“Why would he do that for my mother? And why would my mother have wanted him to?”
“Because she loved her father, and because her father loved Larry.”
I shook my head. “None of this is making any sense. My father could’ve just told my mother how it was going to be, that Larry was going to prison. That’s the kind of man my father was. He was domineering and controlling.”
“He couldn’t do that. Your mother would not have taken it well.” Wendy sighed and set her glass of scotch on the coffee table. “You do know, don’t you, that your mother was mentally ill?”
Jade had said as much, but she also said that my mother had never been diagnosed with anything. I had been fifteen when my mother took her own life and Talon only twelve. We remembered her as children remember their mother—as a loving, protective woman. Mentally ill? I didn’t know. But her half-brother certainly was. Maybe mental illness ran in the family.
“Jade said she was never diagnosed with any mental illness.”
“Not that I know of, no,” Wendy said. “Your father tried to get her help on several occasions, but she always said no.”
Something was wrong with this story. Something big. Talon and I needed to do some investigation on our own and then talk to Wendy again. She hadn’t told us anything we didn’t already know, except that Larry had confided in his father and that was how our parents found out.
“Wendy,” Talon said, “Jade said there were things you promised only to reveal to me. I need you to reveal those things now.”
She sighed. “Are you sure?”
Talon leaned forward, his dark eyes brooding. “Joe and I drove most of the night to get here. And now we want the truth.”
Chapter Thirty–Four
Melanie
Gina Cates first walked into my office on a Friday afternoon. Fridays were tough all around, especially the afternoons. I was tired and ready for the weekend, and so was the patient. But this particular appointment had been my first time available when Gina called Randi to schedule, and Gina had been adamant about getting in as soon as possible.
She was a young and pretty girl, with dark—nearly black—hair cut in a shoulder-length bob, brown eyes, and olive skin. She was shy at first, and I had a difficult time getting her to talk at all. Finally, halfway through the session, she broke down in tears.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can,” I told her. “If you want to heal from whatever is troubling you, you can.”
“It’s too awful.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry about that. But we’ll go at the pace you’re comfortable with, and anytime you need to stop, you just tell me.”
She nodded and stood. “May I? I’m more comfortable standing.”
“Of course,” I said. “Some people are more comfortable sitting, some lying on the couch. If you’re comfortable standing, I want you to stand.”
She looked around my office, her gaze finally resting on the globe on my desk. She walked toward it and lightly touched its surface. “I’ve always wanted to travel,” she said.
“Where would you like to go?”
“Someplace warm, where life is easy. Maybe somewhere in the Caribbean, where I would have no worries.”
“You can’t run away from your problems, Gina.”
“He would wait until I was alone and vulnerable. That’s how he got close to me. For a while, he would just cuddle me in his lap, telling me how beautiful I was, how he wished he had a little girl just like me.”
“Did your uncle have any children of his own?”
“No. He wasn’t married.”
“How did it feel when you sat in his lap?”
Her lips curved up into a smile but then quickly reverted to the straight thin line I was used to seeing below her nose. “I don’t want you to think badly of me.”