She smiled back at him. "I do feel safer with you I must admit."
"Good. That's the way I want you to feel." He changed lanes and sped through a yellow light. "We'll talk to my grandmother. Let's just be careful about how we bring up Stan's name. That seemed to be the trigger the last time."
Ten minutes later, Donna let them into his grandmother's house with a welcoming smile, saying that Eleanor was feeling good and was in the living room.
He was happy to see that his grandmother looked as good as she apparently felt. She was wearing a blue dress with big white flowers. The blue brought out her eyes, and flowers reminded him of her sense of fun.
"Grandma, you look pretty today."
"Thank you, Colton," she said with a warm smile. "Hello, Olivia. It's good to see you again. I was at the senior center earlier, but you weren't there. I wondered if you'd gone back to New York."
"I was planning to go, but I got sidetracked," Olivia said.
"Lynda tells me I upset you both yesterday."
Colton sat down next to his grandmother while Olivia took the chair across from them. "We upset you," he said.
"What were we talking about when I slipped away?" Eleanor asked with her sweet, loving smile.
His heart turned over as he wondered how many more times he'd be able to talk to her like this, to see the real her, and not just the scary shell he'd seen the day before. He really didn't want to do anything that would send her over the edge again. But he also wanted to help Olivia.
"You're conflicted about something." Eleanor tilted her head to one side as she gave him a sharp look. "That's unusual for you, Colton. You're usually so sure of what you want. It's something I've always admired about you. In fact, in that way you remind me very much of your grandfather. So what's the problem? Is it something I can help with?"
"I don't know if you remember our last conversation," he said slowly. "We told you that we thought Olivia might be related to Molly."
"I do remember that," Eleanor said with a nod. "And wouldn't that be lovely? I always felt so badly for Francine. She was such a troubled girl. She didn't want to give her child up, but she knew she couldn't be a good mother, and I respected her decision."
"I got the impression that Molly encouraged Francine to give up her baby," Olivia said.
"Who told you that?"
"Peter."
"Oh, Peter." Eleanor's voice changed dramatically. "That boy grew up to be a hard, cold man. Molly used to tremble when he came by. I think she was almost grateful when their estrangement kept him away from her."
Colton suddenly wondered if Peter had turned out to be a wife-beater like his father. But he didn't want to bring the conversation around to Stan just yet.
"No," Eleanor continued. "Molly told Francine she'd help her with the baby, but it was Peter who suggested adoption. He wasn't wrong when he said that the baby would probably be better off. Francine had made a lot of poor decisions in her life, but I still felt badly for Francine, because she was very sad after she gave the baby away."
"Wasn't she sad before that?" Colton asked. "Peter said she was a mess after her father died."
"I suppose that's true. It was a terrible time. Molly was devastated after Francine's death. Poor thing. Every few years she seemed to lose someone else."
"Speaking of Molly," Olivia said slowly. "I want to talk to you about some photographs that I found in Molly's things. She'd had someone photograph some horrific bruises. I'm assuming that those bruises were the work of her husband."
Colton held his breath as Olivia brought Stan into the conversation, although she'd deliberately not mentioned him by name. His grandmother had paled a little at her words, but her eyes showed she was still present.
"Yes," Eleanor said. "It's a hard thing to say out loud even after all these years, but Molly was abused by her husband."
"When did you know?" Olivia asked.
"It took some time. I had my suspicions for a while, but Molly always had an excuse. One day the bruises were too bad to ignore, and I confronted her. That's when she finally told me the truth. It had been going on for quite some time, and the beatings were usually triggered by Stan's drinking."
"Were you the one who took the pictures of Molly?" Olivia asked.
"Yes. Molly had gone to talk to a police officer before that particular beating. She went to a station where her husband didn't work hoping that she could get someone objective to look at her situation and to help her, but the man she spoke to was not at all helpful or even kind. He said he would look into her complaints but that her husband had a stressful job and perhaps she should consider taking him on vacation rather than trying to get him arrested."
Olivia shook her head in disbelief. "That's absurd. I can't believe a police officer would react that way, even if it involved his coworker."
