Chapter 7 - THE GRANDFATHER LILY ALREADY KNEW
Patrick had seen Lily.
Emily had lied about that.
Once.
Only once.
Six months earlier.
A public park in Maine.
Ten minutes.
Supervised by Emily.
No photographs.
“Why tell me now?”
“Because Lily just did.”
Fair.
Patrick showed Lily an old photograph containing me and Leo as teenagers.
He told her they were family.
Nothing about crimes.
Nothing about Damon being her father.
I was angry.
Then realized the hypocrisy.
I had known Lily for weeks and already felt entitled to years I had not lived.
Patrick had lost twenty.
Entitlement travels easily through bloodlines.
“Where is he?”
Emily had one contact method.
A mailbox service in Vermont.
No phone.
No address.
I sent one sentence through it.
I HAVE THE COIN.
Three days later, a postcard arrived.
No signature.
A church outside Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
Tuesday.
Noon.
I went with an attorney and two security people who remained outside.
Not Marcus.
Patrick sat in the last pew.
Older.
Thinner.
Same gray eyes.
The scar on his jaw.
For twenty years I imagined this meeting.
Sometimes I hit him.
Sometimes hugged him.
In reality, I sat six feet away.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You let Leo think it.”
“Until he found me.”
“Then he died.”
Patrick’s face collapsed slightly.
“Yes.”
“You knew Emily was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“You helped her hide Lily.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Do you ever answer with more than one syllable?”
“When you ask a question that needs more.”
I almost laughed.
Genetics are cruel.
Then I asked:
“Who killed Leo?”
Patrick looked toward the stained glass.
“The man responsible sat beside you at your birthday.”
My mind went immediately to Marcus.
Patrick saw it.
“Don't decide yet.”
“I’m tired of people telling me that.”
“You should be.”
Then he reached into his coat.
Not a weapon.
A sealed envelope.
Leo’s handwriting.
On the front:
DAMON — IF I’M WRONG, BURN THIS.
I had never seen it.
May you like
Patrick said:
“He gave it to me three days before he died.”
