Chapter 7 - Marianne Asked Me to Stop Asking Questions
Caleb’s mother came to see Emma four days later.
I had moved temporarily into my parents’ house while insurance contractors assessed the paint damage.
Marianne sat with Emma on the couch.
For ten minutes, she was just:
Grandma.
Then I asked:
“Did Caleb fight with Drew about Westover?”
Her arms tightened slightly around the baby.
“Brothers fight.”
“About safety?”
“Sophie.”
“Did they?”
She looked down at Emma.
“Caleb thought Drew pushed too hard.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She sighed.
“Yes.”
“Did you know about Trench B?”
“No.”
Too fast.
“Marianne.”
“Please.”
I stared.
“Please what?”
“Let the investigators do their job.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“You’re turning this into something.”
“Something happened.”
“My son died.”
“I know.”
“He is not coming back if you destroy what his father built.”
There it was.
Company.
Again.
I asked:
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re grieving.”
“So are you.”
“Yes.”
“And I think people are feeding you ideas.”
“Someone painted my house black.”
She flinched.
Then:
“Probably some idiot.”
“Someone left a safety record addressed to Emma.”
Her face changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You do.”
Marianne stood.
Emma started fussing.
I reached for her.
Marianne handed her back.
Then said:
“Caleb loved that company.”
I stared.
“He loved coming home more.”
She looked away.
Then left.
I knew she was hiding something.
I did not yet know whether she was protecting:
Drew,
Caleb,
herself,
May you like
or all three.
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