"I told her to talk to someone else, but she said she needed proof, and that's why we took the pictures."
"Grandma, are you doing okay?" Colton asked, as his grandmother began to twist her fingers together. "Can I get you some water? Do you want us to stop talking about this?"
Eleanor hesitated, then shook her head. "No, I knew this was coming. I thought I was ready for it. I've certainly had a long enough time to get ready." She drew in a deep breath and let it out. "I know what you both want to ask me."
"You do?" Colton asked, drawing her gaze to his.
She nodded, her lips tightening. "You want to know what happened to Stan."
His gut clenched. "Only if you're up to it."
"I promised your grandfather a long time ago that I would never speak of that night." Her gaze moved from Colton to Olivia. "But I know that Molly wanted you to hear her story, Olivia. I didn't realize it was because you were her granddaughter. I thought she just wanted to get the truth out, because it had been eating at her for decades."
"What is the truth?" Olivia asked.
"Molly and Stan had a terrible fight one night. I had been worried about Molly all week, because the violence had been escalating. Stan had problems at work, and he was taking them out on Molly. She was going to make him a special dinner to try to put him in a good mood, but I had a bad feeling about it. I tried calling her on the phone just before dinnertime. I didn't think Stan would be home yet. He didn't like her taking calls in the evening, so we always spoke during the day."
"Did she answer the phone?" Olivia asked, edging forward on her seat.
"Yes, she did," Eleanor said. "She was upset. I could hear Stan yelling in the background. I knew it was bad, so I went over to their house. I left my son Kevin in charge of my kids. I thought I'd be back in a few minutes. But when I got to Molly's house, I entered into the middle of a terrifying battle. I had never seen a man hit a woman before. Stan was out of control. He was drunk and in a rage. He was screaming obscenities and storming around the kitchen throwing pots and pans against the walls and at Molly. I saw sparks flying. I thought he was going to kill Molly and burn the house down."
Eleanor took a breath, then continued. "Molly yelled at me to get her children out of the house. I didn't want to leave her alone in the kitchen with Stan, but I had to do what she asked me to do. So I went upstairs and I found the children hiding in the closet of Francine's bedroom. Peter had his arm around Francine, and she was crying. I took them outside and told Peter to go to my house and then I went back into the kitchen."
Colton slid closer to his grandmother, putting an arm around her trembling shoulders. "You can stop, Grandma. If this is too much—"
"No. I can't stop. Molly can't speak for herself anymore. I was always going to leave it to her to tell the truth, but now she can't do that. So I have to do it for her. She's my best friend in the world, and I know she would want her granddaughter to know the truth."
"What is the truth?" Olivia asked, her voice edged with worried anticipation.
He held his breath, as it seemed to take forever for his grandmother to speak. When she couldn't find the words, he jumped in.
"Molly killed her husband, didn't she?" he asked.
Eleanor stared at him, her eyes wide and a little afraid. "No," she said, meeting his gaze. "Molly didn't kill her husband—I did."
Chapter Twenty-Five
"What's going on here?" Patrick demanded.
Colton jumped to his feet as his grandfather entered the living room, fury in his eyes. He'd obviously heard at least part of their conversation.
Patrick moved quickly to Eleanor's side, sitting down on the couch next to her, taking her hand in his as he searched her face for any sign of distress. "Are you all right, Ellie?"
"I'm okay," she said, giving him a tight smile. "I'm sorry, but I had to tell them the truth."
Patrick glared at Colton. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Don't yell at him," Eleanor said. "Olivia is Molly's granddaughter. She's the child that Francine gave away. She needed to know what happened to Stan."
"What?" Patrick echoed in shock. He looked at Olivia. "Do you have proof of this?"
"I—I'm getting it," she said.
Olivia had also jumped to her feet when Patrick came storming into the house, and Colton now moved next to her, feeling she needed a little support in the face of his grandfather's icy glare.
"Shayla's friend is running a DNA test," Colton explained. "But we're pretty certain of what the results will be."
