“That was on him. He was the one who planned that,” Dane said, so flippant-like, I wanted to smack him. But then who’d let him believe those lies, if it wasn’t me?

“You don’t know the first thing about what happened, but mayhap it’s time I set you straight.”

The thought of telling those old secrets put a twist in my guts, but I reckoned the truth was part of what I needed to confront before I died. Maybe I’d die a mite easier, if the weight of them secrets wasn’t pressing down on me no more. I’d carried them for so long, it was like I couldn’t hardly stand up straight.

CHAPTER 36

Zee

   Avoiding Dane seemed like the best idea, so I spent the rest of the morning lying in bed next to Gentry, reading while he slept.

Yvain was some trippy shit, but I could see why Gentry liked Yvain. He was a good guy. Not a show-off like Sir Gawain or a conceited jerk like Sir Kay. I wasn’t all that sympathetic when Yvain killed Sir Esclados and then hung around the castle like a stalker and made googly eyes at Laudine, Esclados’ widow. Apparently, though, that was how chivalry worked. You could kill a guy and that was okay, as long as it was a fair fight between two knights.

Yvain didn’t really get into trouble until he broke his promise to Laudine. By that point, she’d gotten over her dead husband and married Yvain, even though he was the knight who’d killed her husband. Yvain was madly in love with Laudine, but he wanted to go off and have adventures with Sir Gawain and King Arthur. So he promised his wife that he would come back before a year and a day.

“Oh, Yvain,” I whispered, because I knew he was going to fuck up. I wasn’t even halfway through the book, so no way was he going to get back to Laudine on time. It reminded me of my mom and dad. The day Dad was sentenced, he’d promised he was coming back. Swore it up and down, even though he wasn’t going to be eligible for parole for twenty years. It didn’t work out. He never made it back, and I didn’t think Yvain would, either.

I knew someone was downstairs but not who, until I heard Uncle Alva coughing. He sounded bad, and it made me wonder what kind of appointment he’d had that morning. After a few minutes, Dane raised his voice, and then Uncle Alva raised his. That went on until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I closed the book and got up. I went out to the stairs, trying to be as quiet as I could on those creaky old floors.

“You was gone for six fucking years!” Dane was saying.

More back and forth, and then Uncle Alva’s voice rose up all wobbly, old-man angry: “It was my fault that all gone south! I’m the one shot that goddamn bank guard!”

I’d been standing about halfway down the stairs, but I had to sit down. I could barely breathe, and my skin felt tight all over. Almost my whole life I’d believed my father was a murderer, that he’d killed some poor rent-a-cop who was just doing his job. I’d spent years trying to make that balance out against all the good things I knew about Dad. Like the fact that he’d robbed a bank to try to get decent medical care for his sister-in-law, who was dying of cancer.

Except he wasn’t a killer. That was a lie. He’d confessed to it to save Uncle Alva, and he’d let me and LaReigne and Mom carry that lie around all those years. There was no way Mom knew, because she couldn’t keep a secret for shit. Even after his liver crapped out and he knew he was dying, Dad had kept that from us to protect Uncle Alva.

Dane came stomping through the front room, right past the foot of the stairs. I didn’t want him to see me, to know I’d been listening, but I couldn’t stand up. It didn’t matter, because he went straight through the dining room and never even glanced at me. After he was gone, Uncle Alva started coughing again. I grabbed the railing and pulled myself up.

I went upstairs and laid on the bed next to Gentry. The whole room felt like it was spinning, that was how much my world had changed. I laid as still as I could, but maybe my heart was beating so hard it woke Gentry up.

“My lady,” he said in a groggy voice.

“Will you put your arm around me?” It was easier for him to touch me than to let me touch him. I rolled over on my side with my back to him and, after a minute, he put his hand on my waist. That was enough to hold me together.

We were like that for an hour, maybe longer. Long enough that my shirt, between my side and Gentry’s palm, got damp with sweat. Then I heard someone coming up the stairs.

I slid off the bed and went across the room to where my backpack was sitting on the dresser. I unzipped the side pocket, to feel where the gun was. Gentry must have heard the creak of the stairs or sensed something else, because he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He cocked his head to the right, listening.

“Zhorzha?” Uncle Alva said. “You awake, girl?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” I took my hand out of the backpack, and left the gun there.

“Just thought we might could have that talk.”

That talk. I opened the door far enough to look out at him.

“Sure. I’ll be down in a minute,” I said.

He nodded and started down the stairs. I watched him go, with this mix of anger and sadness and hope. He looked so frail going down the stairs, holding on to the railing with both hands. He hadn’t seemed that weak last night.

After he was gone, I went down the hall to use the toilet. I planned to go downstairs alone, but when I came out of the bathroom, Gentry was waiting for me in the hallway. He had his boots on, and a red crease across his cheek from the pillow.

Downstairs, Uncle Alva was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper folded up in front of him. He’d taken off the button-down shirt he’d worn earlier and was in an old wifebeater. The tattoo was there, like I knew it would be, and, above it, a strip of medical tape held some gauze at the crook of his elbow. That kind of appointment.

I sat down across from him, and Gentry went to stand at the back door, staring out through the screen with his arms crossed.

Uncle Alva unfolded the newspaper and slid a big, old waxed manila envelope across the table to me. I started to untie the rotten shoelace wrapped around it, but he tilted his head toward Gentry, whose back looked like a wall. Now that I’d seen him in his armor, I could picture him that way all the time, even when he wasn’t wearing it.

“You trust him?” Uncle Alva said.

“Yeah. He brought me this far.” I didn’t say, More than I trust you.

After what he’d told Dane, I wondered what kind of crazy secrets Uncle Alva was offering me. I was not expecting ten stacks of hundred-dollar bills with yellowed bank bands around them. I pulled out one bundle and looked at the date on the top bill. 1996. I flicked through the stack, looking at all the dates. Nothing after 1999.