Last Light(67)

“Ugh. Nate, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He chuckled. “I can tell. What do you smell?”

“Wood…” I sniffed at my glass again. “Smoke? A little … fruitiness.”

“Very good. Have a taste.”

We sipped our scotch. The mellow flavor filled my mouth and went down like silk.

“And enjoy the finish,” Nate said. He smiled and leaned into his corner of the couch. He watched me with obvious enjoyment. “This visit with you has been by far my most pleasant in Denver.” When he took another sip, I took another sip.

I didn’t have the guts to tell Nate that I wanted to get drunk off his expensive scotch, but he refilled our glasses twice, and by my third glass I was feeling good. Thoughts of Matt and Melanie drifted off on an amber river. I felt happy and warm in Nate’s company, and he was all good-natured smiles and easy conversation.

Owen wandered out of the bedroom to announce that he was watching The Crow. Nate, obviously ignorant of the dark cult classic, said, “Fine, just keep the volume down.”

Nate moved constantly when he spoke. He leaned back with his laughter and motioned as he explained things, his animated body so graceful. I watched him in a daze. Early afternoon turned to midafternoon, and mid to late. We each had a fourth glass of scotch.

That day reminded me vividly of my early days with Matt—when he took me to a restaurant in Boulder, and when he visited my family on the Fourth of July. Matt, like Nate, was a natural gentleman in public. I missed that side of him. He denied me that side of him—any side of him—with his insistence on anonymity, his lies, his obsession with writing.

Nate’s voice broke into my reverie.

“Being with you reminds me of Matt,” he said.

I looked up into Nate’s face.

“That’s funny. Being with you reminds me of him, too. I was just thinking of him.”

“Were you?” Nate tilted his head. Black hair flopped across his brow and his dark eyes roamed my face. “About what in particular?”

“About how he loved to write,” I said. “How he loved to write more than anything.”

“He loved you, Hannah. He loved you more than anything. Don’t you know that?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t know that.”

“You must know that, though. He loved you. Are you falling out of love with him now that he’s gone? You can’t do that.” Nate touched my arm. “You can’t be angry with him for leaving. He’s the golden boy, you see? We always forgive him.”

Forgive him?

The cold finger of presentiment ran up my spine.

“You know,” I whispered.

Nate held my gaze without flinching.

“You know. You know…” I searched Nate’s face for confirmation of the fact—but his calm stare was confirmation. My world tilted on its little axis.

Confusion struggled over Nate’s expression, and then he said very softly, “I’m my brother’s keeper, Hannah.”

I staggered off the couch and fell. Nate moved to help me, but I scrambled away from his hands. “Don’t touch me!” I said. “You knew. All this time. You knew he was alive. You lied to your own parents. You—”

“They’re not my parents,” he murmured.

I gripped the arm of the couch and pulled myself to my feet. I had the sense of falling, as if the world were rushing past at great speed.

Could this be?

Nate’s tearful eyes before the memorial, his offer of his portion of Matt’s inheritance, even his showing up in Denver to watch over me—it was all part of an elaborate act.

“Oh, my God.” I covered my mouth.

“Steady now, Hannah.”

“Why couldn’t I know? Why couldn’t you tell me? Why couldn’t he tell me?”

“This was the way he wanted it.” Nate hesitated. Even now, he was reluctant to betray Matt. “It had to be believable, down to the last detail. But Matt needed money to live on. My job was simply to … ensure that you received his inheritance.”

Nate’s job.

The word pierced me.

Nate … so generous, so good, so thoughtful … was only doing Matt’s bidding when he offered me Matt’s money. And Matt was only ensuring he retained control over his money. Matt planned all this without telling me, letting me believe we were the closest of coconspirators.

But I was not instrumental in Matt’s plan. I was incidental to it. A footnote.

I stumbled away from Nate and clutched my purse.

“Have you talked to him?” I said.

“No. We’ve had no means of communication.” Nate wrung his hands. “Can you tell me how he is, please? Hannah, I’ve had no idea. It wasn’t until I called you last month and you said you were at the cabin … that I knew things had gone as planned.”

I yanked on my coat and headed for the door.

“No! I’m not going to tell you how he is. You can both go to hell. I feel so ridiculous, Nate. What was the point of this?”

Nate dragged a hand through his hair. He looked flustered, less dignified than I’d ever seen him. “Hannah—”

I went out before he could answer, and I slammed the door behind me.