Page 48 of Redemption's Inferno

“I hid what I thought I’d done for eight years!” Emilie protested.

Adeline smiled. “What you thought you’d done… You didn’t remember the details or his name, and you were so young. Deep down, I think if you’d seen evidence you were truly responsible, you would have called the authorities then. I can’t fault you for being afraid.”

“I fault myself,” Emilie said.

“Not anymore. Okay?” Adeline rose and held out a hand. “Come—let’s get some refreshments for everyone and we can have a nice chat.”

Emilie stared at her in confusion. “You’re truly not angry with me? I, I left your son tied to a bed, where he died, in a London hotel room, by himself.”

“Doing exactly what he wanted to do,” Adeline said slowly. “He would have died had he been in his bed here in our home, or his bed in his room at school—Adam was going to die that day. It wouldn’t have mattered where he was or what he was doing.”

Letting the older woman’s word sink in, Emilie finally took her hand and let her lead her into the kitchen where Adeline pulled a bottle of scotch out of a side cupboard, poured a finger’s worth into a glass and downed it. She looked at Emilie and held out the bottle, but Emilie shook her head.

“I’m having another baby,” Emilie smiled. “Or I definitely would.”

“Darryl is quite handsome!” the older woman smiled. “You’ll make beautiful children.”

“Er, thank you.” Emilie figured telling her the convoluted story about who the father of her child was would be too much since they’d only known each other for an hour.

“Adam was a little shit,” Adeline said after a moment. “Constantly in trouble, flunking out of school, got two girls pregnant before he passed…I don’t say this in front of Fred because he adores those grandbabies and he’s allowed them to take Adam’s place. For me, it’s just a burden. Their mothers want money, the grandchildren demand time and attention, and I have two other children who need me as well. Adam was a headache while he was alive, and has been an even bigger one since his passing.

“You’re probably thinking I’m a terrible human being, saying those things about my dead child, but it’s the truth and I don’t want you to leave here with any more guilt. If you’d murdered him—bludgeoned him with a hammer or stabbed him 27 times—that would be different. But this…we already know what killed him and it killed my nephew as well. So let go of this, dear Emilie. Take that gorgeous man of yours and go home to America and be happy. I’m sorry my son managed to make you miserable even in death.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Emilie whispered, her emotions running the gamut between a little bit shocked and a lot relieved.

“Say you’ll send me a picture of your family each year during the holidays, so I know you’ve moved on and are happy, and that would be lovely.”

“Thank you!” Emilie impulsively hugged her.

Adeline awkwardly patted her back and then turned to pull a tray from under the sink. “Now then, let’s have a snack.”

They drove home in much better spirits and Emilie dozed against Chains’ shoulder.

“This was a good day,” Dolores said from the backseat. “Emilie has a new lease on life now.”

“Yeah.” Chains glanced down at her, thinking how relaxed she looked now, grateful he’d been able to help her with this.

“I’m guessing you’ll be heading home to the Las Vegas now.” Dolores’ voice got a little softer.

“We have jobs that need us,” he said gently. “But maybe it’s time you and Nate came for a visit.”

“You’ll be busy,” Dolores hedged. “Your jobs and a new baby and the like.”

“You’re not interested in being a grandmother?” He looked at her through the rearview mirror.

“I haven’t been asked,” she said primly, raising her nose.

“Like you’ve ever waited for anyone to ask you for anything,” Emilie mumbled, half-asleep but listening to the conversation.

“Back to sleep, you!” Dolores snapped. “And mind your manners!”

Emilie smiled, closing her eyes again. “Yes, Mother.”

“Cheeky, that’s what she is!” Dolores huffed, despite the twinkle in her eye.

“That’s what you like about her,” Chains chuckled.

“Damn right.”

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