I stared at Mom, my brain going numb. She’d heard my conversation with Brittany? My throat convulsed. “Mom—”
“It’s okay. I had to know.”
I pushed to my feet and crossed to her side. “But—”
“You really expected to deal with this alone, Shaley?”
“No. But I just … I would have told you later.”
“The detective asked you what Jerry had whispered to you just before he died. You told him, ‘Nothing important.’ ”
“I couldn’t say the real words then.” I slipped a hand over my eyes. How to explain what I’d felt at that moment? For years I’d begged for answers about my dad, and there I was, supposed to blurt out terrible words about him to some detective I’d never seen before in my life? “I knew it would upset you and … I don’t know, the words just balled up inside me. I couldn’t talk about it then.”
Mom’s eyes clouded. I bit my lip, wishing she’d say something—anything. If she hadn’t been doped up on pain medication, she wouldn’t be taking this so quietly. “So … do you think Jerry was telling the truth?” I asked.
Mom stared beyond me, brow knitting, as if she peered into a bitter past. “Why would he say something like that if he didn’t know your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“A person’s last words are important. With his last dying breath, he chose to say that to you.”
I ran a finger along the bed cover, feeling its fine ridges. Mom was saying what my gut had been telling me. I couldn’t even figure how I felt about that. Part of me wanted Jerry’s words to be a lie. How could I cling to the hope of any goodness in my father if he’d sent Jerry to our tour? But if it was true, at least my father was out there somewhere, and he knew I was his daughter. Mom had always claimed he didn’t. Maybe there was a good explanation for what he’d done. Maybe he didn’t know Jerry was so messed up in the head …
Mom’s eyes slipped shut.
I touched her shoulder. “Are you in pain?”
“Not as long as I don’t move.” She tried to smile. She focused on me, her eyes glazed. “Tomorrow you have to call the detective who interviewed you after Jerry was shot and tell him this.”
Detective Myner, the short, gray-haired man with the hard-worn face. Could that really have been just eight hours ago?
My vision blurred. “You always told me my dad doesn’t know about me.”
“I … didn’t think he did.”
“Do you think he’d want to hurt us?”
All these years of begging her to tell me about my father. Had she kept quiet because she knew he hated her? That he was nothing but a lowdown, murderous criminal?
“Shaley. You will call Detective Myner tomorrow.”
So much for an answer. My eyes blinked hard, trying to chase the tears away, but they spilled onto my cheeks. I nodded. “Okay.”
Mom swallowed. “Can you get me a drink?”
“Sure.” I poured some water from her pitcher into a glass. “Here’s a straw.” I picked it off the tray and inserted it into the glass. Held it to her lips.
Mom took three long drinks, then closed her eyes. I put the glass back on the tray and gazed at her.
Just yesterday we’d fought about my father. The age-old resentment in me could so easily erupt. I deserved to hear some answers. Who was my dad? Where did he go? Why had I never seen him? But Mom would never tell me. I only knew one detail. While they were dating he’d often give her a single white rose wrapped in green cellophane and tied with a red ribbon. To this day that symbol seemed sacred to her, although she’d never told me the full story behind it.
Mom’s eyes opened. We gazed at each other, silent communication flowing between us. If she wasn’t in a hospital bed, all banged up, we’d probably be fighting over this right now. I’d be accusing her of almost getting us killed through hanging on to her secrets. She’d be stubbornly refusing to talk …
For the first time it occurred to me that maybe some good could come out of this terrible accident.
“Mom.” I rubbed her shoulder. “Answer me.”
Her mouth turned downward. “The person I loved would never want to hurt us. But that person went away long ago. If he sent Jerry to us, he only meant us harm.”
I pulled my arms across my chest, bitterness edging my voice. “You need to tell me about him. No excuses anymore. You and I are stuck here anyway, so we might as well talk.”
Mom made a sound in her throat. The glaze of pain in her eyes changed to grief. “I just … some things are hard to … But you’re right. You deserve to know.”
All I could do was stare. Had I really heard that? After all my years of wanting to know, she was finally going to tell me?
Mom looked past me, into the distance. “Where to start? There’s so much …”
I hurried to the corner of the room and dragged over one of the wooden chairs. Sat down by her bed. My heart picked up speed. This was really happening. I couldn’t believe it.
“Start at the beginning.”