Matthias snorts, but my father does not look amused.
“Kristian knocked me out of the way of the building’s debris.” I swallow back the rising emotion. “I knocked my head on something, and when I came to, the building was destroyed, and she was waiting for me.”
“Who?” my father asks. My gaze flits to him, holding it steady.
“Sheila.”
My father’s forehead puckers. “Your grandmother?” he questions. “She should be back in Boston.”
“She’s not,” I tell him. “Her plan is to not go back to Boston until she has Seattle under her control. All this time, it washer.” I pause and blow out my cheeks. “Well, her and Seamus McDonough’s twin.”
“What?” The two men stare at me in disbelief.
“Okay, so there is a lot to tell you so—buckle up or something.”
My father sits at the edge of the bed, his soft emerald eyes on mine. He is listening. Not arguing about how it isn’t possible or doubting what I am saying.
He is focused on me, his expression open and not closed off like it usually is when I bring up one of my theories.
“Okay,mo réalta,” he whispers. “Tell us what you found, little spy.”
thirty-three
There is violence coursing through my veins as my daughter tells us her story.
Everything I’ve known has been a lie. One after another. By the very people who practically raised me alongside Katherine. I always knew there was something off with Sheila when it came to her relationship with her daughter, but Kat never said anything. Never made mention of the kind of loneliness and abuse she suffered at the hands of her own kin.
Even Seamus was a disappointment. Knowing that he wasn’t the one responsible for Kat’s suffering eases only a fraction of the fury at what he and his mother did. What every McDonough has done for too many years.
It makes me wonder how long everything with Sheila has been in motion. Ava says that she told her rather directly that Seamus isn’t Katherine and Marianne’s father.
Marianne.
I tried to reach out to my wife several times over the last week while Ava fought for her life against fever and blood loss. She never once answered. Even the twins tried to contact her.
Nothing.
What part did she play in Katherine’s death?
Ava is holding something back. I can feel it and see it in her face as she talks about what went down just hours before we rescued her. Her face floods with doubt and apprehension when it comes time to tell us about what the man named Kellan did to her.
While Marianne watched.
Except I already know.
Not that it makes a difference. I listen to what she has to say about Marianne either way. Ava pushes forward in her story, her breath accelerating the closer she gets to describing her torture.
Torture that my wife watched and did nothing about.
“All I had to do was threaten to slit his throat in their bed. Easy peasy. She would have done anything for Liam.”
There was no small amount of glee in her voice when she told my daughter that. It is the very note that caused me to doubt my daughter’s words. I used it as a barrier to keep the truth at bay. The truth I have always known but refused to reconcile.
The more Ava unravels Marianne’s treachery, the more the picture reveals itself to me. Missing pieces from so many years ago slide into place without resistance.
I never questioned it before, but now I marvel at how easily Marianne suddenly fit into our lives. We were kids at the time. Thirteen or fourteen, and she moved in down the street. She was in all our classes and in Katherine’s after-school activities.
Her parents were friends with Seamus. He had them over for dinner a few times. Those were the nights Sheila was away doing work for her charity out here. Now that I think back on it, I neveronce saw Marianne and Sheila in the same room together. Not once.