Page 129 of The Kiss of Deception

I have to make peace with one as much as the other.

“Darling…”

There is an ocean of emotions on her face. I can barely see the brown of her irises behind the tears that don’t fall. She sniffs. Then steals the breath right from my lungs.

“Your grandma was murdered in front of him.”

Just like that, hot tears freeze in their tracks down my cheeks.

“It wasn’t a random robbery. Your father was the target. I suppose some of his work’s investigations angered the wrong people. One second she was stirring a pot. The next she was bleeding out on the kitchen floor.”

Loss, loss, loss.

Grief encloses me in its arms. I relive age-old loss through a whole new perspective.

“He never gave me details, but… I have my ways,” she says, unapologetic. “It changed him in ways I can’t begin to imagine. I don’t think he ever recovered, I’m not sure how that would be possible. I’m in no way speaking for him and I’ll never excuse his actions. I can’t tell you what happened inside him, or why he left. I don’t understand how he could. But I’ll also never understand what it is like to see someone you love die with a bullet meant for you.”

“I didn’t know… I thought—I—” I stammer, scrambling for purchase. My castles have crumbled and I stand alone in the sand, an unending desert with no exit in sight.

“I—We never wanted you to know. We didn’t want you to grow up feeling scared or unsafe. Both our jobs entailed enough danger, but we did our best to protect you.”

Elite prep schools and private security; I saw them as luxuries and pretentiousness. As soon as I was old enough, I ditched it all. The truth was I never felt unsafe, but maybe I was only blissfully oblivious in my privilege.

“You need to understand, Zoe, that whatever switch flipped inside him, it was never about you. Even if tragedy hadn’t struck, it still couldn’t possibly have been you.”

I nod, but I’m not sure I quite grasp the magnitude of her revelations. So I keep nodding and nodding and staring at the floor as my head races to absorb and understand all this new information. What it means, what it changes.

Does it change anything?

“I filed for divorce,” my mother interrupts my efforts.

What I hear, though, is how much she still loves him.

I wonder how that can be—fifteen years apart, and her love prevails.

“Mom…” I search for her true feelings in her features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It was time.” She smiles weakly.

It’s a façade. I see through it. Light plunges without mercy through the paneled windows, and we are made from the same cloth.

I hug her for a long time. Offering and drawing strength from each other. Because I’m not done. I haven’t dared to deal the final blow.

“Grandpa is in the hospital. Probably should have led with that.” I chuckle as tears assemble once more.

“What?” She draws back sharply, deep complexion ashen. “Darling, what happened?”

“He’s… His heart… He’s dying, Mom. He’s—” My voice breaks, the words are glass tearing myself into shreds as they claw at my throat.

The oxygen won’t find the path to my lungs, the day-old throb in my head hits new highs until I can’t support my eyelids. They fall, and still tears find their way out through the corners.

“Oh, darling.” She pulls me into the hug, again. “He’ll be fine.”

“It’s bad, mom.” I hiccup, dampening her pressed pantsuit.

“He’ll be fine.” Her hold tightens as she repeats the mantra, the prayer, the pleading.

She rocks me back and forth on our feet, like I’m a child. Like I wished she would have when I was a child. I welcome the comfort without resentment, saving some in a pocket beside my heart for later.

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