Chapter 12 - MY MOTHER’S HALF-TRUTH
The next breakthrough came from an old speech therapist.
Four years earlier, my mother had briefly regained enough control to speak several broken phrases after her stroke.
The therapist had written them in clinical notes.
Miriam obtained the file.
Three entries mattered.
“Red coat fire.”
“Roman key.”
“Victor paper.”
The fourth made no sense.
“Gabriel gave place.”
I read it twice.
“What does that mean?”
No one answered.
Then I remembered.
Six years ago, the night before Pier 44 burned, Ewan had called me.
He asked where he could meet one of our insurance auditors privately.
I suggested Warehouse C at Pier 44.
It was empty after midnight.
Secure.
Quiet.
I had given Ewan the location.
Someone had intercepted that information.
For six years I had blamed the wrong people.
Now I had to add myself.
Delia found me in the conservatory.
“You didn’t know.”
“I sent him there.”
“You gave him a meeting place.”
“I sent him to the place where he died.”
“You did not start the fire.”
“I made him easy to find.”
Delia sat across from me.
“Ewan never blamed you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can.”
She removed a folded piece of paper.
It was a letter.
Ewan had written it the afternoon before the fire.
If anything goes wrong, Gabriel will think it was his fault.
Don’t let him.
He still believes controlling every room means he controls every consequence.
Someday he’ll learn the difference.
I laughed once.
It came out broken.
Ewan had known me better than I knew myself.
At the bottom was another line.
If the child comes, keep him away from the life unless Gabriel changes first.
I read that sentence several times.
Not:
Keep him away from Gabriel.
Unless Gabriel changes first.
May you like
My brother had left me a door.
Six years later, I finally understood how to walk through it.
