Griff felt a sudden surge of anger. He’d never seen her as the kind of person who could reimagine history so far from the truth.
“You ended it. You ended everything,” he said. “You just disappeared. Then you sent a text, said that it wasn’t working, something like that. I tried to call. I don’t remember everything. I know it was over. You made that clear.”
Luna rummaged through her memory banks, trying to make sense of Griff’s narrative. It didn’t jibe with anything she could recall. There were many moments of her life that felt fuzzy, but there were some things she couldn’t forget.
“I didn’t send that text or anything like it,” Luna said.
Griff felt as if he and Luna were having conversations in different realms. For fourteen years he’d wondered what had happened, why Luna had suddenly lost interest. He’d worked so hard to get over it—it never occurred to him that he hadn’t.
“Are you sure? It was a long time ago.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Fuck.”
Griff turned off the main road and continued along the canopy of trees. He pulled onto the gravel road and parked the car. He opened the back door and released Sam, who ran off into the distance. Luna and Griff got out of the car and silently followed Sam as he trotted off past the house. They strolled through a wooded area to a clearing with a small pond. It glimmered like a disco ball.
“This is what I remember,” Griff said. “My father died and you just disappeared, like you didn’t care at all. I was calling you. Maybe not that often. I was working long hours. I reached out one night. You sent that text. I gave up. I figured Owen had confided in you after I asked him about Scarlet. I always believed that you sided with him, that you couldn’t have both of us in your life.”
Rationally, Luna understood that memories were shape-shifters, but she couldn’t help but feel betrayed by that idea.
“I didn’t know any of that,” Luna said.
“Did something else happen?” Griff asked. “It seemed like you wanted out before the funeral.”
Luna wasn’t sure she should say anything. Was there any value in digging up the past?
“You need to tell me the truth,” Griff said. “I’m starting to feel like a puppet in my own life.”
“I had to get an abortion. The next day,” Luna said.
Griff took a step back. His face went slack. It was impossible to read.
“I’m sorry,” Luna said. “I don’t know what you would have wanted or said—”
“You should have told me,” Griff said.
“Maybe, but it wasn’t about you and me. It was only a few months after Denver, after seeing him. All I could think was that I had his DNA. I could never, ever have a kid. I was coming to terms with that, trying to figure out a way to deal. The only thing I could think of to feel better was to have that surgery to—”
“What? You did that?”
“Not back then. I was too young. I couldn’t find anyone. I just had the abortion. The whole thing messed me up. I didn’t want to tell you, because you were dealing with your dad. Then Owen and I were talking and he said you’d want kids and I knew I wouldn’t have any.”
“You see any kids, Luna?” Griff said, angry.
Luna was still trying to make sense of it all. “We hadn’t spoken in a while. I sent you a text when I was starting to feel better. I figured you were done with me, but I wanted to be sure. I thought maybe you were just busy. I think I texted you and asked if you wanted to talk. You replied. I remember. It was something like We don’t have to be friends.”
“That was a week after you ended it.”
“How did I end it?” Luna asked.
“You sent me a breakup text. Something like This isn’t working. I tried to call you and you wouldn’t answer. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember all the details, but you definitely broke up with me,” Griff said.
“I didn’t send that text,” Luna said.
Luna felt nauseous. Griff’s anger surged. Both had drawn the same conclusion.
“Are you sure?” Griff said. “Because if you didn’t—”
“Fuck,” Luna said, wiping a tear from her eye.
“You believe me now? Owen did this. You see that, right?”
“I don’t know,” Luna said.
“He didn’t want me in his life anymore. I doubted him. He was worried that my doubt was contagious. He was okay without me. He wasn’t okay without you,” Griff said.
If Luna believed Griff’s accusation, it wasn’t just a blight on Owen’s character. Luna would have to reckon with her own role in the matter. Had she given an alibi to yet another murderer? She dug in her pockets for her keys and stumbled toward her car. She could hear her own breathing, like she was wearing earplugs. She felt faint and couldn’t decide if she needed more or less oxygen.
Luna had, once again, been forced to reconfigure her image of Owen. She finally had to accept that she’d gotten him all wrong. Liar and manipulator didn’t necessarily signal murderer, but she couldn’t stop herself from making that mental leap. It was the first time in her life she’d ever really doubted Owen. The doubt crept into everything.
Griff kept saying Luna’s name. He felt invisible. Luna opened the car door, then turned back to Griff.
“Do you really think Owen has it in him? You think he killed her?”
“Which one?” Griff said.
August–September 2005
Owen suddenly became the golden child—or, perhaps, the only child—after Griff accused his mother of murder, manslaughter, or illegal euthanasia. Whatever it was, Griff wanted to know. He hadn’t bothered tiptoeing around the issue. He’d asked point-blank. And based on Vera’s defensive response, her conscience was not clear. What was clear to Vera was that Griff was a monster for accusing her of such a thing. How dare he? Even after Griff explained how his suspicion came about—from Owen—Vera’s ire remained focused on her elder son.
The brothers’ dispute didn’t arise from a misunderstanding. They understood each other just fine. Their conflict was based on two different worldviews.