Ginny’s house did not look like it belonged to a family in distress. It was so full of life that when Brynn stepped inside, she swore she heard the patter of little footsteps, the bouncing of rubber balls, the splashing of water in a bathtub, the monotonous but joyful tune of “The Wheels on the Bus.” But it was empty; no one was home.
“Hello?” she said, as she walked in, knowing that she wouldn’t get a response, but checking anyway.
She lugged Lucas inside with her and sat down to feed him. She’d been in Ginny’s house countless times over the years, but never when Ginny or anyone else wasn’t there. It felt strange, being in her house without her or Trey or the kids. But she knew it was the right place for her to be. It had been unlocked.
After she fed and burped Lucas, and did some tummy time with him, and bounced him around in her arms, she put him down for a nap on a baby pouf that Ginny kept in the living room for when she and Lucas visited.
She took the framed photo of her and Ross out of her bag and held it. There was a slight bulge protruding from the back side of it. She started to disassemble the frame but stopped. She put it down on the kitchen desk instead, not ready. The desk was scattered with mail, books, birthday party invitations, some receipts. The chaos of a busy family. The photo looked right there, among the mess. Except it didn’t belong there at all.
Brynn rolled up her sleeves.
She cleaned the kitchen first. She scrubbed the inside of the oven, she wiped away grease from the fan above the stove, she soaked and washed each of the burners. She took apart the fridge and cleaned each shelf. She threw out moldy fruit and some wilted lettuce. She vacuumed and mopped the floors, getting down on her knees to scrub the baseboard moldings. She did the same in the bathrooms, and she scoured the toilet until it was pure white. She stripped all the beds, gathered up all the used towels, and ran everything through the washing machine. She dusted the bookshelves, she disinfected the kids’ toys, she lifted couch cushions to vacuum away crumbs and hairs. She sprayed and wiped every window until she could see her reflection clearly in each pane.
Brynn knew that what she was doing wouldn’t make up for the pain that Ginny was in. She knew that what she was doing might not even be wanted. But she had to do something. She had to give her friend something, even if it was as menial as giving her a clean house to come back to. Maybe, deep down, the work was for herself, more than it was for Ginny, but Brynn needed to do something that brought her back to reality, that brought her back to the day-to-day tasks of life that she’d felt prisoner to but that now felt comforting in their simplicity, their structure of beginning, middle, and end. Cleaning Ginny’s house was something she could control, something she could offer, in a situation when no one could control anything. There was nothing else Brynn could do while she waited for her friend. Nothing else she could say to her that would make her friend’s fear lessen, nothing she could give her that would replace the child she so desperately wanted to have.
When she finished, she was sweating, and thirsty. She poured herself a glass of water and drank, then had another. There was just one load of laundry left to dry, and one bed to make, and she would be completely done. She sat down. Lucas was still sleeping. Brynn had been cleaning nonstop for two hours.
She picked up the photo. She was ready. She peeled back the little metal tabs of the frame and lifted the cardboard out. A square of tightly folded paper fell out.
Brynn held it in her hands. It seemed to be two pieces of paper condensed into something smaller than a playing card. But it felt heavy in her hands, impossibly heavy. She knew it contained the answers she’d been looking for. She knew that once she unfolded those papers, she could never fold them back up. She could never unsee whatever they held.
She suddenly wished she’d never found them at all. She wished she hadn’t been able to figure out what Ross meant by the orange sun. Life would be easier if she could have let herself believe that he was innocent. Life would be easier if she could turn her back on him. But she had to face the truth now, even if it meant fighting for a husband who she felt hadn’t been fighting for her in months.
Brynn sat down. Before she opened the paper, she picked up her phone and she called Ross. His phone was with the police, and she knew that. It had been taken as evidence right away. It went straight to voicemail, as she knew it would. But she still wanted to say something to him. Even if he might never hear it. She needed to.
“Ross. It’s me,” she said. “I know this is crazy. You’re not here. I’m here … I’m … lost. And I’m trying to figure out how we got here. Where things went wrong. I’m trying to find answers.” She took a breath. She thought about the vows they shared during their wedding. They wrote their own. I promise to let you have the last word, Ross had said, laughing. And I promise to listen.
