And Juniper knew that over three decades ago, Lawrence Baker had married for love. That he had no idea about his wife’s indiscretion, and that his life with her was so much more than he ever dreamed for himself. It was home and family and forever. Juniper could only imagine how devastating it must have been for Law to hear that his wife was leaving. That his son was not his son. That none of it was real.
“Dad,” Juniper’s whisper was anguished, but Law cut her off before she could say another word.
“Don’t call me that.”
“But—”
“When she told me she was leaving, when she told me why, I didn’t know what else to do.”
Juniper didn’t want to hear any more. She could picture every moment, from the confession and the broken cello to the hot sizzle of bone glue oozing across the kitchen floor like a festering wound. How did he walk to the Murphys’ on a broken foot? The pain would have been unimaginable. But nothing compared to the searing agony of his wife’s betrayal. Juniper could never forgive him for pulling the trigger, but for just a moment she understood.
The perfect murder was a crime of passion. Lawrence did what he believed he had to do. Then he walked home, Reb drove him to the hospital, and the world kept spinning.
“Dad.” She insisted on calling him it, perverse as it sounded in the echoing barn. “Let’s talk about this, okay? I know we can work this out if—”
Law waved his hand to shush her. “It doesn’t matter. I’m taking care of it. It’s a blessing, you know? Every day I wondered if you’d remember. If you’d open your eyes one morning and know that it was me.” He smiled softly. “I knew that it was you.”
All at once it was there. Every second downloaded as if Law had pushed a button to make it so. Peering through the cracks in the darkness, nineteen-year-old June had known somewhere deep down that it was Law. His height, his breadth. The lumbering sway of his walk. Crouched against the splintering boards she could smell the reek of the still-damp bone glue that must have coated his clothes, but beneath all that it was him. It had always been him. In her mind’s eye she could see the outline of his leather work gloves curling around the door. That’s why his fingerprints weren’t on the gun. The gloves must have been so easy to dispose of.
And then: “You went back to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind.” Juniper was guessing out loud. She wondered how Jonathan had gotten a hold of the necklace—once, when everything had settled down, she’d confessed that she’d lost it that night. But they never spoke about it again. If Law had returned and found it on the dirt floor… “You were protecting me. You didn’t want the cops to find any evidence of me in the barn and think that I had anything to do with it.”
For just a moment the faintest hint of a smile crossed Law’s thin lips. There was an entire universe contained in that quick curve: the way he used to throw her high and catch her in his unshakable arms, the summer he taught her to ride a bike, each Baker family meal. All his sure instructions about changing a tire, opening a bank account, fixing a leaky faucet. And every awkward hug and dry, papery kiss on her forehead. He had loved her, in his way.
“I shouldn’t have kept it,” he said, the smile gone. “Too sentimental. When Jonathan found it in my toolbox a couple weeks ago, well.” Law shrugged.
Juniper tried to picture the confrontation and couldn’t. What had her brother done when he realized the truth? The only people in the world who knew what happened to her necklace were Juniper and Jonathan. If Law had it, it put him at the Murphy farm that night. It changed everything.
Juniper was quivering, shaking so hard she had dropped her sweater from over her nose and mouth and was fully inhaling the dizzying gas fumes.
“I’m a coward,” Lawrence said. “Always have been. I couldn’t imagine even a day without her. Still can’t.”
“Come on. Come back to the house with me—”
“Get out of here, June,” Lawrence said, turning away.
“No. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Juniper sounded bold, commanding, but when Law faced her, she felt a ripple of fear. He was holding a slim cigar, a luxury that he indulged in a couple of times a year. He kept a small box on his workbench and hauled them out for special occasions: graduations, anniversaries, the births of his grandchildren. As she watched, Law put the cigar in his mouth and thumbed a flame to life on the small lighter he was holding. After a few quick puffs, the end glowed red.