“Mom—”
“He told me, just before you showed up, that he’d done it for me. That he’d killed your father for us, because he said he knew Hugh and I weren’t meant to be together. Because he didn’t care about me like Byron did. That’s what he said. It sounded crazy. I could barely understand what he meant… well, I didn’t think I understood. I kept asking him why? He said he didn’t expect me to come home—I think he’d been following me. He knew my schedule. I think he planned it all to—to get your father out of the way.”
“Mom, why didn’t you tell the police? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought they’d blame me. I already blamed myself. They caught him and spoke to him before they even interviewed me properly in the hospital that night. They told me Byron said we were in love.” She chokes on the words again, her voice shaky. “That’s how I knew I understood him right. He really thought we had a special bond. I can’t fathom it, Lyn. They said he was mentally unfit, or, I don’t know the words they used, but after I denied even knowing him, they didn’t believe him. I didn’t tell them about those random conversations we had. I thought they’d blame me for—I don’t know—leading him on. It all seemed so much worse then, and I felt so much guilt about your father. Lyn, I never spent a moment with Byron besides those nights at your father’s shows, sometimes with your father right there! I never—”
My breath catches in my throat as the urge to comfort her grows. “Mom, I believe you—”
“He was delusional. And to find out he was dead last week? I just felt this… it was a kind of relief, but the secret I kept—it was a heavy burden that wasn’t unloaded all the way. I thought if he was gone I could live in peace, knowing my truth, but I’ve been lying to you. Maybe I’ve been lying to myself. Maybe it was my fault.”
My chest heaves with anger. “No, Mom. It wasn’t. He was delusional, he killed Dad, and it wasn’t your fault at all. You did nothing wrong.”
“He was so convinced,” she whispers through tears. “Convinced that I’d be happy he did it for me—for us. I didn’t even understand him at first.”
Byron convinced my mom she’d done something wrong, so much so, she kept the truth buried so deep down, she couldn’t even talk to me about that night. On the stand, he’d apologized to her, and only her. This is why. He did this to her.
“Annie!” Ron calls from the background.
“I ha—have to go. Baby, I love you, and I’m sorry I kept it from you. I was so scared that no one would believe me, and I was scared you’d hate me because your father died because of Byron’s obsession with me.”
“No. It was because of the sick, twisted mind of a man who thought he had a right to you, Mom. You’ve been holding this in for years, and I wish you’d have told me, but I’m not angry with you. It’s not your fault.”
“… go now, or we’ll miss it. Annie? What is it?” Ron asks.
“I’ll see you soon, baby,” Mom says.
“Just try to relax, Mom. Just… just get home.”
“I will,” she says. “See you soon. Bye, baby.”
She ends the call and Stokes walks down the hallway with a mug in each hand. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”
I shake my head and stand. “One sec,” I say, choking back my tears. I run up the creaky steps to my room, swing the door closed behind me, walk to my bed, and sit on it, still clutching the phone in my shaking hand.
Byron took my father from me, and he made my mom feel somehow responsible for that. Even if some people didn’t believe she had nothing to do with Byron, he’d still have been charged with murder. He’d have been locked away for just as long, wouldn’t he?
His ramblings of a confession were played in court. He’d said my father was a bad man. No one who knew him would have agreed, but it was just an excuse. A narrative that fit with his delusions about my mom.
I set my phone beside me and stare at it.
Would the defence have built a case around a relationship with Byron and my mom, instead of his mental health, had she admitted they’d spoken on occasion? Could they have blamed my mom for this?
“Lyn, your tea’s getting cold,” Stokes hollers from the foyer. “Chamomile, if I remembered?”
I lick my lips, drag my shaking hands along the jeans over my thighs and swallow hard.
Mom will be back tomorrow. We can discuss it all then.
I join Stokes down in the living room and he’s washed his makeup off. Only little white remnants near his chin and forehead remain. He passes me the mug. I let it warm my hands as I sit back in my armchair with him on the couch. “Thank you.”
“Stevie didn’t want to come in yet, so she’s still out. Lyn, did something else happen?”
“I was talking to my mom. It’s complicated.” He presses his lips together and nods before taking a sip of his drink. “Can you check on her in another minute? If you tell her to come in, she will.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I sip at the tea, letting the soft floral notes and warmth soothe my nerves. I finally lean back against the cushion in an effort to relax.
“Is she coming back soon?”
I nod again, staring blankly ahead at the closed blinds. “She’s getting on a flight. Coming home tomorrow.”
“Good—not that I mind being here. I’ll stay as long as you want me to. Lyn, you’ve got a look… are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “She told me something about the night—”
A scratching comes from outside.
“Is that Stevie?”
