The boys are coming over tonight. I have been ignoring them ever since I got back, thinking I could take some time for myself, but that did not work out in the slightest. I’ve invited them over for dinner to confront them, and I plan on using the two reports from Fred’s office. Getting slammed directly with the evidence, they’ll have to confess. That is… if they were involved. A big part of me is convinced that they were; there are too many coincidences. But the other part of me is hopeful, and I’m holding on to it with my life. Because even with this horrible knowledge coming to light, I still have feelings for them, these feelings that won’t go away, and I know when I see the two of them, I’ll want to jump into their arms. I can’t stand to have another person I love taken away. I’m falling in love with them. Yikes. I shake my head and throw away that feeling. It’s not a thought for right now.
I’ve set the table and dinner is ready. Now I’m simply waiting for the boys to arrive. They should be here soon. And with perfect timing, the doorbell rings. I stand up and smooth down my clothes. I have to lull them into a false sense of security before making my accusations. And I have to do it carefully. I want to believe they would never hurt me, but, at this point, I don’t know that. Don’t trust things at face value.
I go to the front entrance, take a deep breath and then open the door. Over the past couple weeks, I’d convinced myself that Caden and Oliver weren’t that attractive, but seeing them in the doorway… all my hard work to believe that goes out the window with how beautifully they’re standing in front of me.
“Come in.”
I step aside and they both step in. Neither one of them is in a suit; instead, they are casually dressed for dinner. I want to slowly undress them and feel the weight of their bodies against mine. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them, and I could use another dose of the Blakesley boys. What I actually do is step around them, being careful not to touch either one. “Dinner’s already on the table. We can start eating.”
They nod and follow me to the dining table. Their mood seems somber. There’s no way for me to tell why, and I’m not in a headspace to ask. I need to stay focused on my main task.
Once we’re all seated, no one talks. I know something is going on with me, but what could possibly be going on with them? No one is eating. There’s a bite here and there, but we’re all pushing our food around for the most part.
I glance up from my plate and try to catch their eyes, but both of them are dancing around their plates with their forks. I start tapping mine at the edge of my plate without realizing it as I turn my head and prop my elbow on the table, resting my cheek on my hand. Then they both look up at me at the same time, and I can feel them burning at me. The tapping stops as I shift my eyes at them. My mouth twists to the side, waiting for someone to say something, but neither of them does.
Outside, we can hear cars whizzing by, driving up and down the street.
Kids are chattering alongside the echo sound of a basketball bouncing off the ground.
The blinds are knocking against the sill from wind blowing through the window.
In synchronicity, both of their watches tick down every slow crawling second that passes.
Caden clears his throat. “The food is good.”
“Thank you,” I smile politely.
He smiles back and smoothens out the napkin on his lap.
“How have you been doing?” I guess it’s Oliver’s turn to venture a try.
“I’ve been okay,” I look at him, and his eyes look so sad, almost drooping down to his frowning lips. “How about you guys?”
Caden nods his head in response, “Things have been okay.” He steals a glance from Oliver then they both resume staring off into the void of their nearly untouched plates. Before long, Oliver puts his fork down and finally tries to get to the heart of all the tension,
“Scarlet, Caden and I actually have something we need to tell you…” That doesn’t sound good. “It has to do with Rachel.” That sounds even worse. Are they about to confess without any probing? It can’t be that easy.
“What is it?” I do my best to sound clueless. They don’t need to know that I have some ideas already.
“We came across some vital information, and for the last week, Caden and I have been debating if we should tell you about our suspicions. At this point, that is all they are, suspicions. We don’t have any proof. Just a lot of circumstantial evidence that points to one thing that, frankly, we both can’t believe. Then again… I’m not surprised. I mean, I can’t put anything past Winston-”
Caden drops his fork and interrupts, “We think our dad did something to Rachel. Like he had something to do with her death. We don’t have proof. I mean, she had a stroke. But something seems fishy, and we wanted to let you know. Our dad is… we don’t trust him.” He then turns to Oliver and says, “Sorry for interrupting. I could feel you getting off track, and we needed to get this out of the way.”
