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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ava
I jerk upward when my phone rings.
It’s Brendan.
“Hi,” I say softly.
“Ava, I’m coming over.”
“Aren’t you working?”
“My dad’s covering me. But I’ve got to talk to you. I’m bringing Brock.”
I stand up quickly. “Brock? Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I just figured something out. I’m on my way. Meet me down in the alley and unlock the door.”
“Bren—”
“Damn it, Ava! This is important!”
Something in his voice makes me agree. “Okay. I’ll go down now.”
Brendan and Brock are already standing outside when I open the door.
“Come on up.”
They follow me up the stairs to my place.
“If you’re hungry, I don’t have anything. You can go down to the bakery and make yourselves a sandwich.”
“Have you eaten yet?” Brendan asks.
I sigh as I slowly shake my head.
“For God’s sake, Ava. I have no idea what’s going on, and you don’t have to tell me. But I will not sit by and watch you starve yourself.” He opens my refrigerator. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Told you.”
“She’s got eggs.” Brock grabs the carton. “I’m making you scrambled eggs, cuz. And you’ll eat it. You and Brendan sit down and talk.”
“I don’t have anything to say.” Though I do obey him and take a seat at the small table.
“That’s okay,” Brendan says. “I do.”
He shoves a piece of paper in front of me.
“Who’s Dyane Wingdam?” I ask.
“Pat Lamone’s grandmother. Only it’s an alias.” He turns the paper over. The letters are rearranged.
My stomach drops.
“Wendy Madigan.”
“Yup. Wendy Madigan. Just like the acrostic.”
“Grandmother,” I say softly.
“That’s the other clue,” Brendan says. “From the first message. So what do they mean together?”
“They mean”—I draw in a deep breath—“that Wendy Madigan is my grandmother.”
Brock drops an egg on the kitchen floor. “Shit. Sorry. I… My father told me some stuff, Ave. He…”
I rise. “You knew?”
Brock scratches his shoulder and looks down. “No. I mean, sort of.”
I punch him hard in his left upper arm. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Easy, cuz. That hurt.” He rubs his arm—the right one.
“I hit the other arm, douchebag. You’d better tell me what you know and now, or I’ll aim lower next time.”
He rubs his other arm. “Fuck it all. This means that dickhead Pat Lamone is your cousin, right?”
I look to Brendan. He doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Brock.
“Lauren Wingdam is the daughter of Dyane Wingdam. She’s Pat Lamone’s birth mother.”
I plunk back down in my wooden chair, making my tailbone ache. “This is all too much. We don’t know for sure that Dyane Wingdam is an anagram for Wendy Madigan.”
Brendan caresses my forearm. “Babe…”
I shake my head. “I know. I know. It all fits. My God…”
Brock kneels with a rag to clean up the broken egg. “Eggs will be another minute.”
“I don’t want to push…” Brendan urges.
“What the hell? I’ve already spilled that the woman is my grandmother. But first, Brock, you need to tell me what you know.”
He turns off the burner. “Okay. Eggs will have to wait, then.”
“Do I look like I care about the fucking eggs?” I nearly scream at him.
He takes a seat on my other side. “I honestly don’t know a lot. Only that Uncle Ry had a different mother than my dad, Uncle Tal, and Aunt Marj.”
“And who told you this?”
“My dad.”
“Jesus Christ.” I massage my forehead. The headache is massive now. “So your dad, my uncle, thought you had the right to know this fact before I did?”
“No.” Brock shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that at all. He just felt your parents should be the ones to tell you. Not him or me or anyone else.”
“My God…” This time I massage my temples.
“What can we do for you, baby?” Brendan asks.
“You can both buckle up,” I say. “Because you’re in for a wild ride.”
Chapter Thirty
Brendan
Brock and I sit, mesmerized, as Ava spills out what she learned from her father. She confirms my theory, but there’s so much more.
Her words fade in and out.
Wendy Madigan
Bradford Steel
Lovers
Affair
Ryan
Daphne Steel
Dissociative Identity Disorder
Dale and Donny
Talon
Human trafficking
Theodore Mathias
Ruby’s father
Shots
Wendy dead
Brad dead
Ruby killed Wendy
Brad not dead after all
And Wendy?
Now she’s alive too, hiding in plain sight under the alias Sabrina Smith.
By the time Ava stops speaking, her pallor has faded, and her eyes are glazed over. She’s not crying. She hasn’t even sniffled since she began this story.
Perhaps she got all that out of her system earlier—or more likely, she’s become numb out of pure defense.
Silence reigns for a few moments, until—
“I’m not Daphne Steel’s granddaughter,” she says. “So I don’t have to worry about inheriting her mental illness.” Then she laughs. A sarcastic laugh. “Instead, I’m descended from two psychopaths. My father’s mother, Wendy Madigan, and my mother’s father, Theo Mathias. What a fucking genetic jackpot.”
I touch her hand gently. “Have you eaten anything, Ava?”
She doesn’t answer, but Brock rises.
“I’m pretty sure the eggs are ruined,” he says.
“I don’t want anything anyway,” Ava says.
