Falling for the Brother

“I’m not the science guy. Or the behavioral analyst. I’m the guy who can find a needle in a haystack and who can figure out how it got there. My skills are observation, paying attention, listening. When I’m at my best, taking it all in, the pieces fall into place and I can see the complete picture. The lab guys and the behavioral guys and the arrest warrant guys take it from there.”

It was a completely elementary explanation—beneath her—and yet, he had a feeling that at the moment, it was exactly what she needed.

Was she looking for something from him that would give her confidence? Kind of felt that way. Or he could just be kidding himself. Lord knew he wasn’t at his best on this one. Far too close to the situation. And yet, with O’Brien’s willingness to watch Bruce and allow Mason time to find the truth without damaging Bruce’s reputation, he had to do everything he could. Bruce was family, and going above and beyond was what family did.

“So…” She was still meeting his gaze, and yet seemed not to be as…vibrant as she’d been when he’d first sat down. “As the observation guy, can you give me an example of what you’re talking about here? I mean, it seems like you think Grace was right in her impression.”

In one way or another, Mason had traveled shaky ground more times than he could count. He couldn’t remember ever being nervous about it. Until that moment.

“Okay, an example. He’ll tell you why he can’t eat asparagus… Because it reminds him of the night our grandfather died. He’d been in trouble for not eating it. That same evening, Grandpa had a heart attack and died. Bruce hasn’t been able to touch the stuff since.”

Harper nodded. “Yes, so? It’s true. Asparagus was a trigger for him. He couldn’t tolerate even the smell of it. So because I loved my husband enough to understand that and not serve asparagus, I’m somehow being manipulated and he’s an abuser?”

As though a bomb full of shrapnel had gone off, Mason felt blasted by stinging pellets. She’d loved her husband—not Mason, her husband. Mason had known that, and yet he’d allowed himself to believe, for one night, that she’d felt something for him, too. Ping, went the first hit.

He’d pulled the asparagus scenario out of his past—not repeating anything he’d heard from Grace. Expressly so Harper wouldn’t feel any personal connection and get defensive. Ping.

Her tone told him he was losing her. Ping.

Bruce’s manipulation had worked on her, too. Ping.

She’d loved her husband… Ping. Ping. Ping.

“Our mother used to insist that you sit at the table until you finish your dinner. Bruce used to get away with not eating asparagus by cramming it in his mouth and holding it long enough to get upstairs and spit it out in his dresser drawer.” He knew because when his brother had forgotten to dispose of the dried mess one time, Mason had done it for him, thinking Bruce would realize he had his back, that he wasn’t out to show him up in front of their parents.

“The night our grandfather died, Mom wouldn’t let him leave the table until he showed her he’d swallowed his asparagus. He wouldn’t, so he was sent upstairs to bed. Our grandfather, Mom’s dad, was at home with his third wife. He did die that night, but we didn’t hear about it until the next day. So, yeah, it’s possible that Bruce somehow came to associate Grandpa’s death with the taste of asparagus. As a kid, he got away with the story. He never had to eat asparagus again.”

Harper’s shoulders were sinking. “That’s one possible explanation,” she said. “I’ll admit that the way he told it to me was somewhat different, but we form perceptions as children that we sometimes carry with us into adulthood. Who’s to say what connection Bruce made between not eating asparagus and his beloved grandfather dying? Maybe as a kid he somehow thought it was his fault—payback for being naughty.”

Either she was more clearheaded and forgiving than anyone he’d ever met. Or Bruce had done a number on her.

“We hardly knew the man,” he said now. “Mom’s dad left them when Mom was in high school. She lost contact with him after that, and although they were in touch later, it was a visit every few years, that type of thing. He’d stay for a couple of days, with occasional phone calls between him and Mom between visits. Some years we got Christmas cards from him. One year, I got a model airplane. Bruce didn’t get anything.”