The Things We Knew (28 page)

H
e'd survived another week without talking to Tori. And it was killing him.

Gray sat at the piano Sunday morning, erased the last few notes on the sheet music, blinked and rubbed his eyes. He played a couple of chords and tried to urge the song out. The sun streamed into the living room, threatening to turn the place into an inferno by midday. He pulled at his T-shirt and pushed up off the bench. If he was sticking around, now might be a good time to invest in some air-conditioning.

He checked his cell phone again as he walked through to the kitchen. Neil had finally gotten back to him. Gray's fans were clamoring, and the record company had softened. They wanted a new contract, wanted him back in the studio before Thanksgiving. And his agent was forwarding a few checks to Nantucket. Gray hadn't asked how much. Didn't want to appear too desperate.

Gray hadn't shared the news with the family yet, still mulling it over. He wanted the music back, more than anything. But he'd definitely be making some changes to his lifestyle. But it was more than he'd hoped for. Perhaps Lynnie was right about God hearing their prayers.

The house was quiet with Lynnie at church, David somewhere outside, and Pops settled in the den in front of the television. He
assumed Liz was still asleep, didn't blame her with what she'd had to deal with lately. Gray put down his phone and went about making some coffee.

He found his stash of Starbucks in the depths of the cupboard and added grounds and water to the coffeemaker. He should also invest in a Keurig for the house.

Liz came into the kitchen as he fixed his first cup. “Well, if it isn't my darling sister. Coffee?”

“Is it caffeinated?” Her bruises were starting to fade, but the bitterness in her eyes burned brighter than ever.

“The real deal.” She took the mug with trembling hands. “You okay?” She looked like she hadn't slept at all, still wearing a baggy white T-shirt and checkered pajama pants that looked suspiciously like the ones he couldn't find. “Hey, are those—”

“Gray, where's David?” Liz glanced around the room a little cautiously.

“Probably outside cutting down a tree or something. Do you know what time he gets up? It's indecent. There should be a law.”

“Is anyone else around?”

“Nope. Lynnie's at church and Dad's watching TV.”

“Okay.” Liz dragged her fingers through her hair and niggled her bottom lip. “Go get David. I need to show you guys something. Come up to Mom's room when you find him.”

“Mom's room?”

“Don't ask. Just do as I say.”

“Liz, I'm in the middle of writing.” He took another sip of coffee and hesitated. The way she eyed him made him uncomfortable. “What the heck is wrong with you?”

Tears stood in her eyes. “Just go get David.”

A few minutes later Gray glared at Liz's back as she marched toward their mother's bedroom, annoyed to be wasting valuable writing time on her drama. “What are you going to do, kick the door down?”

“That might actually be worth seeing,” David added, and the two of them smacked palms.

“Grow up.” Liz shook her head and held up a small gold key.

“Where'd you get that?” Gray moved toward her, already uneasy.

“Oh, keep your shirt on. Lynnie gave it to me last weekend.” She faced them again. “I came in here on Monday. I've been trying to figure this out all week. But I don't know what to think.” Liz unlocked the door and looked back at them. “Prepare yourselves.”

Gray checked the time. “This better be good, Liz. I really need to get back to work.”

As soon as he stepped into the room, Gray felt the blood drain from his head.

Writing would wait.

“What the—” David shoved past him and patrolled the room in silence.

Gray followed a few paces behind.

If he'd walked in here a few months ago, this would have been much easier to explain. But today he was sober as a schoolboy, and the sight left him dumbfounded.

Everything in his mother's room was exactly how it had been the day she died.

Exactly how it had looked twelve years ago.

Liz wiped her eyes and stared at them. “I'm not crazy, right? You are seeing what I'm seeing?”

“Oh wow.” David slumped into a nearby chaise lounge and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Gray worked his jaw, his eyes stinging as he picked up a china statue on his mother's dresser. The little ballet dancer in shades of blue and gray—far more than he could afford at the time, but Liz insisted and went halves with him—Mom's Christmas present the year before her death.

