Page 58 of The Reckoning
I find photos from that summer gathering at the lake house, everyone dressed in white like some Great Gatsby bullshit. Richard with his first wife, my mother, Elizabeth. And there’s Patricia—not as Richard’s wife yet, but as his assistant, hovering at the edges of the frame. She worked for him back then, years before they married after my mother’s death.
Patricia knew Richard. Patricia was there that day at the lake house. Patricia witnessed what happened.
The realization sends me hurtling back—not to a forgotten memory, but to one I’ve spent years trying to bury.
The lake house. Summer. The boathouse. My mother’s face disappearing beneath the dark water.I slam the laptop shut, as if that might block out the memories that are always there,lurking just beneath the surface of my consciousness. The ones that fuel my rage, my revenge, and my entire existence since that day.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Arson?”
I whirl around to find Lilian standing in the doorway, hair still damp from her shower, concern etched across her features. I must look as unstable as I feel because she approaches cautiously, like she’s dealing with a wild animal.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, glancing at the laptop, then back at me. “Did you find something?”
I can’t answer immediately. The memories of the boathouse—memories I’ve carried for years, ones that have shaped every aspect of my existence—are too close to the surface. My throat feels tight, my chest constricted. It’s been years since I’ve had a panic attack, but I recognize the signs.
“Hey, hey.” Lilian’s voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. She’s closer now, her hand hovering near my arm like she wants to touch me but isn’t sure if she should. “Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I follow her lead mechanically, dragging in air through my nose and forcing it out through my mouth. Once, twice, three times. The room stops spinning gradually, the edges of my vision clearing.
“That’s it,” she encourages, her voice soft in a way I’m not used to people speaking to me. “Just keep breathing.”
When I can finally speak again, the words come out rough, scraping against my throat. “I found something. About your mother. And the boathouse incident.”
“My mother?” she asks, finally allowing her hand to settle on my arm. The touch grounds me, giving me something to focus on besides the memories that threaten to pull me under again.
I open the laptop and show her the photo. “Patricia was there. The day my mother died. She worked for Richard back then, before they got married.”
Lilian studies the image, her fingers hovering over the screen as if she could touch the people in it. “She was there that day?”
“Looks that way,” I say, watching her reaction carefully. “She was Richard’s assistant back then. Before they got married after my mother’s death.”
Her eyes narrow slightly as she examines the photo. “She never told me she knew the Hayes family before Richard. Another lie in a lifetime of them.”
“Patricia’s always been good at hiding things she doesn’t want others to see,” I comment, the bitterness in my voice impossible to disguise.
“What happened that day?” Lilian asks, her voice gentle, like she knows she’s treading on broken glass. “At the boathouse?”
I’ve never told anyone the whole truth. Not that it matters—I’ve lived with it every day since it happened and replayed it in my mind so many times that it’s etched into me like a scar. But looking at Lilian now, at the genuine concern in her eyes, at the absence of judgment or fear, something compels me to speak.
“I was fourteen—we were fourteen,” I begin, the words coming easier than expected. “It was summer. One of Richard’s business gatherings at the lake house.”
I move back to the desk, turning the laptop so she can see the photo better. “Aries wanted to impress a girl.” I pause. Her name was Sophia. Just a girl who’d been hanging out with us. One of Richard’s business associate’s daughters. He suggested they check out the boathouse. I followed them—not because I cared, but because I was bored. Fourteen-year-olds at an adult party, you know?”
Lilian nods, pulling up another chair to sit beside me, close enough that I can smell the clean scent of her shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“The boathouse was off-limits. Richard had been clear about that. It was being renovated, and it wasn’t safe. Aries didn’t care. He was always pushing boundaries, seeing what he could get away with.”
My hands clench involuntarily, nails digging into my palms. “He was climbing on the rafters, showing off. Dared Sophia to join him. She was hesitant, but he kept pushing. ‘Don’t be a baby,’ he told her. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’”
I can still hear his voice, see his smirk as he balanced on the wooden beam above the boats. So confident. So certain of his own invulnerability.
“She finally gave in and started climbing up to join him. I stayed on the ground, watching. I knew it was stupid, but...” I shrug, the old familiar guilt settling heavy on my shoulders. “I didn’t stop them.”
Lilian’s hand finds mine, her fingers cool against my overheated skin. “You were just a kid,” she says quietly.
“So was Aries,” I counter. “Didn’t stop him from being a reckless asshole.”
