Page 112 of The Secrets She Keeps

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There wereghosts on Bonnie’s face when she looked at Gunnar. He waited. She had information they could use. He just had to be patient to learn of this Grundenman. And go from there. But damn it, when would this stop hurting this beautiful woman in front of him?

“Coleson Hospital was started over one hundred years ago. The largest hospital on our family estate closed thirty-eight years ago. The first baby born in that hospital when it was no more than a two-room shack was a little girl born to Andreas Coleson and his Fiona. Mary Margaret Coleson. Thelastbaby born in that same hospital was Marigold Marcia Coleson. Coleson to Coleson, generation to generation. Girls, youallcome from remarkable people. Don’t you ever forget that. They changed the world—in goodways. Saved lives. I don’t want any of you to question that.” Bonnie reached out and patted Zoey on the hand gently. Then she looked at the rest of the crowd.

And continued.

“The main hospital closed a few months after Marcia was born, and just a handful of doctors and staff remained. Daddy moved the hospital to the newer, slightly more modern facilitynearby, hoping the smaller facility would keep the hospital going. And it did, really. That building served as a functioning hospital for eighteen or nineteen more years until the Garrity Medical Clinic basically drove it out of business. After that, Daddy turned the building into the rehab facility and built his living that way. Heather, Joy, Eden, Samia, Summer, and Hope—they were all born there. Hope was the last baby born there. In that…place. Before the doors closed. Where the fire…Eastman…How many more ofourbabies have been born there since my father closed those doors? That question haunts me sometimes.” Bonnie said, looking up at Zoey directly. “How many are still out there? I can’t sleep at night, just wondering how many nieces and nephews might be out there, needing theirfamily,knowing I can’t get to them. How old they are. If they look like Oakley or Orion or Iagan or my grandchildren.”

“I know. I have the same ghosts now. They haunt me too. I am going to find them, though, Aunt Bonnie, I promise,” Zoey said in return.

“Mom, you don’t have to talk about it,” Hope said. “We can.”

Mom. She called her sister mom because Hope had never really known the people she came from. Gunnar could only imagine that hurt. Why had this family had so muchhurt? It was more than one family deserved.

“No. I can do this. If it means…people stop beinghurt.Our hospital was small, and quiet, and away from everything. But it served a real need in Garrity County. Not as exciting, nor as well paid, especially for the younger staff as the larger hospitals though. Barratt County Gen meant more money, and I already rented a little house there for me and Cashlyn and Cara. The preschool in Value was better for Cara’s needs at the time and had a former nurse on staff for Cashlyn’s.”

“We lived in Garrity, then,” Eden said. “We’d lived in Waco before Samia was born. But we moved to Garrity when she was a baby.”

“I don’t really remember Waco,” Samia said. “Or moving.”

“It was your father’s idea. Timothy loved the Coleson hospital. Far more than anyone not a Coleson ever had. The legacy it represented, I think. Forhischildren. Timothy was the kind who needed a mentor. Very brilliant, like his daughters, but he always needed guidance. He didn’t always make wise decisions.”

“He is probably the man responsible for creating OPJ,” Gunnar said. “Do you think he could do that?”

Bonnie looked up at him and shook her head lightly. “Honestly, that would shock me completely. He is a smart man, yes. Could he intellectually, most certainly. But would he, ethically? I don’t think he would, knowing what such a drug would do to people. Not him. At least not the Timothy Ionceknew. He was very compassionate, actually. He was good at his chosen field. Anesthesia. Specifically labor and delivery. I don’t really understand how he could be involved in creating a drug like OPJ.”

“Your brother-in-law…tell us about him. When was the last time you spoke with him?” Daniel asked. Gunnar didn’t miss the impatience. He shot the other man a look. Bonnie was still very fragile, he suspected. He wouldn’t have Daniel upsetting her more than necessary.

“It was about a year after we buried Angela, I think. He called to check on the girls, to see if they needed anything. He had just moved into a new house somewhere and asked that they visit him on their next school break, but the girls all refused. After that night, he would send a three thousand six hundred dollar check every January first, and I would send him yearly letters, updates on what they were doing.” Bonnie put her hand onSummer’s shoulder. “There was…a custody battle after we lost Angela. A small one, it never made it to court.”

“You sued for custody?” Gunnar asked. “And won?”

“Not…exactly.” Bonnie looked up at Gunnar for a moment. “First, and I want you all to understand this, Timothy loved and adored my sister. And he was a good, if slightly absent, father to the girls and Trey. But that last year, Angela was sick for several months. Watching her fade was incredibly hard on all of us. All of us. And coming so shortly after losing my father and stepmother the way we had—Timothy practically worshipped him too. He did not deal very well with their deaths, with Angela’s illness. He changed after Angela was diagnosed. He was not emotionally capable of raising three grieving young girls then. I do think he understood that on some level. Other than the first initial arguments, he did not fight me very hard for the girls. I think he knew…”

“Or he just didn’t want us enough to fight,” Summer said, shrugging.

“He had Trey living with him then too. Trey was always causing trouble. Bullying people, including us,” Samia said. “Trey got worse when mom was sick. He was big, he was mean, we were all afraid of him, and he liked it.”

“How did you end up with his daughters?” Daniel asked. His impatience was hard to miss. Gunnar resisted the urge to kick the man.

Heather looked at Daniel and almost snarled in warning. Daniel held up his hands. But the way helookedat Heather had her pulling back against the couch where she sat.

She was still afraid of Daniel. No one could miss that.

Mac kicked Daniel lightly with his left foot. Mac had put himself in front of Powell—and Heather. He was in the floor now. Between his sister and Heather’s feet.

Protecting.

Hell, Gunnar understood.

“My sister, their mother, passed away. I had temporary guardianship while he took care of Angela. The girls told him they did not want to go back to Texas with him. Timothy…did something. And we used that as leverage to get him to back off. To honor the girls’ wishes.” Bonnie and Heather shared a look Gunnar did not miss.

Norm had shifted, putting his hands on his wife’s narrow shoulders. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead when she looked up at him.

“Let’s be honest, Mom.Idid it,” Heather said bluntly. “After what he did at the funeral.”

“That day wasnotyour fault, Heather Holly,” Norm said, almost rumbling. “You were just a child. It was his, and his alone.”

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