sweats and nightmares and tears. It was a struggle and he wasn’t sure that Paige would ever win it—he knew the odds—but maybe she would. He had wondered about Aaron’s influence on Paige, their bizarre and twisted bond. Maybe again it was all simple. Like Fagbenle had said.
You kill a man to protect your child.
You kill a man, you save an addict.
“I never understood how you first connected with Aaron,” he said. “That was the part I couldn’t shake. Elena Ramirez saw Henry Thorpe’s DNA test. It showed all the half brothers, including Aaron. But you took that DNA test too, Paige, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So I never understood—what was your connection to Aaron? What would make you so attached to someone so awful?”
Paige had been pulling a hoodie out of her drawer. Now she stopped and waited.
“You know what struck me as weird about your apartment in the Bronx?” he continued. “There were two single mattresses—one on either side of the room.” He spread his hands. “What kind of young couple doesn’t share a bed?”
“Dad.”
“Let me just finish this, okay? I went to see Doug Mulzer today in Pittsburgh. We need to talk about that at some point, about what he did to you, or maybe you have in your therapy sessions.”
“I have.”
“Okay, but see, he was attacked. Viciously.”
“That was wrong,” Paige said.
“Maybe, maybe not. That’s not my point. But Doug told me that a man with a ski mask assaulted him. It was Aaron, right?”
“Yes. I should have never told him what Doug did to me.”
“Why did you?”
Paige said nothing.
“I couldn’t figure that out. But then Mulzer told me what Aaron kept screaming at him during the beating.”
Tears came to Paige’s eyes. They came to Simon’s too.
“‘No one hurts my sister.’”
Paige’s shoulders slumped.
“When you took the DNA test, you did indeed find out that Aaron was your half brother, but not on your father’s side.” Simon could feel himself shaking. “You both had the same mother.”
It took a few seconds, but Paige managed to raise her chin and look at him. “Yes.”
“I checked with your aunt Yvonne. Your mom’s big secret? She didn’t model overseas when she was seventeen. She fell in with a cult. She got pregnant by the leader. But they told her…they told her that the baby was stillborn. She thought maybe they intentionally killed the baby. She became suicidal. Her family, your grandparents, they grabbed her and got her deprogrammed. At a retreat. The same one she took you to.”
His daughter crossed the room and sat on her bed. Simon joined her.
“He was so damaged,” Paige said. “His father abused him from a very young age.”
“Aaron, you mean?”
She nodded. “And you have to remember where I was. I’d been assaulted by Doug Mulzer at school and then I take this DNA test and it was like my whole life had been a big lie. I felt lost, scared, confused. And now I had this new brother. We talked for hours. I told him about the assault. So he took care of that. It was awful, but I also felt, I don’t know, protected maybe. Then Aaron got me high and it was like…I liked it. No, I loved it. It let me escape from everything. Aaron made sure I got high again and again, and…” She stopped, wiped her eyes. “I think he knew what he was doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Aaron loved the idea of a sister. He didn’t want to lose me. He needed to keep me hooked so I didn’t abandon him—and maybe, maybe he also wanted to get revenge on his birth mother. He was the child she threw away—why not destroy the one she kept?”
“And you never confronted your mother?”
“No, I did.” She took a deep breath. “I came home and asked Mom if she ever had a child. She said no. I begged her to tell me the truth. She finally broke down. She told me about the cult. She said she’d been impregnated by an awful man, but the baby died.”
Based on what Yvonne had just told him, Ingrid still believed that.
“I thought she was still lying to me. But you see, I didn’t care anymore. I was a junkie by then. I only cared about my next fix. So I stole her jewelry—and went back to my brother.”
That sick, twisted bond—it was forged in blood.
“You talked about hitting rock bottom,” Simon said, feeling something harden in his chest, something that made it nearly impossible to breathe, “the fact that you’d forced your mother to kill someone…”
Paige squeezed her eyes shut tightly, so tightly, as though trying to wish this all away.
“…but she didn’t just kill ‘someone’…”
They both knew what was coming. Paige kept her eyes closed, bracing for the blow.
“…she killed her own son.”
“We can’t tell her, Dad.”
Simon shook his head, remembered what he and Ingrid said on that bench in Central Park. “No more secrets, Paige.”
“Dad—”
“Your mother even told me the truth about killing Aaron.”
Paige slowly turned to face him, and Simon thought that she had never looked so clear-eyed. “This secret isn’t like that. This secret will destroy her.”
Through the door, they heard Ingrid call out in a happy singsong voice, “Dinner’s ready! Wash up, everyone.”
“We can’t tell her, Dad.”
“It might come out anyway. She may even already know.”
“She doesn’t know,” Paige said. “The adoption agency doesn’t have the records. Only we know the truth.”
They headed to the table. The five of them—Simon, Ingrid, Paige, Sam, and Anya—took their seats. Sam started telling them about this goofy new lab partner he had in psych. It was a funny story. Ingrid laughed so hard, her eyes glistening. Ingrid caught Simon’s eye and gave him that look, that look that said how lucky and blessed they were, that look that said hey, remember that moment in the park? This is one of those moments of bliss too. This one is even better because we are with our children. We are in that moment now, that pure bliss, and we are fortunate enough to realize it.
Simon looked across the table at Paige. Paige looked back at him.
The secret was at the table too.
If Simon kept quiet, the secret would always be with them.
He wondered what would be worse—having to live forever haunted by this secret or letting the woman he loved find out that she had murdered her own son.
The answer seemed clear. It may change tomorrow. But for tonight he knew what he had to do.
Simon might not have stepped in front of the bullet when Luther shot Ingrid. But he would step in front of the bullet now—no matter how much it hurt. He listened to his wife’s beautiful laugh, and he knew that he would pay any price to keep hearing it.
So he made a solemn vow. There would be no more secrets.
Except this one.