Charles King’s gratitude extended to Barbara, as well. And to T. Emma and Elliot had met her during the transplant ordeal and simply adored her. Apparently, T was the unfiltered, unabashed, and utterly unapologetic role model they had been craving all of their young lives.
Unfortunately, the rest of Deese’s family wasn’t as agreeable.
“My aunt hasn’t spoken to me since it all came out,” Deese told me. “Not being my father’s son, it was a secret that she didn’t want revealed; one that only she and my mother had shared. I’ve tried to talk to her only she won’t talk. She won’t even tell me if my father knew anything about what happened.
“At the same time, my other aunts and uncles and some of my cousins claim that I’m an ingrate. No, I’m not, I tell them. I’m grateful for everything. Others in my family think because of the gifts Charles had given me; the invitations to his place on Lake Minnetonka— A cousin said ‘Isn’t the Deese family good enough for you anymore?’ Some of them still refuse to believe any of the DNA evidence. Either the science is screwed up or I am; that’s their explanation. Except for T. If anything, all of this has brought us closer. Imagine.
“Still, I’m glad to know the King family, Charles and Porter, the girls, even Marshall Sohm, although he sometimes acts like a prick. It’s hard for me to think of them as actual family, though. I suppose it’s because we didn’t grow up together; their experiences aren’t my experiences, you know? But they’re all very nice people.”
This included Jenna.
After she kicked her opioid habit, she reached out to me. She told me about her unhealthy liaison with Jamal, the whys and wherefores; how victims of sexual abuse committed by a parent—that is, incest—are forever hopping from one abusive relationship to another as if they were trying to confirm their own worthlessness; as if they were trying to prove that they deserved the abuse.
And she told me what had transpired at her house in St. Paul that day. She was as apologetic as hell, too, only I don’t think that’s why she wanted to talk. Lieutenant Rask had buried the DNA evidence linking Emma to Gerald King and Jenna wanted to know if she could trust me to keep the secret as well. I told her that she could. I also told her that I thought her family, especially Emma, was strong enough to know the truth; that they probably already did and were waiting on her to admit it. She disagreed. I told her that at least she should seek professional help; try to heal herself. She said she already had on numerous occasions. Like many victims of incest, though, she had gone through counselors the way fashionistas go through shoes, discarding them at the slightest hint of abandonment or betrayal both real and imagined. Besides, she reasoned, she was at least as smart as they were.
“Ask me anything you want to know about betrayal trauma theory, trauma bonding, and disassociation,” she said. “I’m an expert.”
“I wish I could help you,” I said.
“Why? We’re not even related.”
Oh, before I forget, I bought Nancy Moosbrugger a new dress. Mason Gafford told me about her, about how she had cradled my head in her lap until help arrived after I was shot. So, I bought her a new dress—a half-dozen new dresses, actually. I noticed that Gafford never left her side during the shopping expedition, but didn’t say anything.
Later, Nancy asked how she could repay my generosity.
I told her she already had.
Still, she insisted that she should do something.
I told her to “Live well, be useful.”
She asked me if that was my personal mantra.
I told her that it was.
Which brings me back to Nina Truhler.
We had our ups and downs after I left the hospital. One minute she treated me as if I were the most precious thing she owned. The next she wanted to slap me upside my head. I asked her exactly what she wanted from me.
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” I said.
“I want you to say that you’re done. I want you to say that you’ll never do another favor for another friend forever.”
“I…”
Nina quickly covered my mouth with her hand. After she was sure I wouldn’t attempt to say anything more, she removed her hand, kissed me hard, and hugged me close, which I happily tolerated despite the pain it caused.
“You should never make a promise you can’t keep,” she said.
ALSO BY DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT
Featuring Holland Taylor
Penance
Practice to Deceive
Dearly Departed
Darkness, Sing Me a Song
First, Kill the Lawyers
Featuring Rushmore McKenzie
A Hard Ticket Home
Tin City
Pretty Girl Gone
Dead Boyfriends
Madman on a Drum
Jelly’s Gold
The Taking of Libbie, SD
Highway 61
Curse of the Jade Lily
The Last Kind Word
The Devil May Care
Unidentified Woman #15
Stealing the Countess
What the Dead Leave Behind
Like to Die
Dead Man’s Mistress
From the Grave
Other Novels
The Devil and the Diva (with Renée Valois)
Finders Keepers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT has won the Edgar Award and is a three-time winner of the Minnesota Book Award for his crime fiction. He is a past president of the Private Eye Writers of America. He lives in St. Paul, Minnesota. You can sign up for email updates here.
Visit the author on Facebook at:
www.facebook.com/David-Housewright-134321043247961
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