Page 166 of Oddly Fine

Beckett snorted into his cup.

“Alright,” Cynthia said after taking a few sips of her tea. “Start from the beginning,” she said, looking directly at Franklin. “And don’t leave anything out.” Her gaze was intense and unrelenting.

Franklin could barely meet her eyes, but he nodded and took a deep breath. He was sitting across the table from her and had Matthew by his side.

Beckett would have bet his left nut that they were holding hands under the table.

Franklin told the full story, adding details Beckett hadn’t even known. He frequently exchanged glances with Matthew, as if seeking reassurance and support.

Their mother remained mostly silent throughout, taking it all in stride. She interrupted him once.

“You knew what he was involved with, and you accepted his advances anyway?” Cynthia asked about halfway through the story. It sounded—rude. After all, she was openly criticizing Matthew, but then again—the Rosario name spoke for itself.

“I did,” Franklin admitted, owning up to it.

Their mother’s jaw tightened with disapproval, but she nodded for him to continue.

She remained silent until the very end. Then she sighed and crossed her hands in front of her on the table. They waited for her to break the silence, but she just sat there.

“Won’t you please just say something?” Franklin asked after a minute, squirming in place.

“And what would you like me to say?” she asked, the edge of pain hard to miss.

Beckett heard it and flinched.

“I—” Franklin hesitated. “What you’re thinking? How you feel, I guess,” he sounded so uncertain, and it was so unlike him that she seemed to thaw a little.

“I can’t—” she stopped and shook her head, clearly struggling with her emotions. “I wish you’d gone about it differently,” she said, choosing her words with great care.

“But I couldn’t—” Franklin replied, too quickly, too strongly.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I refuse to accept that answer,” she added, her air of calmness giving way to a flash of anger. “I refuse to believe that the only possible way was to make me believe my child was dead.”

“Mom,” Franklin protested hastily. “It wasn’t about that—”

But she wasn’t done. She’d listened, but now she would be heard.

“No,” she said, punctuating her words with a firm thump of her fist against the tabletop. “No, you listen, now. You might be clever, but here, right now, I want you to listen, and hear me when I say that you were stupid. Stupid to think that the best possible solution was isolating yourself from everyone else. Stupid to think that you could just—die,” she said brokenly, a sob slipping past her defenses for a moment before she collected herself. “Just die, and come back, and everything would be alright.”

She shook her head, and Beckett watched her face tighten.

“I’m glad—” she took a deep breath, and looked at Matthew again. “I’m happy for you, if this is what makes you happy‚ but—” she shook her head. “I think you made very stupid choices, and as your mother, I need you to know that.”

“Mom! You can’t—” Franklin began, in patent disbelief. She held up a hand to stop him. He fell silent instantly.

“I love you. And God, am I ever thankful to have you back,” she said, voice shaking with emotion. “But it was stupid.”

And it was so simply put that Beckett had to fight the urge to burst into laughter. Because yes, he supposed it was the best way to summarize what had gone down. Stupid decisions, stupid outcomes. They were beyond lucky that it had gone their way in the end.

The humour he felt faded quickly as she whirled on him next.

“You knew,” she said, not exactly angry but definitely not pleased either.

“Only at the end. Right before we left—” she held up her hand again. He snapped his mouth shut.

“You knew from the beginning. How?”

And Beckett understood then. He’d never believed the suicide theory. Never was convinced it was true—even after watching the tape.