“Say it!”
“Yes.” His chin jerked up. “Yes. I did it. I blew up the brownstone. I killed my friends and an innocent child.”
She sat on the edge of his bed, no longer able to support her own weight. His confession brought no relief, only a deeper pain. Her father was a weak, selfish person who was willing to kill others so he wouldn’t go to jail. Her father was a murderer.
She slowed her breathing, trying to calm herself. “That’s why you took on all those Innocence Projects. Freeing innocent men because you’re the one who should have been behind bars.”
He stared at the empty space where his roommate’s bed had been.
“We almost lost Ethan because of you.”
“I’m so sorry, Princess. So sorry about everything.”
She took in a deep breath. “You must tell the FBI what you’ve done. You must pay for this.”
He shook his bandaged head, his hands open, pleading.
“You’re a coward,” she said.
He met her eyes. “But you’re not.”
Maybe not a coward, but certainly no hero. She got up from the bed on unsteady feet, wondering how she would be able to walk out of this room, walk to her car, walk away from everything.
His voice followed her. It sounded as though he were begging her. “I love you, Princess. Remember that, no matter what.”
“I’m not your princess,” she said, and kept walking.
CHAPTER 60
The snow was falling lightly. Aubrey watched through the kitchen window in her apartment. She had been back in Rhode Island for more than two weeks, burying herself in her classes and dissertation, trying not to think about what she had left behind, unfinished. What she couldn’t bring herself to do.
She dumped the empty bottle of wine she and Trish had drunk the night before in the garbage, along with the mostly empty Chinese-takeout containers. She and her friend had talked until almost two in the morning, and Aubrey had been too exhausted to clean up when Trish had finally left.
Trish was a good listener, and like the professional psychologist she was, she offered no solutions. They both understood the process. That getting it all out—the hurt, the fear, the letdown—might somehow free Aubrey to move on.
But Aubrey hadn’t told Trish everything. She doubted that she’d ever admit to anyone what her father had done.
She put the teabags back into the blue-and-white porcelain canister and an open box of Triscuits into the fridge. The postcard Kevin had sent her a couple of days ago was stuck on the refrigerator door with a little doggy magnet.
Aubrey slipped the postcard off and examined it once again. A jumping dolphin against a blue-green lagoon and the printed words, “Dolphin Research Center, Marathon, Florida.” On the back, Kevin had written:
Yeah—I know. I can’t believe they still make postcards. Ethan’s loving the dolphins. He gave one a big hug. He’s doing great. Mom’s good. We’re all good. I know it sounds corny, but wish you were here. Kev (aka Bilbo Baggins)
Her eyes stung, like the first time she’d read the postcard. Ethan was doing great, her brother was back to his old self, and Mama was good. Aubrey spoke to her every day. The conversations were slightly awkward, as they both struggled to acquaint themselves with the people they had become, but each day was a little easier. A little more natural.
They never talked about Dad.
He had been moved to a rehab center in Miami. He was still in a wheelchair, uninterested in trying to walk on his own, unwilling to take another step. At least, that was the most recent report Aubrey had gotten from his doctor yesterday.
She put the postcard back under the magnet and headed toward the front door. She turned at the sound of toenails skittering across the wood floor. She stooped over and hugged Wolvie, taking in his delicious musty-dog smell. Wolvie ran his cold, wet nose against her neck.
At least getting her dog back had been an easy decision for her. When she’d gotten home from Miami, the first thing she’d done was march over to the apartment where Jackson lived with his latest conquest. Wolvie had raced into Aubrey’s arms, and she had refused to let him go.
“I’m taking him,” she’d told Jackson. “For the last six years, I’ve been the one to feed him, walk him, and take care of him when he’s sick. He’s at least as much mine as yours.”
“So take him,” Jackson had said with a shrug. “I don’t give a shit.” And Aubrey had wondered what she’d ever seen in the man.
Wolvie rolled over on his back, and she scratched his belly. “I have to go to class, puppy,” she said. “But I’ll be back soon.”
Her dog’s tail thumped against the floor.
It was snowing hard when she got to the campus. She trudged across the slushy path toward her classroom. Benches and skeletal tree branches were coated with snow. In front of her, barely visible through a curtain of white, was the grayish-white facade of the library. She watched students climbing the steps and thought about another college library. Another era.
Snowflakes stung her cheeks like pinpricks.
She no longer had the protection of her snow-globe bubble. She was on her own, faced with a decision only she could make.
What was holding her back? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t already been making difficult choices during Ethan’s ordeal. She had toughened her heart, first deciding whether to tell the FBI about the ransom note, then whether to turn her mother in to them. But those choices at least had the potential of a good outcome. They had been about getting Ethan back. This decision would make her a traitor to her family, and worse. Her father would likely go to prison, maybe even be subject to the death penalty.
How could she do that to her father? Just because it was the right thing?