Chapter 17 - The Last Version of June
Ruth Voss came to Elias’s house carrying a paper bag of oranges and the posture of someone who had spent years preparing to be disliked.
“I suppose you hate me,” she said.
“I have not had time.”
“You should make time.”
He let her inside.
Ruth placed the oranges on the table. “June came to me because she knew Calder was watching the house.”
“You were her sister.”
“Half sister.”
“You told Talia June was not her mother.”
“I told her the version that kept her from asking the wrong people.”
“There was no safe version.”
“No.”
Ruth sat beneath the maps. “June was nineteen when Anna was born. The father left before the birth certificate was filed. June married Elias later and tried to build a life that did not depend on the past.”
“She loved you.”
“She loved many people. That was part of the problem.”
Ruth folded her gloves. “When Northline failed, June believed she could expose Calder and keep Anna hidden. She was wrong about the second part.”
“Why did you keep Talia from me?”
“Because June asked me to. Because you were consumed by guilt. Because Calder had men asking about her. Choose the reason that makes you least angry.”
“I am angry at all of them.”
“Good.”
Ruth took a breath. “The night before June died, she brought Anna to my house. She had decided to leave Bellwether.”
“Why did she not tell me?”
“Because you had already told her you would stay and fight. She believed you would choose the evidence over the child.”
The accusation was quiet, which made it worse.
“Would I have?” Elias asked.
“She did not know.”
“And you?”
“I knew you were grieving before she died.”
He looked toward the photograph of June on the mantel. “She drove away alone.”
“Pike followed her.”
“To protect her?”
“To persuade her to wait.”
“He failed.”
“He followed too far behind. By the time he reached the hill, the car was already burning.”
“Burning?”
Ruth nodded. “The police called it a fuel-line rupture. Pike told me privately the brake line had been cut. He said the people responsible had promised to find Anna.”
“Why believe them?”
“Because one of them had already entered my house.”
The room seemed to contract.
“You never told Talia.”
“I wanted her to have a childhood.”
“She had a childhood built on a lie.”
“A lie is sometimes the wall between a child and an adult’s war.”
“Walls fail.”
Ruth looked at him. “You would know.”
He accepted the cruelty because it was earned.
“Did June leave anything else?”
Ruth reached into the paper bag and removed a small envelope beneath the oranges.
“This was for you. I did not know whether to give it to you.”
Elias opened it.
The letter was shorter than the first.
Elias, if I cannot return, do not make my death the only thing you remember. I was not only brave. I was impatient, selfish, and sometimes cruel. I wanted the truth because I wanted to be forgiven. Those are not the same desire. Tell Anna I loved her before I learned how to love correctly.
He lowered the page.
“She did not need to be forgiven,” he said.
“She knew that.”
“Then why write it?”
“Because people often leave their clearest words for the person least able to use them.”
Talia stood in the doorway. Neither had heard her enter.
“You read it?” Ruth asked.
“I heard enough.”
Ruth rose. “I am sorry.”
“I know.”
“That does not repair it.”
“No.”
“I can tell you more.”
Talia looked at her aunt for a long moment. “Not today.”
Ruth nodded.
After she left, Talia took the letter from Elias and read it fully.
“She was selfish,” Talia said.
“Yes.”
“She was brave.”
“Yes.”
“She loved me.”
“Yes.”
Talia folded the paper carefully. “I want all three to be true.”
“They are.”
Outside, a truck passed on the avenue, carrying gravel toward the fenced station.
Talia looked at the maps on the wall. “Then we tell the truth without turning her into a saint.”
Elias met her eyes.
May you like
For the first time, he saw not June’s daughter, not Anna, and not the infant he had failed to find.
He saw Talia.
