Page 79 of Red

“You don’t need to look at that,” he said, but it was too late.

She’d already spent a solid hour reading the article about her father and his murder. She read about how he’d turned state witness after his wife was killed in a tragic automobile accident that was believed to be orchestrated by Bertucci himself.

“Why not? It seems the journalists knew my father better than me.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, but not to ward off the cold. No, she welcomed the chill now. It reminded her she hadn’t gone completely numb. There was still life inside her.

During the course of her reading, she’d learned her father’s work had all been a front. He was a cleaner for the Bertucci family. Washed the money to keep the cash legit for spending. But something happened, something that made her father vulnerable to investigation, also a risk to Bertucci. If he talked, members of his family could be taken down. In the end, the “accident” hadn’t killed both parents. It worked to scare her father right into the protective arms of the police.

“Melinda, your father was protecting you,” Erik said.

She huffed. “Protecting me?” She spun around to face him. “And did that work out? I grew up without my parents, and, in the end, I was sold off like some little bauble anyway.” Her chest clamped tight. “And then he walked right back in, he was there, only feet away from me.” Tears rushed to her eyes while her throat shut down air traffic. “I didn’t even get to talk to him. To feel him.” She lowered her head, and the tears rolled off her chin and onto the plush carpet below.

“He came home to save you.”

She sniffed. The pain burst through her chest, still too large for her to contain. It seemed to leak from her pores, but still the pressure of it didn’t relent.

“Save me from you,” she whispered. “And he failed at that, too.”

“I didn’t know your father was still alive. Your grandmother didn’t tell me.” Erik sounded defensive. For the first time since she’d met him, he sounded unsure of his actions.

“Would it have made a difference?” she asked, raising her chin to see him. Puffy bags hung beneath his eyes. They’d shared a bed the night before but hadn’t touched. Sleep had ignored her, and she wondered if he’d had the same night.

“I don’t know.” His jaw went firm.

“Because your uncle required you to collect all the debts owed to him in order for you to inherit.” She nodded. “I remember. What I don’t get? Your uncle had to have known who I was, that my father was the one who put Bertucci’s nephew in jail.”

“Everyone believed your father died in that accident. He never gave public testimony. After his death, the judge allowed his written testimony said to have been taken before his death,” Erik explained.

Memories of standing beside two gravesites as a teenager, watching two caskets lowered into the cold earth while her heart burst into shards at her loss flooded her. She’d have to relive it again in a few short hours.

This time, there would be no fanfare. No line of friends and neighbors to mourn with her. Grams would be there, but Melinda wasn’t sure she could face her. So many things had happened, so much pain and treachery she didn’t know where to put the blame anymore.

“So, since they thought they’d killed him, no sense in beating the dead rat by hurting his daughter.” Melinda took a shaky breath.

“None of this is your fault.” Erik blew through the space between them and cradled her face between his hands. “You didn’t do any of this, you don’t deserve this.”

A tear ran down her cheek and then another. “That doesn’t change anything, though. Does it?” She wrapped her hands around his wrists. His touch brought warmth to her cold interior, and she wasn’t ready for it. She couldn’t face his empathy. She wanted the raw hatred back. She wanted to be angry and throw things. Not have this gaping hole inside of her chest that filled with pain as though playing on a never-ending loop.

“I should get dressed.” She pulled out of his hands, already missing the warmth of his touch.

“You should call your grandmother before we leave,” he said, not moving to stop her from walking away.

“I’ll see her at the cemetery.” Melinda pushed her hair behind her ear and stepped around him.

“Melinda.” Erik’s commanding tone stilled her step for a brief moment, but she didn’t let it keep her in the office. She’d had enough of everyone around her controlling every step of her life.

* * *

“Melinda,”Grams called to her from the drive. She climbed out of the passenger side of Ian’s car, waving a hand at Melinda.

“Hold on.” Erik pulled Melinda’s elbow to stop her from walking away.

Turning into the crisp afternoon wind, Melinda watched Ian escort her grandmother up the gentle incline of the hill toward them. Her father’s grave, the one holding an empty casket, had already been re-dug. The mound of dirt lay behind Melinda. With winter slowing down, the ground wasn’t frozen. They didn’t have to wait for spring to get the show over with. Small favors.

“Grams.” Melinda didn’t move to hug her grandmother, but rather took a step back from the older woman when she made her way up the hill.

“Melinda. Please. Give me a chance—”

“To explain?” Melinda finished. “To explain how you lied to me about my father? About how you let Gramps sell me like a whore? Or did you want to explain that, instead of coming to me at Erik’s estate to tell me about my father, you ran off to get him yourself?”

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