Their Reign (The Rite Trilogy 3)

“Thank you. It is because of Theron.”

She smiles a little proudly at that. “That’s the Theron I know, Judge. It’s the one you never knew.” This gives me pause. All this time, all these years, has she had a piece of my brother that I refused to believe existed? How much time we’ve wasted. How much I’ve missed out on. We all have missed out on.

“I am sorry, if it makes any difference.” She points at the envelope propped against the box on the table. “It’s all in there. Along with some things for the baby I thought you might want. The christening gown both you and Theron wore, some keepsakes for the nursery, and just some other little things. You can throw it away. I’ll understand.”

“You kept all that?”

“Of course, I did. What mother wouldn’t?”

I study her for a moment and absorb her words. We’ve been unfair to each other, but the past is past. It’s time to let it go like I told Theron to do. “Where were you?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I have a friend in Brazil.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Brazil?”

She smiles. “He’s an old man. We’ve known each other for years, and well, it was past time I visited him, so I thought why not.”

“Society?”

“No. The opposite. Just a simple, kind man whom I met when I was on a study trip a lifetime ago. We always returned to each other even after years without contact. A letter or a postcard, a photo maybe. His wife passed away a few years back, and honestly, I had no idea where else to go, but I knew I couldn’t stay here.”

“Because you were afraid of me. Of what you thought I’d do to you.” The darkness that’s always lurked beneath the surface swells a little as if her fear has given it breath. I tamp it down.

She just watches me but doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry I allowed him to do what he did to you. I’m sorry I stood by and watched. I’m sorry I didn’t help you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this sooner.”

Fat tears drop from her eyes. I reach for the box of tissues on the counter and hand her two. She takes them, thanks me, and blots at her eyes, careful of her makeup.

“You can stay,” I tell her. “I’d like it if you did. I think Mercedes would like it, too.”

“I’m not sure about that.” She pushes to her feet. I do too.

“I am. Come to the house. Give us your gifts yourself.”

“I have a flight to catch,” she argues, but it’s weak. I can see she wants to be here.

“Has your friend ever been to New Orleans?”