They both look at me, and I can see the apprehension on their faces. For the moment, I am shocked. Shocked but also relieved. Their father is the one who hurt my grandmother. Winston Blakesley. I don’t have many memories of him, but I do remember that he was intimidating. Not to mention sinister. But not Caden and Oliver. They simply got stuck in the middle. I can’t believe I suspected them, but it doesn’t matter now. I know who has to be punished.
“Scarlet?” Caden’s voice brings me out of my thoughts. I didn’t realize I hadn’t said anything after they dropped that bombshell on me. They must be worried I’ve suffered some kind of brain freeze or something.
“Yeah, sorry. It’s just- you said you didn’t have any proof?”
The two of them nod. “Yeah. It’s more of a feeling. Plus, the way he’s been acting and some of his past actions suggest our father’s capable of something like this.” Oliver’s words strike me. What it must have been like, growing up with a dad like Winston. He must have done horrible things for his sons to think he could’ve murdered someone. I can’t even imagine it.
“Wait here a second. I’ll be right back.” I get up and head into the kitchen. Originally I planned on dropping the reports on the table at dessert time. Chloe helped me plan it out. We even had an escape plan ready in case things went sideways. I go back to the dining room where the boys have patiently waited and slap the folder in front of them. “It’s not enough to prove your father did anything, but it should help a little.”
Oliver opens it up and picks up the autopsy report. He skims it and says, “But this says ‘stroke.’ I don’t understand.”
Caden grabbed the second one and he chimes in, “Wait. This report says ‘poison.’ There were two reports?” The boys look up at me, questions in their eyes.
“Yeah. Your dad bribed Fred Winters to do another autopsy report that attributed natural causes to Rachel’s death. But that poison report is dated the day after her death, giving it more validity.”
Caden slams his fist on the table, making me jump. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles. He looks at Oliver, angry and sad. “So, he really did it. Winston killed her?”
“It would seem so. We should’ve watched him more closely. I mean, his sudden interest in Rachel, how he was being a lot more hands-on, visiting her. He never works that hard for these kinds of sales. We know what he’s capable of, and we did nothing. Like every other time, we let him do whatever he wants and now someone is dead. God dammit!”
The two of them talk about how they are responsible, and it dawns on me that I also have some culpability. I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought this. When I was under the impression Grandma Rachel had a stroke, I felt somewhat responsible since I hadn’t seen her in years, but now it’s even worse. She was lonely and people picked up on that; Winston Blakesley picked up on that. He visited her and worked to make her comfortable around him so he could sneak cyanide into her system. If I had kept in touch, she wouldn’t have craved the companionship of other people. I could’ve been there for her, making her feel better. I could’ve protected her, and now she’s gone forever.
“It’s all my fault.”
Caden and Oliver stop talking when they hear me whisper that. And it’s beyond true. All I had to do was be a better person.
“It’s all my fault.” I fall on my knees onto the floor. My body can’t handle standing anymore.
Both of them kneel beside me. They’re talking to me with words of comfort I assume, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears as I fall apart. My head sinks into someone’s chest and I begin to cry. I’d been holding back my tears for so long, and now they come flooding out. I’m not just crying for Grandma Rachel but for all the years of heartache and sadness. Not only the sadness that I’ve experienced but the sadness that I caused. Someone’s arm wraps around me, pulling me further into his chest. Another hand gently caresses my hair. After a few moments, my crying stops, and I pull myself into a straighter sitting position. Turns out I was crying into Oliver’s sweater, and now it’s covered in my tears. I wipe my nose with a sniffle.
“Sorry about that,” I point to the mess I’ve left on his sweater.
He stretches the hem to get a better look at it. “It’s really no big deal. I mean, I can just…” Oliver takes his sweater off and throws it on the floor. I can’t help but laugh at his hasty display.
Not to be outdone, Caden says, “Well, you can’t be the only shirtless one,” and he takes off his sweater too. Now I’m sandwiched between two exposed, sexy men, and ideas are starting to fill into my head.