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I furrowed my brow, staring into the darkness as my arm tightened around her small body. “He said that?”
Her head softly bobbed against my chest. “We talked about it the other day. You make us feel safe.”
She didn't need to clarify who they felt safe from.Seth. Their personal bogeyman. And if I made them feel better about him forever lurking in the shadows, unknowing when he'd come back—if heevercame back—then I’d be hard-pressed to ever let her sleep alone again.
The house was still as Ray's breathing softened. She drifted off toward slumber, and I closed my eyes to follow her into our dreams. But Seth lingered in my head—threatening me with nightmares and silent sinister promises to be back one day—and then there was Officer Kinney's voice …
“Your past and family history …”
What the hell was he referring to?
I knew my personal history. I was the only one in my family with a record. Gramma and Grampa had worked so diligently to keep my mother clean in the eyes of the law even if her body wasn't clean of the drugs and booze. They had hidden her wrongdoings, they had protected her, and while some might’ve judged them for what they'd done, I knew it had all come out of a place of love—for their daughterand alsofor me.
But then what the hell had Patrick meant by that? Surely, I would know if my mom had been arrested or incarcerated at some point—right?
The easiest thing would be to ask Officer Kinney—I knew that. But I also didn't want the discussion to be opened to other things I didn't care to talk about, things that didn’t matter—or so I thought.
And why bother when I already had the World Wide Web at my fingertips?
Thanks again, Harry.
Carefully, I lifted my arm from Ray's body and reached for the nightstand to grab my phone. After opening the web browser, I typed in my mother's name:Diane Mason.
Millions upon millions of results popped up. Too many to weed through.
I refined my search:Diane Mason, Connecticut.
The first several listings were for obituaries. Another was a lawyer’s office, and another was a real estate agency. But then there was the eighth listing down, and that onesnaggedmy attention.
An article titled, “Man Dies of Fentanyl Overdose, Friend Arrested for Murder.”
Murder. I swallowed as my brows drew together.Thiswas what people found whensearchingmy family name. Sure, the article was dated back to the day after Billy’s death, and nobody knew then that I’d only be convicted of manslaughter. But still, the word triggered a nauseous reaction in my gut, and Billy’s mom suddenly came to mind.
Does she still believe I’m a murderer? Even all these years later?
Of courseshe does. I took her only child away from her.
Ray slept soundly beside me as I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to cry.
We had all made our choices. We had all made stupid, life-altering mistakes. I understood this now, but that didn’t quell the constant ache in my heart. I’d gotten used to it after all this time; it had become a part of who I was. But every now and then, it made itself known, rising above the noise in my head and the good I’d found in life.
I never stopped hating that relentless, nagging pain. I never stopped feeling I deserved it.
Enough. Keep reading.
Air filled my lungs, and I pushed past thoughts of Billy and his heartbroken mother. I skimmed the brief account of Billy’s untimely demise and my arrest on the side of the road that February night over a decade ago, looking for my mother’s name. I read past the comments from Billy’s dad, a firsthand account from a witness, and then there it was.
I sat up in bed as I read,Soldier’s mother, Diane Mason—no stranger to being in trouble with the law—had no comment to make at this time.
“What the hell?” I muttered to myself, staring at the words as if Icould willthem with my mind to offer more info.
My fingers thrust into my hair as my earlier questions were multiplied. What trouble? What had she done? I mean, shit … my mother had been taking her share of drugs for at least as long as I’d been alive and had lost more jobs than I could count. But I had never known her to break the law, and, yeah, okay, thinking about it now, I could see the absurdity in that mindset. Her habitual drug use wasin itself againstthe fucking law. But Patrick Kinney and this reporter from nearly a decade ago wouldn’t have known about that or anything else unless she had a record. A record I knew nothing about.
I could just ask him, I thought.But… God, I don’t want to talk to him about this shit. He just told me how much he liked having me around. I don’t want to make him regret that by divulging more info than I need to.
I tossed my phone to the bed and dragged the palm of my hand over my face as I considered whatever options I had that didn’t involve going to the police.
Then, Ray stirred against my side. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