“All I ever wanted was to be a family with you,” she continued. “We wanted the same things. Remember? Do you remember? We wanted the same things because we shared something, you and me. We had the same … spark. But then, when Lucas was born, I felt like I lost that spark. And you should have helped me get it back. You should have tried harder for me, Ross. I got lost, and you never tried to find me. I know you think I’m so strong all the time. You think I can handle anything. But I can’t. And I need you to admit that. I need you to admit that I’m not perfect all the time. That life isn’t perfect all the time. I’ve been so afraid of letting you down. But I’m not afraid anymore. The fact is, Ross, you’ve let me down. You haven’t been there for me. I need help. I’m not happy. I can’t do this alone, and right now, I feel alone. More alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.” Brynn felt relief. She had more to say—so much more—but this was a start. “I want to believe you. I really do. But it’s getting hard, Ross. I still don’t understand. I just … I don’t know what to believe. I still love you. But I just don’t know. Things need to change.”
She hung up, feeling uneasy now that her voicemail was out there, out of her reach. Permanent.
She was ready to open the letter now. She sat down and unfolded the paper carefully, as if it might explode.
It was a handwritten note, signed by Henry.
Brynn began to devour it.
The letter explained everything … and yet, nothing at all. If the letter was real—if what Henry had confessed to in the letter was true—then Brynn finally understood what Ross had been trying to tell her all along: that Henry’s crimes went far beyond Cecelia’s murder and were much darker than anything he’d done with his company. And it wasn’t just what the letter revealed, it was the fact that Henry had kept it so well hidden for decades. Not only did no one suspect Henry of anything, but he was highly esteemed, respected, revered. He was a leader. He was a devoted father. He’d held Brynn’s own child with tenderness and care. She didn’t understand how the person who wrote the letter and the person she thought she knew could be the same. But they were. They had been all along. And that’s what Ross had been trying to keep her from.
The letter was dated just a few days before Cecelia was killed.
To My Beloved Family,
In the summer of 2008, I hired a promising young man named Gabriel Barbosa. I hired him right off the steamship. He was living somewhere on the Cape, though I never knew where. I think he had friends on the island who’d told him there was good work here. He was from Sao Paolo, Brazil, and he wanted to make money to send back to his family. Told me he could run any machine and would work longer and harder than anyone. So, I hired him.
Back then, we were all hiring guys under the table. My company had been doing well, though we were just getting started. I had two boys to provide for now, and a wife. We wanted things. But then, the recession hit. All the jobs got halted. Everything stopped. The jobs we still had, we had to finish—fast, and cheap. We were all cutting corners to make it work. We were all hiring illegals right off the boat, paying them nothing, paying them under the table. It’s just how it was done back then.
I was stressed that summer. At my limit. This one job, in particular … it was like it was cursed. We hit a water line, we hit the electric line, the foundation was set too high, everything kept getting messed up. It was way out by Edgartown Great Pond. Dozens of acres, this property. No one around. So, we worked late into the night most days. One night, I’m out there with Gabriel, just the two of us. I was really riding him hard. Too hard. But we had to get it done.
I was in the excavator. I didn’t usually work in the machines, not anymore. I didn’t even have my hoisting license anymore. By then, I was overseeing the jobs. But I was doing whatever I could to finish. Something went wrong. Something with the excavator tracks. Gabriel, he was good with machines. So, I told him to go down there and check it out, see what was wrong. I thought I’d put the machine in park. I really did. I could have sworn I did. But when he was down there, I let my foot off the pedal and I ran right over him. It happened fast. I don’t think he suffered.
At that point, though she wasn’t done, Brynn had to put the letter down. She needed a break. I don’t think he suffered. Brynn imagined Henry writing these words out, telling himself that this man didn’t suffer—for what? To make himself feel better about what he’d done? She pictured all the happy times she’d shared with Henry over the years: the graduations, her wedding, anniversaries, summer barbecues, Lucas’s birth. How had Henry been able to enjoy life—or pretend to enjoy life—when he’d committed such a despicable crime? How had he been able to look his family in the eyes, expect their trust, expect their love, when he had taken someone’s life? Who was Henry? Brynn wasn’t sure she could even keep reading. Her head was throbbing, and she felt her coffee start to rise up in her throat. She took a deep breath and continued to read. She had to.
That night, I took Gabriel’s body, and I buried him deep in the woods of that property. No one would ever go back there, I knew. I used the same excavator that killed him to dig his grave. And then I poured concrete over him. Covered it up with a few tons of fill. And drove home.
