Chapter 6
Margaret had been married to my father for fourteen years.
Not my mother.
My mother died when I was nineteen.
Margaret entered the family afterward.
Polished.
Calm.
Never affectionate enough to be called mother.
Never cruel enough to be hated.
She became the keeper of family rituals after my father died.
Birthdays.
Memorial dinners.
Old photographs.
Children’s traditions.
Including conversations with Ruth.
They had become friendly.
Apparently friendship was useful.
I called Ruth downstairs.
Not accusing.
Asking.
She read the message fragment.
Her face drained.
“Oh God.”
“What did you tell Margaret?”
Ruth sat.
“Milo misses Olivia.”
“What else?”
“She asked how he was handling Celina.”
“And?”
“I said he was trying.”
Ruth covered her mouth.
“She asked what frightened him.”
There.
Not suspicious at the time.
Grandmother conversation.
“What did you say?”
“Thunderstorms.”
Her voice broke.
“And that sometimes he thinks people leave when he misbehaves.”
I closed my eyes.
Exactly the phrases in the recordings.
Ruth whispered:
“I thought she cared.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
She looked at me.
“How can you say that?”
“Because answering a normal question honestly is not the same as weaponizing the answer.”
I had learned that lesson too many times in other forms.
Ruth cried anyway.
Then she told me something worse.
Margaret had repeatedly encouraged her to discuss Milo’s grief.
Asked whether he remembered Olivia.
Asked if he ever blamed himself.
Asked how attached he was to me.
Questions that sounded compassionate one at a time.
A profile when assembled.
Celina looked ashamed.
That surprised me.
“You knew Margaret was collecting this?”
“No.”
Gareth did.
He looked away.
There.
I turned.
“You knew.”
“She gave Leonard the emotional notes.”
Ruth stared at him.
“You used me.”
Gareth shrugged.
“You talk too much.”
Wrong thing to say.
My mother stood.
At sixty-seven, she did not need to strike him.
Her face did it.
“You used a grandmother’s concern to frighten her grandson.”
Gareth looked away.
Finally.
Then I asked:
“Where is Margaret now?”
Ruth answered.
“Grayhaven.”
Of course.
The old house was full before Milo even arrived.
The council.
Leonard.
May you like
Margaret.
And whoever else planned to watch my son say he no longer wanted me.
