Page 175 of The Final Cut

“That I may have to become the monster she came here to kill? We covered the broad strokes.”

“You are not a monster.”

“I have done monstrous things.”

“So have I.”

The words sit between us, heavy and honest. A door closes somewhere on her end of the call. She goes silent. I sit very still, listening to faint voices in the distance. Male. Muffled. One laugh, short and rough. Then footsteps pass away.

When Mother comes back, she is barely above a whisper. “I cannot speak much longer.”

“Can you get out?”

“Yes.”

The answer is too fast.

“Mother.”

A breath. “Not tonight. Not from the main house. Isabel is watching exits because she is angry and because Reva wounded her pride by living loudly.”

That’s a good characterization of Reva.

It makes me smile.

Mother continues, “But there is a charity board visit tomorrow afternoon. Archives committee, St. Agnes House. Isabel will send me because she thinks duty is a leash and paperwork is beneath her. I may be able to create distance there.”

“May.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

Not ideal, but I know better than to demand certainty from a woman walking around inside Isabel’s fist.

“I’ll tell them,” I say.

“Tell Deacon the east gate still sticks after rain. He’ll remember.”

Something in my chest twists at the familiarity. “I don’t like how many things he remembers.”

“No,” Mother says. “Neither will Reva.”

That name changes the line again.

I swallow. “She is angry.”

“She has every right to be.”

“I think…I think she is beginning to understand, though.”

“I can only hope.” This time, her voice does break.

I press my palm hard to my thigh and make myself continue. “She might not forgive you.”

“Shiloh…and I think maybe Deacon? They love her.” Her tone is bewildered.

“Um, yeah. They all do.”