It was almost too much to bear.
Myron looked across the room. Kitty was motionless now, the quakes momentarily gone. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You know why.”
He did. He knew because that was how he put it together. Kitty had gotten the idea from Gabriel Wire. She had seen him killed—but more important, she saw how Lex and the others had pretended that he was alive. She learned from that.
Pretending Wire was alive gave her the idea to pretend Brad was too.
“You would have tried to take Mickey away from me,” Kitty said.
Myron shook his head.
“When your brother died”—she stopped, swallowed hard—“I was like a marionette and suddenly someone cut all my strings. I fell apart.”
“You could have come to me.”
“Wrong. I knew exactly what would happen if I told you about Brad. You’d have come out to Los Angeles. You’d have seen me strung out—just like you did yesterday. Don’t lie, Myron. Not now. You’d want to do what you thought was right again. You’d have petitioned the court for custody. You’d say—just like you did yesterday—that I’m an irresponsible junkie, unfit to raise Mickey. You’d have taken my boy away from me. Don’t deny it.”
He wouldn’t. “So your answer was to pretend that Brad was still alive?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“And to hell with Mickey and what he needed?”
“He needed his mother. How do you not get that?”
But he did. He remembered how Mickey kept telling him what a great mother she was. “And what about us? What about Brad’s family?”
“What family? Mickey and I are his family. None of you had been a part of his life in fifteen years.”
“And whose fault was that?”
“Exactly, Myron. Whose?”
He said nothing. He thought it was hers. She thought it was his. And his father . . . how had he put it? We come out a certain way. Brad, Dad had said, wasn’t meant to stay home and settle down.
But Dad had based that belief on Myron’s lie.
“I know you don’t believe this. I know you think I lied and tricked him into running away with me. Maybe I did. But it was the right choice. Brad was happy. We were both happy.”
Myron remembered the photographs, the face-splitting smiles. He had thought that they were a lie, that the happiness he’d seen in those pictures was an illusion. They weren’t. On that part, Kitty was right.
“So yeah, that was my plan. Just to delay notification until I straightened myself out.”
Myron just shook his head.
“You want me to apologize,” Kitty said, “but I won’t. Sometimes you do the right things and you get the wrong results. And sometimes, well, look at Suzze. She tried to sabotage my career by switching those birth control pills—and because of that I have Mickey. Don’t you get that? It’s all chaos. It’s not about right or wrong. You hold on to the things you love most. I lost the love of my life to a freak accident. Was that fair? Was that right? And maybe if you’d been kinder, Myron. Maybe if you had accepted us I would have come to you for help.”
But Kitty hadn’t come to him for help—not then, not now. The ripples again. Maybe he could have helped them fifteen years ago. Or maybe they would have run away anyway. Maybe if Kitty had trusted him, if he hadn’t snapped when she got pregnant, she would have come to him instead of Lex a few days ago. Maybe then Suzze would still be alive. Maybe Brad would be too.
Lots of maybes.
“I have one more question,” he said. “Did you ever tell Brad the truth?”
“About you hitting on me? Yes. I told him it was a lie. He understood.”
Myron swallowed. His nerves felt raw, exposed. He heard the catch in his voice as he asked, “Did he forgive me?”
“Yes, Myron. He forgave you.”
“But he never got in touch.”
“You don’t understand our lives,” Kitty said, her eyes on the bag in his hand. “We were nomads. We were happy that way. It was his life’s work. It was what he loved, what he was meant to do. And now that we were back, I think he would have called you. But . . .”
She stopped, shook her head, closed her eyes.
It was time to go see his father now. He had the plastic bag of heroin. He looked at it, unsure what to do.
“You don’t believe me,” Kitty said. “About Brad forgiving you.”
Myron said nothing.
“Didn’t you find Mickey’s passport?” Kitty asked.
Myron was confused by the question. “I did. In the trailer.”
“Take a closer look at it,” she said.
“At the passport?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She kept her eyes closed and didn’t reply. Myron took one more look at the heroin. He had made her a promise that he didn’t want to keep. But now, as he held it back up, Kitty saved him from this one last moral dilemma.
She shook her head and told him to leave.
When Myron got back to Saint Barnabas Hospital, he slowly pushed open the door to Dad’s room.
It was dark, but he could see that Dad was sleeping. Mom sat next to his bed. She turned and saw Myron’s face. And she knew. She let out a small cry, smothering it with her hand. Myron nodded at her. She rose, headed into the corridor.
“Tell me,” she said.
And he did. Mom took the blow. She staggered, cried, put herself together. She hurried back into the room. Myron followed.
Dad’s eyes remained closed, his breathing raspy and uneven. Tubes seemed to snake out from everywhere. Mom sat back next to the bed. Her hand, shaking with Parkinson’s, took his.
“So,” Mom said to Myron in a low voice. “We agree?”
Myron did not reply.
A few minutes later, his father’s eyes fluttered open. Myron felt the tears push back into his eyes as he looked down at the man he treasured like no other. Dad looked up with pleading, almost childlike confusion.
Dad managed to utter one word: “Brad . . .”
Myron bit back the tears and prepared to tell the lie, but Mom put a hand on her son’s arm to stop him. Their eyes met.
“Brad,” Dad said again, a little more agitated.
Still looking at Myron, Mom shook her head. He understood. In the end, she didn’t want Myron to lie to his father. That would be too much of a betrayal. She turned to her husband of forty-three years and held on to his hand firmly.
Dad started to cry.