Page 81 of The Gallagher Place
“I wish I had realized.”
“We’re all selfish when we’re young.” Nate stood up and looked back at the stones where Nora lay, to indicate who he thought had been the most selfish of all.
He moved to the stones Marlowe had tossed on the ground and picked one up, grunting as he bent his knees. He placed it on the tarp.
“I’m putting them back for now, and then I’m never speaking of this again,” he said. “She’s not going anywhere. Not if it’s up to me, anyway.”
Marlowe watched as he continued picking up the stones, so much slower than he had when he was young.
Then, as if by instinct, she began working at his side.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The snow was coming down in heavy drifts now. As they neared home, Marlowe could sense Nate trying to think of what to say next. There were still loose ends to tie up. And he was meticulous.
“Please don’t tell Henry,” Nate said. This was what he had cared about. He had gotten into this whole mess trying to protect Henry.
“Do you really think he doesn’t know?” Marlowe asked.
“He didn’t want her to die. No one did.”
“That doesn’t mean anything now.” Marlowe knew Henry. He had been protected since birth. By the life they all shared, and by his older siblings.
“Liam never knew,” Nate said. “That was what stopped Brierley from getting to the truth. Henry never told Liam about his thing with Nora. Liam might have been scared or suspicious, but he didn’t have anything to point to.”
“Except Enzo’s boots.”
Nate shook his head, his eyes cold and calculating. “You already know that won’t stick in court. All the evidence—if you can call it that—doesn’t mean anything. The detectives’ only hope was to try to break me or Enzo, but they failed.”
“So there’s nothing, then. Only what we know.”
Nate stopped walking, and Marlowe paused beside him. They looked up at the Gray House.
“Not unless you give them something,” Nate said.
Marlowe waited for his arguments. Enzo was dying. Their father probably wasn’t far behind. This might be Frank’s last Christmas. And with his death would come his will. Nate didn’t have to say it. He didn’t have to voice the selfish questions Marlowe was already asking herself.
She would lose it all. If she told the detectives where Nora was, she would lose the Gray House and her family and her home. And for what? To send Enzo to prison for the few years that remained of his life? To implicate Frank? To devastate Glory? To break Henry’s heart?
Nate didn’t say any of that. He didn’t tell her what to do and why she should do it.
He looked back at the Gallagher barn, the snow falling so thickly they could barely make out the red structure. “Nora seemed to think we were going to leave her behind. We wouldn’t have. And if she had waited, who’s to say she and Henry wouldn’t have ended up together in the end? It would have been nice, I think, if that’s how it worked out.”
She thought of Glory, a girl from a dirt-poor dairy farm who married into money. She was a good wife. Nora could have done it too. Marlowe was briefly repulsed by the sentiment. It wasn’t fair that Nora had to play any sort of game in the first place.
“Stephanie doesn’t know?” Marlowe’s words came out slowly, as if she were speaking in a dream. “And neither do Henry and Constance?”
Nate shook his head.
“But Mom knows,” Marlowe said. That was never a question. Glory Fisher saw all that went on in the Gray House. If Frankhadn’t kept her informed, she would have easily pieced it together on her own.
Nate nodded. “And she’ll take it to the grave.”
Glory was more acquainted with the hard truths of life than anyone else in their family. She probably hadn’t batted an eye. Perhaps it was unkind of Marlowe to think that, but she had seen her mother receive brutal news several times before with no more than a quick nod.
Marlowe started walking again. Nate stood still for a moment before lengthening his stride to catch up. She grabbed the door handle and looked over her shoulder.
“I won’t promise you a thing.”
