“It’s not his fault,” my uncle replies, defending his friend, the man I remember from Botswana who takes care of the diamond exports for us. “He was looking out for me. I told him why I did it. What I thought had happened before I saw Slade return. Hesaid it wasn’t my fault. But I knew it was. I thought I’d killed you,” he says, looking at me.
“You didn’t, Mal. But someone else still died in that fire,” my father says.
“I know. Jesus, I know.” My uncle holds his head and weeps.
My aunt watches him through tears, her face crumbling.
“You’ve never been the same since that day. I thought it was the grief.”
“Grief and guilt. I’m sorry, Trude.”
She puts an arm around him, turning her face into his shoulder and crying with him.
“You’ve spent all these years staying away because you thought we blamed you?” My father’s voice cuts through the whooshing blood in my ears.
Jude catches my eye and nods her encouragement.
I turn to him, my voice hoarse. “I blamed myself too.”
“Jesus.” His chest caves, and he plants his hands on his hips like he’s struggling to stand. “Why would… why didn’t you just come to us, Son? We’re your family.”
“Because Beauforts always stick together,” Sullivan rasps. “Right?”
I hold my brother’s eyes. “Right.”
His expression clouds and he shakes his head, blinking rapidly toward the ceiling.
“What are you talking about?” Sinclair cries.
“You said it at the press conference, Dad,” Sullivan says, his eyes intent on mine again. “Remember when we were kids, you’d?—”
“Say it to remind us to have one another’s backs,” Sinclair says, gasping. “You thought it was a message?”
“He thought it was a goodbye,” Sullivan says.
My father stares straight at me. “You thought we were covering up for you? Son… my God.”
My throat’s so thick it’s hard to form words. “I thought you were trying to save me. From whatever would have happened. I thought I was the reason Mom died.”
Halliday’s crying softly as she wraps her arms around my father. “He knew you’d try to save him, Sterling. And you did. Just not like that.”
His face crumples at her words, but he keeps his eyes on mine.
“What does that mean?” Jude whispers.
Halliday looks at my father and he nods gently. He clenches his jaw as she unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and slowly peels the sleeve up.
Scars run all the way up his arms and continue out of sight.
Burns.
“I tried to save you, Son. But I couldn’t,” my father whispers.
We all fall into silence as the enormity of truth hangs in the air around us.
Three years.
Lost lives.
