It was obvious Cameron’s aunt liked plain, from her clothes to her furnishings to her choice of cups.
She had yet to ask what Max had come to tell her about her nephew. As reluctant, no, downright afraid, as Max was of doing that, it also struck her how odd the lack of questions was.
Witt looked to her, steady gaze, expectant demeanor in the way he sat forward in his chair, elbows on knees, coffee cup idle on the table in front of him.
Max cleared her throat. She’d rehearsed her little speech through breakfast and the drive in the car. The words had now flown out of her head. She couldn’t remember what the right ones were, couldn’t remember how to segue into the news that Cameron had died two years ago.
In the end, Evelyn saved her, asking the first question. “So you’re married to Cameron.”
Max gulped from the coffee cup in her hand, Evelyn’s voice startling her, the instant knowledge that she had to say everything aloud, explain it all, making the pain fresh again, for both of them. Thank God the coffee wasn’t too hot.
“Actually, Cameron’s ...” What was the problem? She’d said it aloud to Witt more than once. More likely, it was the look in Evelyn’s eyes, the hope begging not to be crushed. “Cameron was involved in a shooting.” Evelyn’s hope still flared, Max’s words themselves heightening it. “I mean he was ... killed in a robbery.”
Evelyn sucked in a breath. Her lip quivered. She set her cup gently on the table, but her shaking fingers spilled liquid into the saucer. “When did this happen?”
Shit. Here was where Max had to admit what a scumbag she was. “Two years ago.”
“Two years?” Evelyn’s pain and disbelief was in the way she drew out the two words.
Max licked her lips. “I only had Cameron’s mother’s address,” she rushed into the explanation, as if it could justify why she’d kept his death from his family. “But the letter I sent came back.”
“But you’re here now.” Implicit in the statement was a question, why the hell had it taken her so long to fly to Michigan?
Max didn’t turn to Witt for help. It was her own mess. She could think of something.
How about the truth? Oh God, Cameron. She latched onto his voice inside her head like a drowning woman grabs a life preserver.
“I had a difficult time afterward.” Stumbling, hesitant, still the truth. She was painfully aware of Witt to her right.
But you’re coming to terms with it now, Cameron prompted when she couldn’t seem to go on. “I’m starting to deal with it.” You need closure. “I need closure. I’m sure you do, too.”
Evelyn merely stared, wide-eyed and misty behind the lenses of her glasses.
You need to put me to rest.
Her stomach plunged at her husband’s words, for the first time wondering if he had an ulterior motive for bringing her here, to this house, this moment. She said the words anyway. “This is sort of a pilgrimage, finding you, then finally being able to put him to rest.”
Tell her you’re doing this because you’re ready to start a new life, then reach for Witt’s hand.
“No.” The outburst came before she had a chance to think, a chance to stop it. She unthinkingly turned to Witt. He’d cocked his head, almost as if he could hear a faint echo of Cameron’s words.
She couldn’t remember what she’d been saying, could only feel the stark terror. Stupid, stupid. She shouldn’t have brought Witt. He was a complication, ammunition for Cameron.
So ask her about my mother and sister, if you’re too damn scared to show Witt how you feel. Not an ounce of sympathy squeezed from his tone.
She didn’t bother to tell him she didn’t know how she felt about Witt. Cameron knew that, but he was restless. She was taking too long. And she knew Cameron was getting ready to leave her. The knowledge too much to bear, she did what she’d come here to do. “I’d also like to tell his mother myself. And his sister.”
Evelyn sighed, abandoned her coffee and put her hands in her lap. “Poor Madeline.”
Oh God, she’s dead.
With that pained exclamation ringing in her head, Max knew that despite the lies Cameron might be telling about what he did or didn’t remember, he hadn’t known what happened to his mother.
“Is she alive?” Max asked gently.
“I’m afraid not.”
Cameron was gone then, leaving her with a mournful wail she felt in the center of her bones.
“What happened to her?” He’d ask later. Max needed to be able to give him an answer.
“Alzheimer’s. Five years ago.” Her hands still but clasped in her lap, Evelyn looked out the window to the forest beyond. “She was quite young for it. She was younger than me, you know.”
No, Max didn’t know a thing.
“She was never the same after ...” Evelyn’s gaze lost focus as her voice trailed off.
“After what?” Witt prompted when Max failed to.