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So Luke did, recounting everything from the gas leak at Andy’s apartment to the moment he and the guys recovered Kory’s necklace.
“That scumbag!” Mary hissed when he’d quieted. “I knew Aldon was shady when he showed up at the shop.”
“Yeah. I don’t think he’ll be swinging by for a board anytime soon.”
Mary huffed out a disgusted sigh. “If he has an ounce of self-preservation left in his twisted head, he won’t. I’m glad you beat the shit out of him! He deserved it!”
Luke’s gaze fell pensively to his hands. The blood stains were gone, but his knuckles were still patched with blue.
“What?” Mary said, not missing his broody expression. “You don’t think so?”
“Of course I do,” Luke snapped. “I could have killed Aldon for what he did.”
Frankie squirmed on the pillow but didn’t wake. Lowering his voice, Luke gritted out the truth that had been clawing at his consciousness for years. “Just like I probably killed our father.”
Mary’s hand — which had been moving in gentle circles over Frankie’s back — stilled. “Is that what you think happened that night?”
“Christ, I don’t know.” Luke rubbed briskly at his head as though he could somehow shake the disturbing memories into some semblance of order. “When I was hitting Aldon yesterday, and I saw the blood on my hands, it reminded me of something in one of my nightmares.”
“What was that?”
“Me standing on that old area rug where Dad died. My hand dripping blood.”
“And from that you infer you were the one who stabbed him?”
He glanced over to see his sister watching him intently. “Yeah, that’s the impression I got.”
Gaze falling to Frankie, Mary resumed her stroking. “Well, I’m happy to set you straight. It was a dream, Luke. You didn’t kill him. I was there, remember?”
“That’s just it. I don’t. It’s all a jumbled-up mess in my head.”
“Not surprising considering how hard you cracked it that night. You had blood gushing down the side of your face. That was probablyyourblood on the hand in your dream.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” The explanation did make sense. He didn’t remember reaching for his head wound, but he probably had at some point. Luke frowned, hating that everything was still so unclear to him.
Sensing his frustration, Mary sighed. “We probably should have talked about this a long time ago, but Mom never wanted us to. Anytime either of us would ever bring that night up, she’d always say, ‘It’s over. It’s?”
“?in the past,” Luke finished with a rueful snort.
“Yeah, Mom was pretty determined to move forward. To give us a better life after Dad died.”
“She did.”
“Yeah, she did.”
Luke’s foot tapped a soft tattoo on the bamboo flooring. “Sometimes the past has a way of sticking with us.”
Mary set a hand on his restless leg. “You didn’t do it. Trust me, I remember everything pretty clearly. Dad had started in on Mom that night about his car. He was drunk. Full of rage. And I was frozen in the hallway watching it happen. But you… you weren’t, Luke. When Dad pulled out his knife, you ran into the living room yelling at him to leave Mom alone. That you were the one who’d scratched his stupid car not her. Then you sank your teeth into his arm.”
“I bit him?”
“Yep. Hard enough that he dropped the knife.”
“Damn, I don’t remember any of that.”
“Again, not surprising since Dad turned around and slapped you so hard you flew into a table.” Rage flashed in Mary’s eyes as she cradled her daughter more protectively on the pillow. “You were a child. And he was going to hit you again while you were lying there, barely conscious and bleeding. He charged over, and he was going topunchyou. He had his fist cocked back, and I just knew he was going to kill you if he landed that blow. But then she stopped it. She stoppedhim.”
“Mom?”
