I know I’m confusing him, but I’m also confusing myself. It’s not just fantasies. If he knew—if I actually told him my thoughts—he would leave. He should leave.

Especially because I didn’t tell him the worst part. The part where there’s this small chance my mother might actually be stepping out of her cell. I’m not sure why I kept that back. Saying it makes it more than just a far-off possibility. There’s way too many people between her and freedom, and they all have to see her for what she is. I’ve been texting with Carly almost daily, and there’s still nothing to report. Just an upcoming court date where my mother will be in front of the judge.

I grip Dean’s hand as we walk down the house-lined street. We pass suburban organization with hints of eccentricity. An interesting tree house. A picket fence painted purple. Bits of peculiarity in a polished world. He doesn’t let go of my hand when we reach the steps of the old Victorian house my stepfamily owns.

The sun is dropping behind the hills now, and the bakery is long since closed. So I know that Benny will be home. Inside, the familiar scents of herbs greet me. I find Benny in the kitchen, cleaning the counter with a cloth. It occurs to me that he must spend most of his time cleaning. Second shift at the bakery is mostly cleaning, and then he comes home and does the same.

He turns when we come in, eyeing our linked hands. I’m grateful for Dean being with me. I could do this alone, but I don’t want to.

I don’t let Benny speak first. “I need you to tell me the truth about my mother.”

“Ella—”

“I’m sick of everyone saying my name like that.” I take a seat at the kitchen table as a hint that I’m going to sit right here until Benny talks to me, no matter what he does this time. “You say it with all this hesitation, as if you know what’s better for me than I do. I went to see Charles. I found out about Mira Audet. I know that there’s something you haven’t told me.”

Dean pulls up a chair next to me. His closeness feels like encouragement. Like his strong, balanced presence is transferring to me.

Benny shoots a glare at him. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Why not?” I blurt before Dean can speak. “I’m tired of all the lies, Benny. All the secrets and all the space between our words. Just tell me what happened. Don’t make me fight for it.” Desperation curls my fingers into a ball, and I set my hand on the table. I let it sit there—not trying to hide my anger. I’m tired of hiding.

Benny glances between Dean and me, and I can see his resolve flickering. Or maybe he’s as tired of the secrets as I am.

“We would go out in Cooptown all the time.” He sighs and sits down at the table across from us. But then pushes the seat a foot away from the table. Like he’s trying to keep his distance. “We’d drive to this pool hall. Laura loved to play pool. She was in a league.” He trails off and glances toward the window lined with herbs.

“I didn’t know that,” I say to keep him talking.

Benny shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Your mother was always—vocal. Loud, one might say.”

“She’s always been full of words.” Like Anthony. Both of them never hesitate to speak. Maybe that’s why I always did—hidden between them like a shadow.

Benny reaches out toward Laura’s books, stacking them into a neat pile. “We were up there one time, and Mira got into it with a couple of guys. Jerks. They were making gestures when women leaned over to take a shot. It was disgusting. Mira said some things to them…”

“And?” I don’t want him to keep hedging.

“Your mother would get Charlie and me into these situations. She would start things, and then Charlie and I would get dragged into it. After you were born, I didn’t want to deal with it anymore.” He finishes with the books and rattles his fingers on the edge of the table. “You need to understand.”

“Understand what?” I ask.

“Why I left.” His fingers keep rattling. “I hated being dragged into things. And she wasn’t doing it because she was helping anyone. She did it to see what would happen. She was always reaching for something any normal person would run away from.”

“I get why someone would leave my mother, Benny.”

He emits a bitter laugh, not looking at me. “Yeah, I guess you would. So I went down the street for a drink. I ordered a beer, and they had to change the keg. It took so long.” His breath comes out in a hiss.

I stare at the edge of the table. It hurts to look at him. It hurts that in some part of me, I realize what’s coming. Because I had to live with the aftermath. When I was little, I pretended I didn’t understand why my mother would cry—arms slack as she slumped on the end of the bed. She would cry so hard that I would be scared to hug her.

Dean’s hand settles over mine, so warm and present.

“By the time I went back, it was over.” His voice wavers. “Mira was on the pool table. Laura curled in the corner. Those assholes were gone.”

I grip the table, Dean’s hand still covering mine. “They raped her. Laura too?”

“Yes.” Benny folds in on himself—arms wrapped, chin to his chest, sagging on his chair. “I shouldn’t have left. I…”

We’re both folding down into the smallest parts of ourselves. The chambers of my heart suck together, the blood leaving, the beat stopping. I ache for my mother in ways I never knew I could ache for another person. For both her and Laura.

Because I did love my mother. At times. I can love her and I hate her. I can let those two emotions wrap around each other like two twines twisted into a rope.

We are all so twined together. Violence and kindness. Hate and love.

I glance at Dean, and he’s watching me. His jaw tight, those blue eyes glassy.

