“I did,” she said, and didn’t mention her gun. “But it was okay. We talked. And now he knows. And I feel…” She breathed in, trying to find the words to express this new lightness, like she’d taken off a tight piece of clothing, like she’d set down a heavy load.
“Well, good for you, I guess.” Michael’s expression was still dubious.
“No, it is good,” she said. “I think that this is what I needed. Just to see him, and have him see me.”
“You deserve more than that,” Michael rumbled.
“Yes,” she said. “But I’ll take what I can get.” She stood up, and he stood, too, and Diana stepped into his arms, resting her cheek against his chest, hearing the familiar rhythm of his heart.
“Don’t do that again,” he said. “Don’t leave me like that.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”
She’d thought that things were getting better, as the days went by… but she’d forgotten that she still had a Google Alert set up for Brad’s name, the same as she’d set one for Henry, and for Danny. Six days after her return, her phone chimed with a story about Brad. Diana felt her pulse trilling as she clicked the link, which led to what turned out to be Brad Burlingham’s obituary.
Bradley Telford Burlingham, 51, died at his home Saturday afternoon. Burlingham, a son of Bradley Burlingham Senior and Tessa （White） Burlingham, was a graduate of the Emlen Academy, and attended Trinity College. Survivors include his parents, two brothers, Davis and Stuart, daughters Lila and Claudia, sons Austin and Eli…
Diana set down her phone and shoved her chair back from the table where she stood, breathing hard, her hands fisted at her sides. Maybe he had a heart attack, she thought. Maybe he’d been sick. But she knew the truth, even before she found the courage to go back to her laptop and do some digging. The Baltimore Sun had been circumspect, but the city’s alt-weekly website had all the facts.
Scion of Prominent Baltimore Family a Suicide. A police source has revealed exclusively to the Weekly that Bradley Burlingham III, the 51-year-old youngest son of city titan Bradley Burlingham Senior, killed himself in his Roland Park apartment Saturday night.
A few minutes later, Diana found herself outside, on her deck, with Pedro at her feet and no memory of how she’d come to be there.
“Diana?” Michael said, but all she could do was shake her head and wordlessly hand him her phone with the story still on its screen, the evidence of her guilt, a burden she’d have to carry until the end of her days, the knowledge that she’d killed Brad Burlingham, as surely as if she’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
24
Daisy
Ten minutes after Diana dropped them off, Daisy saw her husband’s car swing into the driveway. She felt her heart sink. Hal wasn’t due home for another hour, which meant he’d left work early. Beatrice’s face looked frightened beneath her purple bangs. Daisy straightened her shoulders and opened the door.
“Well, well,” he said, as soon as he saw Beatrice. “The prodigal daughter returns.” He swept Daisy and Beatrice with his gaze and asked, “Which one of you wants to tell me what happened?”
“I cut school,” Beatrice said, without meeting his eyes. “I went into Center City with a friend.”
Hal looked at her coolly. “Why?”
Beatrice shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time?”
Hal walked right up to her, so close the lapels of his coat brushed her shoulders. “Do you think this is a joke? You think you can just throw your opportunities away? I work my ass off to pay for private school…”
“I never asked to go to private school!” Beatrice shouted. And then they were off, yelling at each other, You always and You never; I’m disappointed and I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be.
Daisy had known that her husband would be furious about Beatrice’s dereliction. Her plan had been to nod along, calmly agreeing with whatever points he wanted to make, while praying her daughter wouldn’t provoke him. She should have known better. Provoking her parents was pretty much Beatrice’s job description at this point.
“If you get kicked out of another school, how’s that going to look on your college applications?” Hal demanded. “You’ve already got one strike against you. Why are you going for two?”
“I don’t even want to go to college,” Beatrice replied. With her chin jutting out and her brows drawn down, Daisy thought she looked exactly like her father, a small, female, purple-haired version of Hal Shoemaker. “I keep telling you guys! I tell you and I tell you and I tell you and you don’t listen.”