Chapter 4: Everything She Had Been Carrying Alone
Irene was awake when I came back.
The room was quiet.
The monitors beeped steadily.
Someone had brought her a blanket from a warmer somewhere, and she had it pulled up to her chin even though the room wasn't cold.
Her lip had been treated.
The swelling around her left eye had darkened.
I sat in the chair beside her bed and didn't say anything for a moment.
She spoke first.
"How bad is it?"
"They found Derek's messages on the phone," I said.
"He's been in Scottsdale for four months."
She closed her eyes.
"You knew," I said.
Not an accusation.
Just the truth landing between us.
"I suspected." She opened her eyes again.
"About six weeks after your mother moved in, I found a letter.
It had fallen behind the desk in your study.
It was from Derek.
Addressed to her." She paused.
"I didn't read all of it.
But I read enough."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Because you would have confronted him.
And then it would have been your word against his, and your mother would have chosen him, and I would have been the reason your family fell apart." Her voice stayed even.
"I thought if I just — held on — I could find something more solid.
Something you couldn't argue with."
"Irene."
"I know." She looked at the ceiling.
"I know it was wrong.
I kept thinking I had more time."
"The bruises," I said.
"The nurse told me it wasn't the first time."
She was quiet for a moment.
"The first time was an accident.
I genuinely believe that.
We were arguing in the kitchen — Margaret and I — and she grabbed my arm and I pulled back and I hit the counter." She paused.
"The second time was not an accident."
My jaw tightened.
"She came into the nursery while I was putting together the crib.
She said I was doing it wrong.
I told her I had it handled.
She said —" Irene stopped.
She pressed her lips together.
"She said the baby would never call her grandmother.
That I had trapped you.
That everything in this house belonged to the Wentworths and I was just a guest who had overstayed."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing.
I turned back to the crib." A pause.
"She pushed me.
I fell against the wall."
The monitor beeped.
Steady.
Indifferent.
"I got up," Irene said.
"I didn't cry.
I finished the crib.
And then I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor for twenty minutes."
I reached over and took her hand.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there."
"You didn't know."
"I should have known."
She shook her head slowly.
"She was very careful about when.
Always when you were traveling.
Always something she could explain away." She looked at me.
"She's good at it, Austin.
She's been doing it her whole life.
To your father.
To Derek.
To anyone who got close enough."
That landed differently than I expected.
"To my father?"
Irene hesitated.
"There's something else I need to tell you.
About the letter I found." She reached toward the small table beside the bed, then stopped.
"My phone is gone.
They took it when they — it was in the bedroom."
"I'll get it back," I said.
"Tell me."
"The letter mentioned your father's estate.
Specifically, a second will." She looked at me carefully.
"Derek wrote that Margaret had found it.
That it changed the distribution.
That if it was ever filed, neither of them would receive what they expected."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"A second will," I repeated.
"He said she had been sitting on it for three years."
Three years.
My father had been gone for three years and four months.
I stood up slowly.
I walked to the window.
The parking lot below was mostly empty.
A single car moved through the far entrance, its headlights sweeping across the wet asphalt.
"Where is the letter now?" I asked.
"I hid it," Irene said.
"Inside the lining of the blue suitcase in the guest closet."
I turned around.
"Austin." Her voice was careful.
"That's not the suitcase they brought tonight."
I pulled out my phone and called Detective Hale.
He picked up on the third ring.
"The guest closet," I said.
May you like
"Blue suitcase.
Don't open it without me."
