“How often did that happen?” Tom asked. He was taking notes on a tablet that looked like a tiny Post-it note in his big hands. Somehow him taking notes made this easier. Like it was someone else’s life story.

No, it isn’t. It’s my story. And Gideon’s. They hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t done anything wrong. A thought struck her and she narrowed her eyes. “Did you write down the part about Gideon accidentally killing Edward McPhearson?”

Tom met her gaze directly. “No. Although if I had, no one would come after Gideon. It was self-defense. But I’ll let you read my notes when I’m finished if that will help.”

Mercy nodded once. “It would. Three times that I remember, to answer your question. Members of Eden turned up either as remains—usually recognizable—or were buried outside the compound if there weren’t enough remains to bring back. Gideon was the only one I remember of the three whose supposed body was not recognizable.”

“I also remember three. Two of them might be the same as Mercy remembers, but one was when I was only five years old. We’d only just arrived then, so I’m sure you don’t remember that one, Merce.”

“No. The first I remember was when I was four years old.”

Gideon nodded. “So, during our total time in Eden, four times, including me.”

Daisy growled and Brutus popped her little head up out of the bag Daisy always wore. “It’s okay, girl,” Daisy murmured, petting the animal.

Mercy wished desperately that she had Rory in her own lap. Her cat always knew when she needed comfort. But Rafe still held her hand and that was definitely helping.

“So Waylon died two days after Gideon supposedly ran away and was found dead,” Tom said. “When in reality, he’d facilitated Gideon’s escape.”

“Yes,” Mercy confirmed. “I don’t know what DJ told people about me.”

Tom tilted his head. “And your mother?”

Mercy drew a shuddering breath, the words freezing on her tongue. “I . . .” Rafe put his arm around her and drew her close. She pressed her forehead to his upper arm, suddenly struggling to breathe. “Give me a minute.”

“Want me to say it?” Rafe whispered. “No one will think less of you if you can’t say it.”

I would, she thought. Mama deserves to have this story told. Again she braced herself and told Tom, “DJ killed my mother. In front of me.”

“Oh.” It was a small cry from Zoya, full of hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

She patted Zoya’s hand, the young woman’s guileless concern like a balm. “Thanks, hon.” She turned back to Tom. “He took us to the Redding bus station, grabbed me from the back of his truck, and dumped me on the parking lot. I couldn’t move. I was . . . hurt. And sick with fever. I had an infection.”

“Because of Ephraim,” Gideon gritted out, his hands clenched into fists. “Sonofabitch.”

Mercy didn’t have the emotional energy to comfort him at the moment, but luckily Daisy’s small dog did, licking the knuckles of his fist. Gideon choked back what had probably been a sob, taking Brutus from Daisy to cuddle against his own chest.