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“It came out okay.” He shrugs, staying on the cautious route.
“It reminds me of the times I’d sit out there with him after dinner when the kitchen was cleaned and the dishes put away. Mama T couldn’t stand the smell of cigars, but I didn’t mind. I just liked being with him, you know? Hearing him talk…laugh. He had a great laugh. Loud and infectious.”
Dwayde doesn’t say anything, but when I turn back, I see the memories of the grandfather he loved reflected in his eyes. We have that bond in common. I walk over to the bed, sit on the edge of the mattress, and hold his gaze.
“When I ran away from Springvale, I thought that in time I would be able to put it all behind me. Start a new life and pretend the one I left never existed. I fought my mind to do it. But I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. My past…my secrets…were always there like a poison spreading inside me.” Driving me to binge, to seek comfort from the pain. “I didn’t tell anyone. Not Jordyn or Lexie. Not any of the psychologists that tried to help. No one.
“And then when your Uncle Mick showed up wanting answers, even after all those years, I still wouldn’t talk about it. I thought it would hurt too much to let all that poison out. But I was wrong. When I finally did—even though telling Mick and my family why I left was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—I felt better for it. Free. The secrets couldn’t hurt me anymore.”
He stares back, his expression blocked and guarded. I hadn’t expected him to spill his secrets. My intention was to plant the seed. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your sketching.” I pat the dog’s head and rise. “You can call or text me anytime. Not just about the case. But for anything.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Okay.” I turn and walk to the door.
“Um…wait!”
I pause and pivot back around to see him climb to his feet. He takes the sketch of Papa T off the wall. “You can have this if you want.”
“Really? I’d love that.” I accept the drawing from him, then acting on impulse, lean in and kiss his cheek. “Thank you. It means so much to me.”
“Yeah, aw’right.” He shifts awkwardly. “See ya.”
I hug the picture to my chest and exit the room. At the bottom of the stairs, Victor and Isabelle stand in the hallway, talking close, their voices hushed. Mick is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s likely gone. I tuck away my feelings to deal with later.
At the sound of my footsteps, the couple turn their heads in my direction.
“How is Dwayde?” Isabelle asks when I reach them.
“He didn’t want to talk, and I didn’t want to push him again this soon.”
“Better to give him some time,” Victor agrees, even though that probably goes against his cop instincts to press for more; to get the confession. “What do you have there?” His chin lifts to indicate the paper I’m holding.
“Oh.” I smile and show them the sketch. “I was admiring this and Dwayde gave it to me. It really captures Papa T, doesn’t it?”
Victor looks at the drawing wistfully. “Every night after dinner, Papa had to have his cigar on that swing. Rain or shine. Remember when you tried a puff and almost choked to death?” He laughs then.
I join him, glad that we can find humor around the pain to enjoy the good and funny memories.
“Dwayde only shares his art with family,” Isabelle says when our laughter fizzles. “He may not admit it, Dee, but he knows you’re looking out for him. Thank you for being here.” She gives me a heartfelt hug. “I’m going to take him up a snack. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“I’ll be up to see him shortly.” Victor kisses his wife’s forehead and walks me to the door. “So, what now?”
“We’ll see if Jackson follows through on his threat. He’ll have to act soon to get an emergency court date for their petition to be heard before the custody hearing. Meanwhile, we keep building our case. It’s obvious that Dwayde knows more about the Franklins than he says. And it seems that whatever he remembers or whatever Joyce may have told him wouldn’t present them in the best light.”
“That’s for damn sure. I think we’ve seen plenty that supports it.”
“But you know that’s not evidence.” I carefully put the sketch inside my tote bag, sliding it between a notebook to keep the paper from getting wrinkled. “We can’t accuse them of bad parenting or anything else without proof.”
“The PI firm Calista hired hasn’t turned up squat,” he laments. “Not much of a surprise, I guess. The Franklins wield a lot of power in their community. People might be afraid to say anything that could cost them their status or livelihood.”
“Or they really don’t know anything.” I think about Malcolm Peters and his abuse. How no one, not even Victor who was closest to Mick, had any idea about what was happening in that house. “People can be very good at keeping up a pretense.”
“That’s the truth. But what could these people have done or what could Joyce have told Dwayde they did that would make him afraid to tell us?”
“That’s what we’ll have to keep working through with Dwayde to find out.”
“Yeah,” he says, but there’s a heaviness in his voice. Victor is tough and sturdy, the kind of person you can rely on, but this case has been hard on him.