There were the crystal animals Lynnie gave her every year.
Dogs, cats, unicorns, and the turtle Ryan thought she needed to add to the collection. An array of perfume bottles sat in a semicircle beside the mahogany jewelry box Pops surprised her with one anniversary.

Framed photographs of all of them from birth to the last family portrait, everybody pressed and neat and tidy for once. And smiling. Even her hairbrush sat in place next to the sterling silver hand mirror they'd all looked into at some point and shared secrets with.

The funeral had been held the last weekend in June. He'd just turned fourteen, and all he remembered was the heat and being smothered by people he didn't really know wanting to comfort him. Pulled into big perfumed bosoms, slammed against suits that smelled like mothballs.

He couldn't recall much of the service, who was there, who wasn't. He, Nick, and Ryan snuck out of the house later while everyone was still milling around. Nick produced a few beers from somewhere, and they sat on the beach drinking, playing cards, and pretending nothing was wrong.

Afterward, with Pops in no shape to do anything and Lynnie staring out to sea half the day, the rest of them took on the task of emptying the master bedroom. Their father had moved into his own room down the hall long before that summer. None of them knew whether packing up Mom's stuff was the right thing, but somehow it seemed appropriate.

They were only able to work a few hours a day because of their summer jobs and because it hurt too much. The pain was searing, their loss unspeakable. But, by the end of August, before they all headed back to school, this room had been empty.

Gray sank onto the edge of the soft four-poster bed. “Lynnie.”

“You don't think Dad did it?” David seemed skeptical, but Gray shook his head.

“No.” Somehow, deep in his gut, he knew this was Lynnie's handiwork. Even the bed was made. He squeezed his eyes shut
as the scent of his mother's perfume whispered to him through the glaring silence. “Looks like Pops isn't the only one who's nuts around here.”

“Gray!” David snapped, eyes flashing with unusual anger.

Gray rolled his shoulders and groaned. “Okay, sheesh. I'm an idiot. You know I say stupid things when I can't think straight.”

“Which would be all the time,” Liz sighed, still looking rattled. “I've been too freaked out to really go through things, and I haven't said anything to Lynnie yet; she's hardly been home all week anyway. With Nick away, she's babysitting a lot. But I wonder . . .” She went to the dresser and began pulling out drawers. Gray watched, wanting to tell her to stop, but unable to form the words. Liz finally ceased her rampant rummaging and turned around.

In her hands she held a thin leather-bound journal.

“Fair game?” She raised an eyebrow, her jaw set in a way that told him she'd already made up her mind.

“No, Liz.” David went to where she stood and tried to snatch it, but she moved too quickly. “It's Mom's diary. It's private.”

“But it might tell us more about what went on before she died, Davy. Don't you want to know?”

David stared at her wide-eyed, like he was about to fall off the edge of a cliff into the pit of insanity.

“I want to know.” The quiet proclamation slipped from Gray's lips before he could stop it. He looked up to see David and Liz eyeing him carefully.

“Gray . . . I don't think we should do this. For a lot of reasons.” David's warning landed hard, but Gray shrugged it off.

“Relax. I'm not going to down a bottle of Jack or call my ex-dealer. Whatever is in that book, if anything, needs to be dealt with. Take a look around, big brother. Don't you want to know why we've suddenly stepped into the Twilight Zone?”

If they were ever going to be free from the past, they needed to exhume it.

“Read it, Liz.” David sat forward and put his head in his hands.

The past few weeks were taking their toll. Gray had seen his oldest brother plunge himself into the repairs and restoration of the house like he was on some mission from God to save the world. Maybe it was more a mission to save himself.

Gray knew all about those.

Liz crossed the room and sat on the chaise lounge by the window.

Gray's head started to hurt.

Chances were good that their mother hadn't written about the affair in that book.

Nothing that would give away the secret he, Nick, and David had kept from the rest of them. Gray put a hand over his eyes and waited.

