Page 63 of Not a Word

“Look at this mess,” she said.

Nothing had been cleaned up in here since the morning before. There were a couple of cups, some cutlery and a dish in one of the double sinks, coffee still in the pot, a small container of cream on the counter.

Mom picked up that last item, gave it a sniff, then poured its cottage-cheese-like contents into the sink and ran a tap to wash it down the drain. She opened the dishwasher and put in the cups and cutlery, then tore a paper towel off the roller to wipe down the counter.

I wondered how much of the house she would tidy before we went upstairs.

“Mom,” I said, working up to something I’d been wanting to ask since the viewing at the funeral home, “what did you mean when you asked yourself what’ve you done?”

“I never said that,” she said, getting a spray bottle of granite cleaner out from under the sink and spritzing the counter.

“Yes, you did.”

Mom grabbed some paper towels and wiped the counter vigorously.

“Who was Leah Kennard?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she said, her back to me.

“I don’t believe you.”

She froze.

I said, “The thing is, Mom, everything’s going to come out, sooner or later. Even if what happened looks cut-and-dried, that detective seems pretty determined to get to the truth.”

“She was probably some fling your father had,” Mom said, still not looking at me. “You come to accept certain things in a marriage.”

“Where would he have met her?”

“Lately? I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean, lately? Did Dad know her from a long time ago?”

The question hung in the air for several seconds. Finally, Mom turned around, using the counter to support herself.

“Your father and I hadn’t planned to have you and your brother so close together.”

Holden and I were a year apart, but it wasn’t something I’d ever given much thought to. And if there was anyone who knew about having a kid you hadn’t planned on, it was Diana and me.

“If I’d ever really considered it, I’d have guessed you wanted two kids and wanted to get it done.”

“I don’t want Holden to know what I’m about to tell you. You have to promise me.”

“Without knowing what you’re going to say, I don’t know whether I can do that.”

“He’s already on the edge.”

“He’s always on the edge,” I reminded her.

“Your father and I tried for a long time to get pregnant. When things weren’t working out, we went to a fertility clinic, but we didn’t have any success there either.”

“Jesus,” I said. “Wait. Holden’s adopted? I mean, come on, we look alike.”

“No, he’s not adopted,” she said quickly. “But Leah Kennard was his mother.”

I let the words sink in. “So Dad . . . this wasn’t the first time he’d had a relationship with her.”

Mom face flushed with anger. “No! Stop getting ahead and let me tell you.”