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“I told you. He’s had some mental issues of his own.”
“Anything like Daphne’s mental issues?”
Jonathan shook his head. “No.” But he didn’t meet my gaze.
“It’s time to level with me,” I said. “Larry and I are friends. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ve told you all I can. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Larry himself.”
“All right. I’ll do that. Besides Larry, is there anyone else you’re protecting?”
He looked down again. His classic tell. He was about to lie to me.
“No,” he said.
I was about to give up on this conversation when I remembered something.
“You once told me that Daphne kept a journal during her hospitalization.”
He didn’t respond. Had that been another lie?
“You also told me you hadn’t read the journal, that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to read it. I accepted that at the time, but now, I have to tell you it disturbs me. If you truly wanted to protect Daphne, why didn’t you read the journal?”
“Journals are private.”
“True. I won’t argue the point. But here’s what I think, Jonathan. I think one of two things happened. Either you did read the journal, and you don’t want to tell me what was in it, or there is no journal at all.”
He sighed—a heavy, exhausted sigh. Then he slowly opened a desk drawer and pulled something out.
“Here.” He pushed a spiral notebook across the desk to me. “Daphne’s journal.”
I didn’t take the notebook. Not at first. I simply stared at it. The vibrant pink cover was worn, and someone—presumably Daphne—had doodled ink drawings all over it. Mostly flowers.
“I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t read it,” Jonathan said. “I just… I just didn’t want to know.”
“Sometimes knowledge is our best defense, Jonathan.” I picked up the journal.
“And sometimes, Brad,” he said, his voice serious, “ignorance is bliss.”
Something clicked then—a fundamental difference between Jonathan and me. He would avoid where I would attack.
He loved his daughter. Of that, I had no doubt. I also had no doubt that he loved Larry, his son.
He was also hiding something about Larry. Something that had taken its toll on him as a father, so much so that when his daughter went down a similar path, he had a hard time going back to that place.
What had happened to Larry? What was Jonathan hiding?
I didn’t open the journal, but I took it with me when I left Jonathan’s office. He had told me all he was willing to, and unless I pulled a George Steel and held a gun to his head, he wasn’t about to divulge anything more.
I was armed. I could’ve pulled out my piece, but threatening my father-in-law with a firearm would be crossing the line.
I wasn’t ready to go there.
I suspected, though, I wouldn’t have a choice in the future.
Jonathan Wade isn’t who you think he is, son. Be careful.
My father was right.
I had Daphne’s journal now. I hadn’t decided yet whether I would read it. Perhaps I would give it to Dr. Pelletier. Right now it was burning a hole in my briefcase.
Did Daphne even remember keeping a journal? One way to find out.
Chapter Twelve
Daphne
Something wasn’t right.
My mother cooked a delicious dinner—one of my favorite meals of pork chops and mashed potatoes—but it all tasted like sawdust on my tongue.
Because something wasn’t right.
Oh, everyone was polite enough, but tension in the air was palpable.
Not with me or Mom.
With Brad and my father.
They conversed as jovially as ever. Call it intuition, but something was off between them. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was there. Definitely there. My husband and my father were the two most important men in my life, and something was definitely up.
My mother didn’t seem to notice, and I was glad. I didn’t want anything to mess with her newfound mental health.
I didn’t want anything to mess with mine, either. My sessions with Dr. Pelletier were doing me a world of good. I always felt stronger after I left a session—strong and able to take on the world and be the best wife and mother ever. Strong and full of light, like my favorite yellow tulips in Mazie’s greenhouse.
Jonah was my priority, of course. I loved Brad with all my heart, but he could take care of himself. Jonah needed me, and he needed me whole. I was determined to stay that way.
Dessert went slowly. Mom had made rice pudding, another favorite of mine, and I sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg on my portion and ate it quickly, hoping to end the meal and get Brad alone so I could ask him what was wrong.
The others seemed to eat in slow motion. Maybe it was just in my head, but would this meal ever end? I’d so been looking forward to seeing my family, and now I couldn’t wait to be done with them.
