Page 47 of Bitter House

“Yeah. I don’t remember much about him, just that he was here one day and then…then he wasn’t.” He shrugs. “I was six at the time, so it’s basically always been me and Mom.” He pauses. “And Vera.”

I pass him the book slowly. “I…I’m so sorry. I think you should read this.”

His brows knit together as he turns it over. When he opens it, his eyes go wide. “Holy shit, is this real? Where did you find this?”

“It was hidden in a panel in the back of her dresser. We got another letter this morning with instructions for finding it.”

Without waiting for me to say more, he begins to read. His eyes scan the pages, finger trailing over the words. I know when he’s reached the part I’m waiting for because he stops. Rereads. Finally, he looks up at me, his face sallow. “They…she…they killed my dad?”

“Vera did,” I correct. “Edna wasn’t involved.”

“He was… He hurt her? He hurt my mom?” His dark eyes line with tears I hadn’t expected. Suddenly he looks so small and breakable, I can’t resist the urge to reach for him. He pulls back when my hand touches his arm, as if the move is just as unexpected for him as it is for me. When our eyes meet, I see the small boy he was back then, broken and hiding so much. I see that we’ve always had more in common than I realized.

He blinks and tears cascade down his cheeks, but he brushes them away quickly, setting the journal on the ground.

“Cole, I’m so sorry.”

“We don’t even know that it’s true,” he says, looking away. “We don’t know anything. For all we know, whoever wrote these letters planted this journal full of lies here for us to find.”

He wants—needs—to believe it, and I wish I could give that to him, but it’s in Vera’s handwriting. I would recognize it anywhere. “Maybe you should call your mom,” I suggest softly.

His entire body turns to steel at the suggestion. Eventually, he looks my way. “You mean I should ask her if it’s true? Tell her we know about it?”

I nod. “It’s the only way to know for sure.”

He pushes up from the ground, pacing. “How do I even…do that? How do I just ask her? How could I possibly bring that up?”

“Tell her we found Vera’s journal,” I say. “She already knows about the letters. We trust her.” As the words leave my mouth, I’m struck by how true they are. Throughout all of this, I’ve trusted not only Edna, but Cole, with everything I’ve uncovered. It’s only now I’m realizing that might’ve been a mistake.

He pulls out his phone, hands shaking, and I’m surprised when he puts it on speakerphone as the line begins to ring. Trust, along with a strange sort of gratefulness for that trust, slam into me, and unexpected tears sting my eyes.

“I can step out if you want some privacy,” I offer, though it’s the last thing I want to do.

He shakes his head but doesn’t get the chance to respond before Edna answers.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Cole opens his mouth, but at first, no words come out. He looks down, clearing his throat.

“Cole?” she says, obvious concern in her voice. “Are you there?”

He looks as if he’s turned to glass, and I’m worried that the truth of all of this will break him.

“Mom.” His voice cracks, and I stand up, moving toward him without volition. I slip my hand into his, holding his arm with my other hand. To my surprise, he leans his body against mine. “I need to ask you something.”

Her tone is more urgent now. “You’re scaring me. Is…is everything alright?”

“Did my dad hurt you?” He squeezes his eyes shut as he says the words, like they physically pain him.

The line is eerily quiet, then we hear her suck in a breath. When she speaks, her voice is shaky. “Where did you hear that? Why are you asking?”

“It was in the most recent letter,” he says. “The person said…” He pauses, thinking. “They said that Vera took us in because Dad was hurting you. Is that true?”

“I should come over,” Edna says. “Let me come over, and we can talk this through, okay?” I hear the truth in what she isn’t saying, in the hurried, panicked cadence of her voice. The journal was right. The sender of these letters is right. And they know terrible things, not only about Vera, but about Edna, too. Even if she didn’t kill her husband, she knew about his death and didn’t report it. She helped dig the grave.

“I need you to tell me the truth, please,” he says. “Right now. It can’t wait.”

Her next breath is ragged. “Cole, please.”

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