He turns to Benny. “What about my father? He didn’t leave with you.”

“No.” Benny shakes—his hands, his voice. “He didn’t. I haven’t seen him since then.”

Dean’s hand solidifies over mine. It’s like tension is crawling over his body, running from his forearms to his shoulders and down his back. His father left my mother crumpled on a pool table. I close my eyes, my mind fighting through wavering memories. Peeking out of the closet with my brother, watching what my mother did to Charles. Helping him out of that house.

Benny’s features drop into a slackened gaze that’s beyond sadness, his shoulders sagging forward. Lemon truths and buttermilk lies. So many things hidden.

I ache that she had to go through that. That it could happen to anyone. “What happened after?” I ask. “Didn’t you get her help?”

“She didn’t want it.” Benny rocks forward. “I tried so hard. To do the right thing—for her and for you. But there were no right answers.”

I remember sitting here with Laura. Everyone’s answers are different, she said. I thought she was talking about her medical condition. About me. But maybe she was talking about this too.

“How old was I?” My voice wavers.

“Almost two years old.”

The weight of what he’s saying hits, but I don’t want to believe it. “Renee?”

“She was born seven months later.” His face crumples. “Because she was early.”

I nod, trying to sort through the emotions. Dean’s hand squeezes mine, and it makes me realize I’m shivering. But when I look at him, he is face is drawn and sharp.

“I had to keep your questions away from Laura,” Benny says. “You understand that, don’t you, Ella? Asking her about it was like long-closed doors flying open. She doesn’t need to suffer through it again. And Renee doesn’t need to know.”

“I understand that you wanted to protect them.” There’s a hardness growing in me. It’s tiny at first, and maybe it’s just from feeling Dean’s anger next to me. But it grows, eating one cell at a time. I keep sucking in breaths of air, but I’m not letting any of them out. “What happened to the men?”

Benny shakes his head. “I don’t know, Ella.”

“What did they look like?”

“I can hardly remember after all these years. One had a blue ball cap on.”

“Was he tall or short? Fat? White? Green? What bar was it?” I try to push out the air, but it’s like I’m a trap keeping everything inside. Hardening into something past resolve. “I need details.”

“Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“All this time, I thought it was random. The places we moved. The men she found. What if it wasn’t random? What if it was revenge?” I grip the table, not recognizing my voice anymore. “Tell me what they looked like.”

“Would that make any difference?”

“It gives a reason for what she did.” I pause, honesty coiling on my tongue. “A reason for my life to be different from hers.”

“Your life is different.” Benny stares at me with wide eyes as if he’s never really looked at me before. Then he drops his head into his hands. “I didn’t look at them before I left. I tried not to.”

My anger flares. He should have done more.

“How many?” A strength holds me up. One I didn’t remember I had. Maybe it’s from letting those emotions back in that I’ve kept out—anger, frustration—all the things I was scared would lead me to my mother. But I’m different from her.

“Six?” He stares at the table. “Seven?”

I bite my lip, tears forming between the anger. “Tell me more. Whatever you can remember.”

“I don’t know, Ella. I’ve tried not to think about it. One had a red button-down shirt. One had a dragon tattoo. It started below his ear and—”

“It wrapped around the back of his neck.”

I close my eyes and try to forget the tenor of his scream.

That’s why she did it. It was never random. We moved, but we always ended up in Maine, watching hot air balloons at the end of the summer. Dean has said there was a hot air balloon festival not too far from here.

Benny struggles to his feet. He sways, but he stands. “I’m so sorry. All of this—it’s my fault. Mine. Not Mira’s and not Laura’s. Mine.” He lets out an uneven breath. “I wish I could go back and change so many things. That’s why I was so happy when you came to live with us, Ella. I had always wanted things to be different. Having you here was like one little piece of something I could try to change. To give you what you should have had. A business and a life.”

“Everything except for the truth.”

“What truth? What I did to your mother that day? How I shouldn’t have let her take you away?” He shakes his head. “What good would that have done?”

“Knowing would have helped.”

But would it have? Because when I turn to face Dean, his face is this mask of tightly drawn muscles. This wasn’t just answers for me, it was answers for him too. Except maybe ones he didn’t realize he was looking for.

I set a hand on his forearm to catch his attention. And even though he looks at me, I’m pretty sure he’s a thousand miles away. I stand, pushing back my chair, and tug him up with me.

“I’m sorry,” Benny says quietly. “I don’t know how we find our way through. I probably should know since I’m your father, but I don’t.”

I clasp Dean’s hand in mine, and he squeezes my fingers.

“What happened in that bar wasn’t your fault, Benny. It wasn’t my mother’s fault or Laura’s fault. But being hurt doesn’t give you a license to hurt someone else. I get why you wanted to keep it from Laura and Renee,” I say, my voice steadier than it’s been in a long time. “But you didn’t have to shove a table into me to do it.”