Grave Secret - Charlaine Harris [14]
While part of my brain had been trying to remember if I’d seen an oil-change place down the access road, the other part tried to pooh-pooh my own fears. I told myself that lots of women were waiting until later in their lives to start their families. And more power to them, waiting for financial security or a good relationship to form a foundation for child rearing. The problem was, I knew from personal experience how exhausting caring for an infant was. Maybe Iona would be able to quit work.
While I pretended to listen to Mark and sipped the drink our waitress had brought me, I was reliving our little sit-down at Iona’s kitchen table. Something I’d seen had troubled me, something I hadn’t been able to recall after the hubbub over our family revelations.
As Mark and Tolliver spent way too long discussing retail, I mentally examined every person who’d been sitting around the table. Then I reviewed my memory of the objects on the table. Finally, I succeeded in tracking down the source of my unease. I waited until the brothers fell silent before I obliquely introduced the subject.
“Mark, do you go over to see the girls very often?” I asked.
“No,” he said, ducking his head in a guilty way. “It’s a long drive from my house, and I work horrible hours. Plus, Iona always makes me feel bad about something.” He shrugged. “To be honest, the girls just aren’t that interested in me.”
Mark had left the trailer and started living on his own as soon as he could, which we’d all agreed was the best thing for him to do. He came by when our parents weren’t there—or when they were out cold—and he’d (God bless him) brought us supplies whenever he could. But that meant he hadn’t been present like we had when the girls were babies, and he hadn’t had as much opportunity to bond with them. Cameron and Tolliver and I had taken care of Mariella and Gracie. On the nights when bad memories woke me up and wouldn’t let me sleep, I got scared all over again when I thought of what might have happened to the girls if we hadn’t been there. That wasn’t the girls’ concern, though—and it shouldn’t be.
“So you haven’t talked to Iona lately.” I had to think in the here and now.
“No.” Mark looked at me, a question on his face.
“You know that Iona’s heard from your dad?” It was my stepfather’s handwriting I’d seen on the letter protruding from the stack of mail.
Mark would never be a successful poker player, because he didn’t look anything but guilty. I had to smile at his obvious relief when the waitress picked that moment to take our orders.
But that smile didn’t sit on my lips for long. I was scared to look sideways at Tolliver.
When the waitress had bustled off, I opened my hands to Mark, indicating it was time for him to come clean.
“Well, yeah, I was gonna tell you about that,” he said, looking down at his silverware.
“What were you going to tell us, brother?” Tolliver asked, his voice even and pleasant and forced.
“I got a letter from Dad a couple weeks ago,” Mark said. No, he confessed it. Then he waited for Tolliver to give him absolution—but Tolliver wasn’t about to. We both knew Mark had responded to the letter, or he wouldn’t be so hangdog.
“Dad’s alive, then,” Tolliver said, and anyone but me would have called his voice neutral.
“Yeah, he’s got a job. He’s clean and sober, Tol.”
Mark had always had a tender heart for his father. And he’d always been incredibly gullible where his dad was concerned.
“Matthew’s been out of jail how long?” I asked, since Tolliver wasn’t responding to Mark’s assertion. I’d never been