“You didn’t call anyone. Harris hit you, and you went out cold.”

Everything I’d thought I knew about that night was a lie.

“We drove east to a small airstrip. There was a private plane waiting for you. Your sister was already on board. Like I told you, she was furious.” Badem gave me a sorrowful look. “I remember feeling worried about you. I didn’t understand what had happened, but I pitied you.”

CHAPTER 31 DEIRDRE

CHAPTER 31

DEIRDRE

Leaving the garage, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. I should never have gone to see my father, even if curiosity was killing me. He was bound to ramble on about how much he’d changed, and I was going to hate him as much as ever. I’d thought I could control it, but seeing what Caro had written to him had put me over the edge.

I was ashamed I’d let the situation devolve into our old, tired battle. We mixed like oil and water. It had been that way between us since the day I’d discovered my mother’s desperate letter hidden in the family Bible. I’d hated their fights long before that, but finding the letter gave me a clarity I’d lacked before. Acknowledging my mother was a kind of hostage, living in terror of the man she’d married, changed everything. Before, I’d thought of the fights as their fights, as if the battles belonged to both of them and were as routine as dancing on Friday nights. After all, my mother had a sharp tongue, and she wasn’t cowed by her husband, no matter how hard he hit her.

I got back on the 7 train, switching to the G at Court Square. The G was the lone train connecting Queens with Brooklyn, and taking it was always a weird adventure as it zigged and zagged. Every so often, I glanced around furtively, worried someone might see a tear glimmering in my eye, but I had little to fear. The G train was half-empty, and nobody who glanced my way looked past my tattoos.

It was an unusually slow train. It took me over an hour to get to Fort Hamilton Parkway. From there, I walked to Green-Wood Cemetery. As I headed in, I wished I had a place where I could visit my mother. I didn’t believe in ghosts, exactly, but I didn’t disbelieve in them either. Energy had to go somewhere, after all. My mother’s ashes were, as far as I knew, still in an urn from the funeral home at our father’s house. Caro once told me our father hadn’t even opened the paper bag; he’d stuck it in a cabinet. I hated my father for many reasons, but the fact he hadn’t given my mother any kind of decent resting place was high on the list.