A headache pounded behind Emma’s eyes. She tried to sip the water, but it only turned her stomach again. She hated that JJ was here, seeing her like this.
“This is your fault,” she muttered, splaying her hand against her abdomen.
“How is this my fault?” JJ asked, affronted.
Emma waved a hand. “Not you. The spawn.”
It still felt more like a flu than a future. A collection of symptoms that would fade. Nathan didn’t talk about the baby or the future, either. He used to—lying awake at night, fantasizing about the children they would have and the lives they would live. But as soon as it became real, he’d gone quiet.
“Nathan mentioned,” JJ said. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah. Well. I can’t possibly be a worse parent than ours were, right?” Emma asked. JJ snorted, and their eyes met in a brief moment of understanding. Then JJ’s expression shuttered again.
“When’s the last time you ate anything?” JJ asked.
“Toast when I woke up. Nibbled on some crackers,” Emma said. “Haven’t managed anything else.” It wasn’t even that she felt sick, exactly, just that her body seemed physically incapable of allowing her to bring food to her mouth. Like it could tell that she was somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere unsafe.
She eased herself upright. JJ stiffened, but the wooziness had passed. Emma moved gingerly deeper into the house. “Did you need anything else?” she asked.
“Just dropping off the keys,” JJ said, trailing behind. In the great room she halted, looking around. “I didn’t really stop to see anything the other day. It’s weird, being in here again.”
“Did you ever come back?” Emma asked.
“Hell no,” JJ said. “Did you?”
Emma shook her head. “No reason to.”
JJ drifted toward the right-hand hallway, which led to the living room and their father’s study. The hall where they’d found their mother. “It was here,” she said, looking down at the stain.
Emma joined her, setting her glass on the closed lid of the piano as she passed. “We tried to get the stain out, but it looks like we’re going to have to patch the whole section of floor,” she said.
Juliette rubbed a toe idly against the edge of the dark blotch. “And Dad was…” She moved forward with an unhurried kind of purpose. She pushed open the office door but stayed back. Emma joined her.
The room was arranged around that spot, now bare, from which he ruled his kingdom. They hadn’t been allowed in here without explicit invitation. Now JJ stepped cautiously over the threshold.
“He was facing away from the door,” she said. She lifted her hand, almost as if she were holding a gun. Barrel to the back of the head, boom. She seemed to realize what she was doing and dropped her hand, then walked quickly over to the wall and set her fingers against a gouge in the wainscotting. “This must be where the bullet lodged.”
“I—I don’t know,” Emma stammered. She’d never thought about where the bullet had gone, when its work was done.
JJ looked back at her, expression unreadable. “It entered the back left side of his head and exited at the front right near the temple, then lodged in the wall.”
“I never wanted to know the details,” Emma said. The more she knew, the more she worried she would find out. And she hadn’t wanted the truth. As soon as she was sure, it would stop being a matter of protecting her sisters. It would start to be a question of protecting just one. The equation stopped balancing.
“He didn’t see it coming,” JJ said. There was a strange mix of challenge and compassion in her voice. Her eyes were locked on Emma. “It would have been instantaneous, for him.”
“But not Mom?”
“She was shot in the chest,” JJ said. “Close range. The bullet only nicked the heart, so it took a minute or two for her to bleed out. A minute or two isn’t that long, though.” She sounded like she’d thought about it a lot. She sounded like she didn’t quite believe that part.
“She must have heard the gunshot and come downstairs,” Emma said.
“Must have,” JJ said, not breaking eye contact. Must have, as if she didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t.
“You sneaked out to meet Logan that night, didn’t you?” Emma asked. JJ startled.
“Who told you that?”
“So it’s true.”
Car tires crunched on gravel. JJ didn’t answer, looking at her steadily. “Sounds like your husband’s home,” JJ said.