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She nodded.
“All that nice furniture?”
She continued to nod, not sure where he was going with this.
“All rented. Owns nothing outright except that old truck of his and some old-as-shit chair that sits in his office.”
Birdie stared at him confused.
“Thanks to being abandoned by his parents, and you to a larger degree, he believes if you don’t allow yourself to get too attached to things, or people, it won’t hurt as much when you lose them. It’s a financial theory that got up inside his twisted head that he’s applied to people and relationships in general.”
“But he loves you and Bernadette. And what about the entire population of Wayward?”
“And to him, that’s more than enough people to take care of, and to care for. And as much as he loves every one of us, he does it from a distance.”
His face turned sad. “Even me to an extent.”
Birdie stared straight ahead, trying to make sense of such a convoluted theory on personal relationships.
Grant continued, “Not saying it makes sense. Just how his mind works. Practical to a fault. Especially since losing Rachel.” He downed the last of his tea and set his empty glass on the tray. “Then he finds out he’s got a kid, from the woman who used to be his childhood best friend, and who later betrayed him in the worst possible way. A woman, I’m not so sure, shouldn’t be in prison.”
His eyes bored down on her.
She refused to look away. “Believe it or not. I can understand that.”
“You sure didn’t bother to stick around long enough to give any of us a reason to think otherwise.”
She remained silent, pulling her lips in a thin line. Afraid of what she might confess if she didn’t.
“Where’d Maisie end up, Birdie?” His expression turned accusatory.
Her eyes flashed up to his, not having expected the question.
“She… died.” Her entire body went still. She hadn’t spoken about Maisie in years. Just hearing her name was physically jarring. But then, why she ever thought she could get by without having this conversation, while in the town where she and her sister grew up, was a moronic notion.
Grant nodded his head slowly, as if thinking that through, and turned skeptical eyes toward her. “How’d she die?”
“It’s… not important.”
“It’s not important,” he repeated, with a condescending tone. “Years ago you drugged my brother, forced yourself on him, stripped him of a football career, and gave birth to his baby, which you kept from him for more than fourteen years. As a cop, I’d say it’s rather important, Birdie. Life-altering important.”
She could lie. Grant wouldn’t find any evidence or records of her sister’s death. Marshall had seen to that after she told him what had happened.
Making Marshall fully aware of what transpired between her and Maisie was the only stipulation she had before agreeing to marry him. Marshall instantly went about calling in a number of favors, expunging any trace of evidence and helping her to follow through on her promise. Just one of a hundred ways he had helped and protected her.
But he was gone and she was alone, left to face the music in a town that was trained to think the worst of her and the best of Maisie.
“I better check on lunch,” she said, making her way back to the magical side door to a kitchen where problems melted away and sins of the past evaporated.
Before turning the corner of the house, Grant called out, “We’re not done here, Birdie.”
She turned her head his direction with her chin down and said, “I know.”
* * *
Birdie spentthe rest of the afternoon catching up with Bernadette, while Mia continued to follow her newly minted father around like an overeager puppy.
What would she do if Mia decided to stay?
