River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(74)

“Oh.” She couldn’t explain Matt to her father, not without sounding angry or hurt. In ways, her father and Matt were tied together in her mind. So much of her behavior involving Matt had been a reaction to her relationship with her father. When she traced every event, every lie and indiscretion back to its beginning, she was certain how it would end. Maybe she wasn’t being fair to either one of them. Maybe she wasn’t being fair to herself. And maybe, just maybe, all the lying and cheating they were all guilty of was because they just hadn’t found the right one, the right woman or man that was meant for them.

“Is he?” he asked again.

She took her father’s hand again, squeezed it gently. “Please, Dad, don’t.” She wouldn’t tell him Matt was more like him than she wanted to admit. She wouldn’t hurt him, not now. All she wanted was to let it go. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. She had to know. “Why did you do it? Why did you bring that woman here? And in front of me? I was so young. Why were there so many others?” She asked the questions her mother could never ask. Becca asked for both of them.

She waited for him to answer, and when he didn’t respond, she wanted to shake him. Tell me why, she wanted to shout. She deserved an answer. Her mother deserved an explanation.

“Why weren’t we enough?” she asked, pleading to get some kind of response from him.

He struggled to breathe. “I was chief.” He choked. “I let it go to my head, thought I could do what I wanted. I was nothing but a selfish fool.”

She touched his arm, his shoulder. She didn’t know what to say, what she’d expected, but it didn’t feel so shattering, knowing the simple truth.

They sat quietly for a long time. His eyes opened and closed as he drifted in and out of sleep. Downstairs, Jackie was banging the cupboards as though she was searching for something. Romy padded up the steps, stopped inside the bedroom doorway. The dog peered into the room. She didn’t enter. Instead, she lay down in the hallway, her head resting on top of her paws as though she sensed what was in the air.

Becca wasn’t sure how much time had passed, enough time for the sun to begin its descent behind the mountain. The sky turned gray. Shadows stretched across the floor. She’d moved from the edge of the seat some time ago, resting her spine against the hardwood slats on the back of the chair. Her arms dangled over the armrests.

Romy got up and went downstairs. Becca heard the back door open and close. Jackie must’ve let the dog out for some fresh air or to do her business or both. Now, Jackie was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, with a syringe in her hand, the sharp needle pointed away from her body.

“He’s resting,” Becca said.

“I hate to disturb him, but it’s time for his medicine. I don’t want to let it go and then he wakes up in pain.”

Jackie didn’t have to explain herself to Becca. If anything, Becca felt an overwhelming need to explain herself to Jackie. She wasn’t a bad daughter, she wanted to say. Sometimes the wounds were too deep. The scars of the past between parent and child weren’t always healed. And although her relationship with her father would never be repaired, not completely anyway, she’d found love for him.

She didn’t say any of these things to Jackie, though. Instead, she watched as Jackie injected him with morphine. He stirred but didn’t wake.

“Parker called. Twice,” Jackie said.

Becca nodded.

Jackie continued. “I’m warming up some soup. Why don’t you come down in a few minutes and eat?”

“Okay, thanks,” she said and watched as Jackie walked out of the room.

Her father’s eyes opened the second Jackie had gone. He looked at Becca, and she could see in his gaze he was there, he was present, when earlier he’d drifted in and away.

Her father gripped her hand. His eyes grew wide. “John.” He swallowed hard.

The muscles in her neck and back tensed. She nodded, signaling him to continue.

When her father didn’t continue, she said, “Tell me.”

His eyes closed. His breath came in short bursts.

Her heart thrummed. She put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Tell me, Dad. I need for you to tell me everything.” She felt the pull like a current in the river, forcing her in a direction she had no choice but to go.

He remained silent.

“Tell me.” She was aware of the panic in her voice. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I know what I saw. I know why you sent me away.”

He blinked several times, trying to stay alert, fighting the morphine pulsing through his veins. He reached for her. His hand covered her mouth, then dropped to the bed. His eyes closed again.

He was telling her to remain quiet. And she hated herself because she was thinking about it. All she had to do was tell Parker she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t seen a thing. She could walk away from this place, from John, and forget anything had ever happened.

But what if he killed again? Could she live with herself? She didn’t think so. And what about Parker? Was she prepared to forget him too, to walk away from him a second time? It was what she would have to do. She’d never be able to look him in the eyes knowing she was the key witness in his case.

“What should I do, Dad?” she asked, listening to his labored breath before covering her face with her hands.