Lucy talking about her sister. Unlike Gran, who never spoke of Lydia, Aunt Lucy told us about all about their childhood together and how pretty and smart our mother was. Mostly, she reminded us that, even though our mother couldn’t take care of us, she still loved us. And always would. Those lies, Katie had believed far longer than I.
The only real memory I had of my mother was of her walking away. Beautiful and leggy in her high-heeled sandals and thigh-length dress. With her hips swinging and ash-blond hair brushing her bare shoulders. I remembered that the sweet smell of her perfume had lingered in her wake, and that she’d had a couple of twenty-dollar bills clutched tightly in her hand.
That day, she hadn’t locked us in the closet as she usually did. Hadn’t patted us each on the cheek or given us a candy bar or told us to be good. And quiet. She’d simply turned her back. And left us with the man who’d given her the money.
It didn’t take a cop to realize that—even back then—Lydia Tyler had supported her drug habit in whatever way she could.
“—well, not at all like a teenager,” Ed was saying. “So she probably figured I wouldn’t recognize her. But no matter how much she’d changed, she couldn’t hide the fact that she was a Tyler woman. She wasn’t beautiful anymore, but she still had that look. Like all the rest of you have. Kind of self-contained. Real private. No offense, Brooke, but a body could know you for years and not really know you.”
I didn’t say anything. What could I say? Tell him that he was right, that for generations Tyler women had made secrecy their life’s work? And for good reason? My silence most likely reinforced his view of my character.
“So anyway,” he continued, “as changed as she was from the child I remembered, I looked at her real close. And I knew. Lydia Tyler. When she and Lucy were kids, folks’d always comment on how different the girls looked from each other. Kind of like you and Katie.”
“Was there anyone with her, Ed?”
He shook his head.
“No. Looked like she was traveling alone.”
I’m not sure if it was personal need or professional curiosity that prompted my next question. Maybe I hoped to hear something, anything, positive about my mother. Maybe I was just confirming what any cop would have already suspected.
“Did she pay you for the gas?”
If it was possible, his eyebrows sagged even farther. But he kept his eyes straightforwardly on my face, and I had no doubt that he was telling me the truth.
“Yeah. But then she lifted a carton of cigarettes and a six-pack of beer on her way out the door. I didn’t call the cops, because of who she was. And, back then, response time was…” He shrugged. “Well, you know. Besides, I didn’t want to make trouble for your family.”
A few minutes later, I carried that thought, my coffee mug, and some ugly feelings out to the SUV with me.
Chapter 14
I was damned tired of family secrets.
That was what I told myself as I drove to Camp Cadiz.
I was tired of pretending that Katie’s life and mine went back no farther than the day we first walked up the steps of the Cherokee Rose. Tired of the persistent guilt that came with covering up Missy’s death. Tired, already, of worrying about whatever secret Katie was so angrily protecting. I was even tired of the very worthwhile secrecy of the Underground.
Some secrets could never be told.
But I couldn’t think of one good reason to continue tolerating secrets about my mother. Why, I asked myself, had I spent most of my life supporting the deception? Never asking questions, but pretending to believe the fairy tales my family spun about her and keeping every awful thing I’d learned about her to myself?
My response was quick and easy from long practice. I’d done it for Katie’s sake, of course. And to avoid hurting Gran and Aunt Lucy, who’d been so kind to us.
The truth, however, was harder to face.
I’d kept those secrets for my own sake.
I was twenty-four, I reminded myself. A member of the Underground. And a cop. For years, I’d made life-and-death decisions for myself and others. On the job and off, I regularly confronted and controlled dangerous situations. I’d never thought of myself as brave, but certainly I was determined.
Then why should it be so difficult for me to face my childhood fears?