“She says you’re the adult most vulnerable to emotional manipulation.”
“She knows me well.”
Julian smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever wish none of this happened?”
I knew what he meant.
The damaged chair.
The guitar.
The police.
Thomas’s secrets.
The investigation.
Lucas.
All of it.
I considered my answer carefully.
“I wish Maya’s chair hadn’t failed.”
“Me too.”
“I wish people had asked harder questions sooner.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish your dad had trusted me with more.”
Julian looked down.
“Yeah.”
“But no. I don’t wish away everything that came after.”
He nodded.
Neither did he.
Outside, late spring rain tapped against the windows.
The house was filled with ordinary sounds—the refrigerator humming, popcorn being swept into a dustpan, Julian’s phone vibrating repeatedly because Maya apparently had no intention of respecting her father’s bass-guitar prohibition.
There was no great revelation waiting at the door.