About ten minutes later, Liz's gasp told him he was wrong. “No! It's not true!” The book hit the floor with the force of an engine backfiring. Gray watched his sister curl over her knees and dissolve into tears that morphed into sobs.

David moved first and crouched beside her. “Liz . . .” His voice shook, his eyes bleary as he put an arm around Liz's shoulders. “I'm sorry. It's okay.”

She lifted her head. Her trained eyes only had to look once. “You knew?” She ran a hand down her face and sat back. “You too, Gray?”

Gray sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to inhale. The atmosphere, the smell of the room, it was as though Mom had been in here just that morning. He crossed the large suite and pushed up the window, letting fresh air flood in.

“I've known for the past five years. Nick told me.” Gray sat again, staring at her tear-stained cheeks. “That's why we fought that Christmas. I didn't believe him. Refused to believe him. So I . . .” He swallowed and studied the worn rug beneath his feet. “I kicked him out of my life.”

“Gray came to see me that New Year's.” David sank to the floor and pushed his legs out in front of him. “Told me Nick's story. I didn't know whether there was any truth to it, although I kind of had my suspicions, but we agreed to keep it between us. When I ran into Nick a few weeks back, I asked him about it and he told me everything. How he'd found them . . .”

Liz held up a hand. “Nick was just a kid.”

“He was old enough, Liz. It went on for a few years.” David rasped out the words. “Maybe even up until she died.”

“It's just so hard to believe. Yet, in a way, it's not.” Liz leaned over and picked up the journal again. “I remember now . . . things . . .” She skimmed pages for a while and they sat in silence.

Gray clenched his fists and watched the tips of his knuckles grow white. Had Lynnie known all along? How long ago had she put this room back together? Had she found the diary and discovered the truth that way?

There were too many unanswered questions. He couldn't think straight. He concentrated on the floor and prayed Liz wouldn't start reading aloud.

She did.

I couldn't possibly love him. Not the way I love Drake. That's different. But Anthony is so . . . consuming. He seems to take possession of me without saying a word. I'm drawn to him . . . Oh, I know it makes no sense. I hate myself for it. But Drake spends all his time up in that studio, half drunk and painting. It's like he barely sees me anymore. Like he doesn't want to see me. Anthony on the other hand . . . God help me, I know it's wrong—

Liz swore and shook her head, her eyes growing hard. “I thought I'd seen and heard pretty much everything. You never expect it in your own family. Okay, June 25, here we go.”

“Liz, don't.” Gray jerked his head up, tried to focus on her, but his vision blurred. He swiped a hand across his face and squared his shoulders. “No more.”

Suddenly he was back at The Longshoreman, staring down those drinks. Wanting them so bad he could taste it, yet knowing with everything in him it would be the worst mistake he could make.

“I'm not stopping now,” Liz retorted, even though her voice trembled. “You said you wanted to know what happened.”

“I'm not sure it matters anymore.” It wasn't the right answer, wasn't the answer she wanted to hear, but it was the only one he could give. “All this time I've been trying to put myself in her place. Trying to justify it. I remember Mom and Dad fought a lot. Pops could be a pretty mean drunk.”

“No.” David drew up his knees and folded his arms around them. “Yes, he and Mom fought, and he said stuff—they both did—but he was never physically abusive. She was the light of his life.”

“We don't know what went on behind closed doors.” Gray looked around, shivered. “We don't know what went on in this room.”

Liz started to cry again. She probably hadn't cried this much in years. David braced his hands on the floor and dropped his chin to his chest.

Gray looked out the window and watched the sun duck behind a mass of white clouds. A shutter banged against the side of the house and made him jump. He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer that he hoped might make it past the ceiling. It was impossible to make sense of the situation. He wasn't even sure God could. But if there was ever a time he needed direction, wisdom, any help from above, it was now.

“Do you guys think Lynnie knew? About Mom and . . . Coop's dad?” He had to ask, though the thought made him want to hurl.
That his sister might have carried this secret around with her all these years—buried it so deep that she no longer remembered . . .