Time to Hear the Truth
I pocket the wallet, get the film loaded into place, and snap the back of the camera closed. Time to test my theory.
In the kitchen, Eden and Margot sit at the table, their heads together, chatting animatedly. I raise the camera to my eye and stare through the viewfinder at Eden Barrow.
The woman is pretty, but not conventionally beautiful. Her dark-blond hair is slicked back into a low bun, her eyes are hazel, and her features are softened by weariness. Her nose is a tad sharp, with a gentle slope. Her lips are a touch too full. I think she’s had discreet work done.
She is locked on Margot in a feral way, and that sends warning signals down my spine.
Eden isn’t Margot’s usual type, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Margot’s defense of the woman now makes more sense.
She likes her. They’ve known each other for several days; that’s long enough for my sentimental sister to get attached.
I strain my brain trying to match the features of the woman at the table with a silhouette from my darkened mind, but it doesn’t work. Too bad. The camera trick could have been a really great tool.
Because my sister seems so animated, I try to swallow the misgivings and chalk my reaction up to the face blindness. It is disconcerting, for sure. But right now, I need my sister’s and this woman’s help. If Eden Barrow knows something about Trey, I need to find out what it is.
Bohdi careens into the kitchen ahead of me, and they startle apart. My sister smiles tentatively, as if she doesn’t know if I’m about to ask her the time or throw a projectile.
When did I get so volatile that even my family cringes to be near me? I know I was weird when I was hallucinating, but I didn’t think I’d make people so on edge.
“Brookie. Hey. You okay?”
“Hi. Sorry about my outburst before. The doctors say I might have some outsize emotions for a while.”
“Don’t apologize,” Margot says. “We totally understand. Come here and have some tea.”
Eden’s smile isn’t quite as welcoming, but she jumps to her feet and grabs the cookies.
I refrain from commenting about our mother’s china—Margot probably said it was okay.
It should be used; I just hate the idea of losing or breaking any of it.
One of those weird things we do—save priceless items, hide them away so they won’t get hurt. Like our hearts.
The cookies are good—she did make them according to my recipe.
The tea is hot and fragrant. I sit at my table and look out the window toward the barren winter garden, trying to relax.
I am home. The kids should be here soon.
People care enough about us to help. The sun is shining.
Margot has moved all the balloons, stuffed animals, and plants I’ve been given into the living room.
The balloons bob languorously in midair, losing their ability to float as time passes. The flowers are starting to wilt.
Why did Trey hide a crypto wallet in my camera? Should I ask them?
I realize Eden is speaking to me.
“I’m sorry, what? I zoned out there for a minute.”
“I said, whenever you’re ready to talk about Chloe and Andrew, I’m more than happy to fill you in.”
“Oh. Um, thank you?”
“I know it’s confusing. Margot has told me about your life with Andrew—”
“Trey. His name is Trey.”
She stops. Frowns. “Right. Sorry. Hard to remember that. If you want to know more about Trey, just ask. I’ve told the kids so much about him, but we haven’t had a chance to really . . . compare notes.”
She’s been telling the kids about him . . . I bite my lip, forcing the rage back into its box. Control yourself, Brooklyn.
“Not a problem. Just . . . tell me what you’ve told them, so we’re on the same page going forward.”
What I’m really saying is Tell me about my husband. Tell me who he was before we met. Tell me why you think he would kill his first wife.
“Okay. Stop me if there’s anything you need me to elaborate on.
” She sips her tea. “Your husband is from Malogen, Georgia. So am I. We went to school together. It’s a small town, there were less than one thousand of us kids in all the school, kindergarten through twelfth grade.
We . . . he started dating my little sister Chloe when she was fourteen and he was sixteen.
He was a jock, and she was mad for him. They dated throughout high school, and when she graduated, she moved to Colorado to attend school there so she could be closer to him.
He was starting his third year at the Air Force Academy when they got married.
Our parents were furious that they didn’t wait until she graduated from college, and so were his.
But Andrew and Chloe were happy. Dumb, happy kids.
When he deployed, she came back home and finished her degree at Georgia Tech. ”
I vaguely recall this, which emboldens me. “The Air Force. Trey served in the military. I think I remember you saying he was a pilot?”
“Yes. He was. A good one, too. I don’t think it was his dream, but his dad was a retired colonel and insisted Andrew—sorry, Trey—become an Air Force officer as well.”
“Okay. That’s inconceivable, considering how scared he is of flying, but I’m going to take your word for it for now. What else?”
She waits a moment, a dramatic pause. “And then he murdered my sister on Christmas Eve, eleven years ago. She was eight weeks pregnant.”
“See, now you’ve lost me. That’s impossible. People would know. We looked online, and there’s nothing about this.”
Eden smiles sadly. “I figured you wouldn’t believe me. I still have the police file we were showing you the night of your accident. Theresa left it with me for whenever you felt strong enough to look at it again. Do you want to read it?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Of course she does,” Margot says to Eden. “Brook, you have to. I’ll read it with you, okay? If he did do this, we need to know before he appears out of nowhere and tries to hurt you again.”
Again. This is the first time Margot has aligned herself with the police and their theories that Trey tried to kill me with the SUV in Atlanta, poisoned me in the hospital, and slaughtered his own parents.
They have no evidence to prove any of it, but in his absence, it’s pretty easy to pin everything that’s gone wrong on him.
“You believe her?”
“I believe the police, Brook. Nothing else makes sense.”
“And you think he killed Chloe?”
Margot nods. “Eden found him standing over her, covered in blood.”
Eden gasps back a tiny sob. “That’s true, Brook. You should read the file. Then you will understand.”
She wipes her eyes, then rummages in her bag, which is hanging on the back of the chair, and pulls out the file.
Seeing it makes me nauseated. Panicky. It feels familiar, and I’m overwhelmed by the sense of dislocation. Of wanting to run, and brakes squealing, and flying through the air. Of Trey’s disembodied voice.
“Remember what I said in Argentina, honey. Please remember.”
I need to remember. Why can’t I remember?
I fight it all down.
I am in denial.
I grab the file, retreat to the living room, and start to read.