When I went back the next day, I checked the spot. It looked exactly as it had before. Like nothing had ever happened.
And, after a while, that’s how I felt. Or I guess I convinced myself that nothing had happened. Life went on. I got busier. Kids got older. I shut the door on the past.
But then, when I found out I was becoming a grandfather, something changed. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I tried to find Gabriel’s family. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know anything about the kid. I confessed it all to Pete Hammers. I was ready for him to put me behind bars. But … Jesus, it’s gotten so complicated. He wouldn’t do anything about it, because he and I … we’d been working together for a long time already. I’d built the success of my business by cutting corners that Pete allowed me to cut. In exchange for cash. We barely ever even spoke of the agreement, but over the years it just kept escalating. Anything I wanted that I wasn’t supposed to have, I could get, as long as he got a share, too. At one point, someone called the police to say that Gabriel was missing, and they thought I had something to do with it, because I was his employer and basically his only island contact. Another Brazilian guy, probably another worker he’d become buddies with on the ferry every morning. But Pete shut it down. Took the report and blocked it.
Brynn gasped. The police report was about Gabriel, this whole time. Gabriel did have at least one person who was looking for him, who cared about him, and who took the time to call the police to say something. But Pete had just silenced them, and it was never mentioned again. Gabriel disappeared.
And eventually, Margaux and I built a new house, we’d sent both the boys to college. I wasn’t about to throw it all away. But something about becoming a grandfather changed that. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. I’m remorseful.
I tried to tell anyone that would listen. The last person I told tried to use it against me. She wanted money from me in exchange for her silence. I told her I didn’t want her silence; I wanted her help. I wanted her to make it right. But it’s like nobody cared.
So, I’m telling you. I’m telling you because I can’t take it anymore. And because I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. But I can’t undo it.
I can’t live like this anymore. Please. Forgive me.
Brynn put the letter down. Henry had planned to take his own life. That must have been why he’d been acting so out of sorts, so distant, so aloof. He wasn’t losing it, he was just consumed with guilt and remorse. Ross must have convinced him not to go through with it. He wouldn’t let him do that to himself, to his family, even after discovering what he’d done to Gabriel all those years ago.
The pieces were starting to fit together. Henry must have confessed all of this to Cecelia in an attempt to tell someone outside of the family—someone with high morals, who he knew would turn him in. But even she had let him down. Even she hadn’t cared. Like Jacob had said, Cecelia wanted to extort him. She didn’t care about justice for Gabriel. So Henry had nowhere else to turn. Maybe Cecelia’s indifference and callousness had set something off inside of him that made him take her life, too. Or maybe he changed his mind and regretted telling Cecelia the truth. It would have left him with no choice other than to kill her. The security footage, Brynn thought, must have been doctored and planted by Pete, in order to protect Henry.
Brynn ran to the kitchen sink that she had just thoroughly cleaned, and she vomited. When she was done, she wiped her eyes and drank some water from the tap.
She felt sick thinking about Margaux going to bed every night with Henry, and how she’d cared for his sons, nursed them, loved them, made a home for them, carried the mental load of motherhood and partnership for decades. Margaux had devoted her entire life to Henry, and yet Brynn wondered if Margaux knew the real him at all. And if Brynn told her what she’d found, would Margaux even believe her? Would she want to believe her?
Margaux had spent her whole life protecting her family. But now, it was Brynn’s turn. She picked up her phone and called her mother-in-law.
“Margaux?” she said, packing up her things and turning off the lights of Ginny’s house. “We need to meet. I found something. I found a clue that Ross told me to find. A letter that Henry wrote. I still don’t know how Ross had it. It … it explains a lot. But I need you to come alone. Where’s Henry? Are you safe?”
Margaux didn’t say anything, but Brynn could hear her breathing, thinking, waiting to respond. What if Henry was there with her, listening? What if Margaux needed her help right now? Brynn started to panic. Maybe she should go there, she thought. But do what? How would she protect Margaux? Would she be too late?
“Henry has been lying to you,” Brynn continued, her voice hushed. “You need to leave. Now. Meet me at my house. And where’s Sawyer? He needs to come, too.” Brynn didn’t want to see Sawyer. She couldn’t handle that right now, but she knew that the three of them had to talk together.
It was the only way they’d figure out what to do—as a family. Without Henry.