“Something on your mind?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to share?”
“I’ve done things, Elise. Things I’m not proud of.”
Her mind flashed to the woman on the front lawn. She never saw the body, now covered in a layer of snow, but it always looked grotesque in her imagination. The woman’s guts were spilled out, her blood dotted around the dirty snow. And then her mind took her to the man at the top of the stairs, his head cocked to the side, half his neck missing. She shook her head.
He said, “I think about the hard things I’ve had to do, but I always thought—in the end—there was a reason for it. Even though it was terrible, I understand why I did it.”
“I know.”
“But they can still be wrong, even if I did it for the right reasons.”
“I don’t know.”
“Elise,” he said and paused.
She met his eyes, and he looked away, shaking his head. As she waited for his next words, her stomach flooded with nausea.
“Do you think I’m a monster?”
She frowned. “No,” she said in a whisper, “No, no.”
Elise took a step forward and then hesitated. It had been a while since she had been intimate with her husband, but she pushed through the awkwardness. Snuggled her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. A welcome, long-forgotten warmth filled her chest.
Sean said, “You always told me you would love me no matter what. Do you still mean that?”
She waited a second to answer. “Of course.”
And she meant it, but there was a thought she didn’t want to acknowledge, one she pushed back against. Kept it at bay. No use engaging it. It was all a bunch of lies from Michael’s mouth anyway. No use in drudging it up.
But it was there.
It was there.
Chapter 30
ANDREW MADE HIMSELF useful and helped prepare a meal.
Elise seemed more detached than normal, not saying much to him other than a few terse commands to grab an ingredient and bring it to her. Molly would have been the one helping her with the meal instead of him, so he thought that might be it. They were all enduring her absence.
Elise’s mood could have stemmed from their discussion about Sean the day of Molly’s burial. She hadn’t been willing to talk about it after, and Andrew didn’t want to bring it up again. The whole idea made him shudder. This wasn’t a game, and the people in the house weren’t pawns. But that’s what the conversation had made it seem like.
“Andrew,” she said, snapping her fingers.
He shot his gaze over to her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The dried basil,” she said, motioning with her fingers to bring it.
He grabbed it from the coffee table next to him and handed it to her. “You all right?” she asked, taking a pinch from the jar and sprinkling it into the soup above the fire.
“Today’s been a rough day.”
“We’ve all had some rough days lately.”
He looked to his side and watched Michael reading a book on the couch in the adjacent room while Kelly and Aidan played a speed card game. A speed card game that Aidan and Molly used to play. A speed game Andrew’s child would have played with his mother…
Elise’s voice came out of nowhere. “Thinking about her?”
He brought himself back to the present and nodded, though he shrugged while doing it.
“Or not?”
He pointed to his head. “There’s a lot rolling around in here.”
She sprinkled more basil into the pot and said, “You know, this isn’t my first time losing a child.”
He leaned closer to her. Andrew knew the story, but Molly had always told him Gracie was a topic the family didn’t talk about. For Elise to share was almost like he was being accepted into the family.
“I remember the day it happened. I was at work, and Sean was working from home. When I got the call, I remember wanting to throw up right before I picked up the phone. I knew something was wrong.”
Andrew nodded.
“I still, to this day, can’t get Sean to talk about exactly what he saw.”
“I don’t blame him. When I saw the—” He stopped.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“When I saw what happened to Molly—” He sighed. “I would do anything to get that image out of my mind.”
“Not seeing it happen wouldn’t make it any easier.”
“I think it would.”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
Andrew considered his words like he was on hallowed ground. “Why does Michael blame Sean for Gracie?”
She paused. “I forgot you overheard that.”
“Remember the dinner when they first arrived?”
“That was a fun night.”
“If by fun you mean terribly uncomfortable.”
She lowered her voice. “Truth be told, Michael never liked Sean. He’s thought nothing but bad about him. But he never liked any of the boys I brought home. My dad passed away when we were young, so he always filled that kind of role for me. Protective. He’s kind of like Sean in that sense. There was no hope for you because unless Sean had hand-selected you for Molly, there was nobody who was ever going to be good enough. Initially, Michael didn’t blame Sean for what happened to Gracie, I don’t think. Nobody did. Everyone was just in shock. Sean had been watching her that day—went upstairs for just a minute and when he came downstairs the door was open and—” She wiped a tear away. “It was an accident. Not his fault. But it happened on Sean’s watch, so Michael never forgot that. When he moved the family away—my whole family was in New York, mind you—I think Michael thought Sean was running away from the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Having to look my family in the eye. Then when we moved here it was all, Sean’s paranoid and Sean’s reckless.” She blew a blast of air from her barely parted lips. “Gracie was the cutest thing: blonde hair—curly, unbelievably curly—had big brown eyes. Could make your heart melt just by looking at you. And Michael thought Sean wouldn’t take responsibility for her death.”
“But he did, didn’t he?”
“More than he should. Always has. But that was between Sean and me. And himself. He didn’t feel like he had to answer to anyone else.”
“And he never talks about her?”
She shook her head.
“Do you think he’ll do that with Molly?”
“I hope not,” she said and kept stirring the soup.
“I feel like every time I think about her, I end up with this bitter feeling. Like there’s this residue in my gut, just lingering there. But I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to act like she never existed.”
“Then keep her alive. Think about her. Speak her name.”
“I think you can make him do it—to make him talk about her.”
She stopped and looked back at him. “I don’t know.”
“I know.” He looked at the ceiling and then back to Elise. “My mom was—she was a doormat. My dad walked all over her. He controlled every part of her life. She had to ask for everything—can I go to the grocery store, can I go visit my friend, can I go to bed now. She—she had to ask if it was okay to use the bathroom. And sometimes he would make her wait. Make her wait until she pissed herself and then he would scold her for being filthy.”
“I’m so sorry you had to experience that.”
“I’m not saying it to get sympathy. What I’m trying to say is, that’s not what’s going on here. I’ve watched it. Both Sean and Michael listen to you—they both care about what you think—because you’re what’s keeping this place together. Making the meals, keeping the peace. There’s enough wood cut outside to keep this room warm for years. The pile is overflowing under the tarps. Nobody else is really doing anything to keep us alive but you. So Sean and Michael—they both listen to you.”