"I asked you to do one simple thing, Colton—to keep your grandmother away from this woman. You gave me a promise." There was massive disappointment in his grandfather's voice.
"I couldn't keep it," he said, not really feeling any regret. "And this woman that you're referring to has a name. It's Olivia. She's an amazing person, and she's Molly's granddaughter. She's not trying to hurt Grandma. She's trying to figure out what happened in her family."
"Don't blame Olivia or Colton, Patrick," Eleanor said to her husband. "You know how I get when I'm determined to do something. I wanted to talk to Olivia, because Molly wanted it, and she's my very dear friend who is quite possibly dying."
"You've already done more than enough for Molly," Patrick said tersely. "When does it stop?"
"I think it stops now," Eleanor said.
"Is it true then?" Colton asked. As he looked at his grandparents, he almost felt as if they were strangers. Had his grandmother killed a man and then covered it up? Had his grandfather known the truth all along and kept silent? It seemed impossible to believe.
"Yes," Eleanor said.
"No." Patrick's sharp answer drowned out his wife's affirmative.
"Well, what is it?" Colton asked in frustration.
Patrick looked at Eleanor and took her hand in his. "You didn't kill Stan, Ellie. You're not remembering it right."
Eleanor frowned. "I feel very clear-headed, Patrick. I don’t have that hazy feeling I usually get right before things go black."
"If Grandma didn't kill Stan, then who did?" Colton asked. "Was it Molly?"
"It wasn't Molly or your grandmother," Patrick said, shushing his wife when she started to speak. "It was me."
Colton sucked in a quick breath. "What?"
"You heard what I said. It was me." His grandfather's voice was unwavering.
"I don’t understand," Colton said, his heart beating so fast he thought he was going to pass out.
Olivia put her hand in his, and he squeezed her fingers, grateful for her touch. He needed to steady himself.
"I killed Stan Harper. What don't you understand?" Patrick asked defiantly.
"I don't understand why the fire report tells a different story," he said, finally finding his voice. "You were burned trying to pull Stan out of the house. You have the scars on your hands to back that up."
Patrick looked down at his weathered hands, the freckled skin so thin his veins stood out. And on those hands were the white scars of fire.
"These scars serve to remind me of what I did that night." He lifted his gaze to Colton's. "The truth is that when I got to the house, Stan was crazy with rage. We got into a fight. He was throwing pans around the kitchen. One of them caught fire. I tried to stop him. We struggled. He slipped and hit his head on the counter, and he was knocked unconscious. By then the kitchen was burning around us."
"It couldn't have been that bad."
"It was spreading quickly. There were cleaning chemicals under the sink and in the pantry. Things were exploding, escalating fast.
"You had time to save him," Colton said, picturing the incident in his mind.
Patrick gave him a hard look. "Maybe I did, but I didn't try to save him. I burned my hands fighting my way out of the fire. That's how I got the scars."
"I don't believe you," Colton said, shaking his head. There was no way his grandfather, a firefighter, would walk away from an unconscious man.
"It's true," Patrick said. "Stan was evil, sick. He was never going to pay for what he was doing to his wife. His kids were starting to show signs of bruises, too. I was worried that he'd turn on Ellie and the rest of our family. I couldn’t let that happen. I did what I had to do to protect my family. I'm not sorry."
"You should be sorry. You're a firefighter. You've spent your entire life living by a code of honor. You taught me to live up to the highest standards and those standards require you to save whoever needs to be saved," Colton said. "We don't make judgments. We don't decide who gets to live or die. What you did was wrong. It wasn't just wrong; it was criminal."
"Colton."
He heard his grandmother's plaintive cry, but he was too caught up in the shock of what his grandfather had done to listen. He had to get out of this house. He had to get the hell away from the two people he'd thought he could trust over anyone in the world.
He stormed out of the living room, throwing open the front door and letting it slam shut behind him. He thought about getting into his car, but he was too angry to drive. So he ran. He took off down the street at a dead sprint. He had no idea where he was going, but he wasn't going to stop until his world started making sense again.