I—I left the greenhouse. For one fucking minute. To make sure Dani didn’t see . . . oh God.” Again his eyes drifted to the hallway, the anxiety creeping back in around his eyes and forehead.

I guided him back down onto a stool.