Everyone fell silent.
“What does that even mean?” Garret grumbled.
“Means keep your trap shut unless you want me fixing you a knuckle sandwich,” Grandma shot back. “Now I have a few things that need saying.”
The door opened again. “This is a three-ring circus,” Sawyer muttered, scrubbing his jaw.
“Circus?” Atticus stumbled in, his white-blond hair poking out in irregular tufts.
“What are you doing here?” Sawyer asked, straightening.
“Grandma Kane called.” Annie covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn. “She said there was a family emergency and you’d need me.”
Grandma silenced Sawyer’s protestation with a clap of her hands. “Everyone take a seat and shut your pie holes. I have the floor.”
Wilder met her gaze and realized in an awful flash of certainty what she was about to do. “No, don’t, please. You don’t have to . . .”
“For twenty-five years I’ve kept silent,” Grandma said, looking him in the eye, as if willing him to understand. “For a long time, so help me, I believed it was the right thing to do, that forgetting would heal us, but instead, forgive me, I caused hurt, bad hurt, the kind that I’m not sure can ever be undone.”
Wilder didn’t know what to say. Where to look. Her words pounded him, although they didn’t pierce, like he was wearing a bulletproof vest. He was left breathless, aching as if he’d been punched.
“Forgive me.” Grandma’s voice quavered. “Please, forgive me, child.”
Wilder’s gaze blurred as he slammed back in his seat. Grandma was asking for his forgiveness? But that didn’t make sense.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Sawyer said.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Grandma said. “You were nothing but a little boy acting like a little boy. Bridger should have known better than to drink too much, fall asleep like that.”
Archer rubbed his temples. “It’s been a hell of a long night. Is it just me or is anyone else confused?”
Annie and Edie both raised their hands. Atticus sat in the corner with his feet hitting the edge of his chair. Boom. Boom. Boom. Wilder focused on that noise, it anchored him, as did the warm brown glow in Quinn’s gaze. She looked at him as if he was a good man. As if she believed in him.
He closed his eyes wanting to commit that expression to memory. No matter how much it hurt in the empty years ahead, he wanted to keep it treasured.
Because he was going to lose her now. Lose her for good.
“It was me who started the fire,” he mumbled.
“I knew it.” Garret punched his fist into his opposite hand. “I told you all.”
Quinn’s mouth opened and shut. “I don’t believe you. It’s impossible.”
“Not the fire tonight,” Grandma snapped.
“The one at Edie’s store?” Archer asked quietly, all trace of his characteristic good humor gone.
“No. None of those,” Grandma continued.
“Then what?” Sawyer tilted back his chair, folding his arms behind his head.
Wilder cleared his throat. “The fire that killed our parents.”
The room fell into utter silence. Atticus stopped tapping his feet.
“Dad had a poker game that night and it kept me awake. After his buddies left, I went downstairs to check on him. He’d drunk too much. He liked to have a good time, he was always the life of a party.” Wilder couldn’t look up. He couldn’t face them while he did what he had to do, tell the story.
Instead, he fixated his gaze on a small hole in the plaster, just above the baseboards. Might be a mouse hole. Too bad he couldn’t shrink down and run away. Instead, he was living out his worst nightmare, but somewhere deep down he understood that this would eventually happen. Someday they’d all know and their fear of him would turn to something far worse.
Hate.
“Dad was asleep in his chair, snoring a little. I thought about waking him up, didn’t want to leave him there because then he’d get in the doghouse with Mom. But the table was covered with cards and beer bottles. I drank out of one but didn’t like the taste. Someone had left out a pack of cigarettes.
“I opened up the pack and inside were two . . . and a book of matches. I’d seen Dad strike a match before but never tried for myself. The first one didn’t light, but the second did. I watched the flame until it burned my fingers and then shook it out. The next one I dropped and it sparked a fire. They’d been keeping score on the table and there were crumpled sheets of paper everywhere. I tried to wake up Dad but he didn’t budge. The flames covered the table, bigger and bigger, and I didn’t know what to do. I ran to the kitchen and got a cup of water, but the splash didn’t do a thing.
“That’s when I went upstairs and got Mom. She was fast asleep and didn’t wake easily. Said I was having a nightmare and to go back to bed. I kept shaking her and finally she got angry and yelled at me. But by then the smoke was already coming up the stairs. She got to your room,” he told his brothers. “Pulled Archer out of bed and told Sawyer he’d have to walk. Both of you were sleepwalking and started throwing temper tantrums. When we got to the stairs, there were flames closing in but still room to get out the front door. Mom shepherded us outside a safe distance from the house. Asked me to hold both your hands, then she went back for Dad.
“I begged her not to go. Not to leave us. But she said Dad was in there. She said everything would be okay. She promised. And I believed her. She always kept her word.
“It was an old house. The fire must have gotten inside the walls. Everything destabilized fast. I didn’t know it then. I was just a kid. You two were crying and I was just staring at that door, willing them to come back. To be safe.
“Finally the door swung open and I knew everything would be okay. I might be in trouble forever but everything would be fine.
“That’s when the roof collapsed. Through the open door came Mom’s scream. It . . . it didn’t last long, only a few seconds, but I’ve never been able to get the sound out of my head.”
And then he could say no more. Only bury his head in his hands.
“Oh, Wilder,” Quinn said.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sawyer asked after a moment.
“No one knew the cause of the blaze,” Grandma said. “The official ruling was that my son must have fallen asleep smoking. Wilder confessed everything to me that night but I told him never to speak of it. I hoped he’d forget in time.”
“I never could.” Wilder choked. “I can still see it like I was there.”
“It was wrong of me not to let you talk it out,” Grandma said. “But that’s not the way I was raised. It’s not what I know. Feelings weren’t things you shared; they are things you keep out of sight. A private matter.”
“I killed our parents,” Wilder said. “I killed our parents and hated myself. Eventually I had to leave Brightwater. The guilt got too much to bear. I figured, out of sight, out of mind. You’d all forget about me in time. What good could I bring you? I’d torn from your life the two people you loved the best in the world.”
“Stop talking like that. Stop it right now.” Grandma crossed the room and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You were six years old and had an accident. I didn’t know what to do and made the wrong choice. Once you got bigger, I realized that you wanted to fight the world to get people to react and punish you. And what did I do? I came down harder. Threatened you. Told you I’d ship you off to military school. And then you did leave and I realized what a damn fool I’d been. I’ve lived with that regret for a long time, Wilder, and I will live with it for as many years are left to me.
“What your father did was stupid, leaving cigarettes and matches out. Drinking too much when he had three little boys. He loved you all but he had a reckless streak a mile wide.”
“I’m sorry.” Wilder looked around the room. “I’m sorry I never manned up and told you. I could barely speak the words to myself.”
There was the sound of a chair sliding back. Sawyer walked toward him, his boots loud against the floor. His brother pulled off his hat and threw it down on his desk.