His daughter crossed the room and sat on her bed. Simon joined her.
“He was so damaged,” Paige said. “His father abused him from a very young age.”
“Aaron, you mean?”
She nodded. “And you have to remember where I was. I’d been assaulted by Doug Mulzer at school and then I take this DNA test and it was like my whole life had been a big lie. I felt lost, scared, confused. And now I had this new brother. We talked for hours. I told him about the assault. So he took care of that. It was awful, but I also felt, I don’t know, protected maybe. Then Aaron got me high and it was like... I liked it. No, I loved it. It let me escape from everything. Aaron made sure I got high again and again, and...” She stopped, wiped her eyes. “I think he knew what he was doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Aaron loved the idea of a sister. He didn’t want to lose me. He needed to keep me hooked so I didn’t abandon him — and maybe, maybe he also wanted to get revenge on his birth mother. He was the child she threw away — why not destroy the one she kept?”
“And you never confronted your mother?”
“No, I did.” She took a deep breath. “I came home and asked Mom if she ever had a child. She said no. I begged her to tell me the truth. She finally broke down. She told me about the cult. She said she’d been impregnated by an awful man, but the baby died.”
Based on what Yvonne had just told him, Ingrid still believed that.
“I thought she was still lying to me. But you see, I didn’t care anymore. I was a junkie by then. I only cared about my next fix. So I stole her jewelry — and went back to my brother.”
That sick, twisted bond — it was forged in blood.
“You talked about hitting rock bottom,” Simon said, feeling something harden in his chest, something that made it nearly impossible to breathe, “the fact that you’d forced your mother to kill someone...”
Paige squeezed her eyes shut tightly, so tightly, as though trying to wish this all away.
“...but she didn’t just kill ‘someone’...”
They both knew what was coming. Paige kept her eyes closed, bracing for the blow.
“...she killed her own son.”
“We can’t tell her, Dad.”
Simon shook his head, remembered what he and Ingrid said on that bench in Central Park. “No more secrets, Paige.”
“Dad—”
“Your mother even told me the truth about killing Aaron.”
Paige slowly turned to face him, and Simon thought that she had never looked so clear-eyed. “This secret isn’t like that. This secret will destroy her.”
Through the door, they heard Ingrid call out in a happy singsong voice, “Dinner’s ready! Wash up, everyone.”
“We can’t tell her, Dad.”
“It might come out anyway. She may even already know.”
“She doesn’t know,” Paige said. “The adoption agency doesn’t have the records. Only we know the truth.”
They headed to the table. The five of them — Simon, Ingrid, Paige, Sam, and Anya — took their seats. Sam started telling them about this goofy new lab partner he had in psych. It was a funny story. Ingrid laughed so hard, her eyes glistening. Ingrid caught Simon’s eye and gave him that look, that look that said how lucky and blessed they were, that look that said hey, remember that moment in the park? This is one of those moments of bliss too. This one is even better because we are with our children. We are in that moment now, that pure bliss, and we are fortunate enough to realize it.
Simon looked across the table at Paige. Paige looked back at him.
The secret was at the table too.
If Simon kept quiet, the secret would always be with them.
He wondered what would be worse — having to live forever haunted by this secret or letting the woman he loved find out that she had murdered her own son.
The answer seemed clear. It may change tomorrow. But for tonight he knew what he had to do.
Simon might not have stepped in front of the bullet when Luther shot Ingrid. But he would step in front of the bullet now — no matter how much it hurt. He listened to his wife’s beautiful laugh, and he knew that he would pay any price to keep hearing it.
So he made a solemn vow. There would be no more secrets.
Except this one.
Acknowledgments
The author (who every once in a while likes to refer to himself in the third person) would like to thank the following people in no particular order: Ben Sevier, David Eagleman, Rick Friedman, Diane Discepolo, Selina Walker, Anne Armstrong-Coben, and, of course, the boys at the BMV Group — Pieter van der Heide, Daniel Madonia, and John Byren — for helping me understand Simon's occupation.
The author (still me) also wants to acknowledge Manny Andrews, Mariquita Blumberg, Louis van de Beek, Heather Grewe, Maish Isaacson, Robert and Yvonne Previdi, Randy Spratt, Eileen Vaughan, and Judy Zyskind. These people (or their loved ones) made generous contributions to charities of my choosing in return for having their names appear in the novel. If you would like to participate in the future, please visit HarlanCoben.com or email giving@harlancoben.com for details.