“You do belong here,” I say. “I just wanted you to know . . . that I understand that.”
Raylan looks pained. His voice is tight. “Does every family have an ugly history?” he says.
“Mine certainly does.” You could write a thousand-page saga of the pain and bloodshed in the Griffins’ history. Another for the Gallos, too.
I want to ask Raylan what I couldn’t ask Celia, because I didn’t want to seem intrusive, after all she’d told me. But the lawyer in me knows that there’s more to the story. From what she told me about Ellis, he never would have let her get away easily . . .
“Your mom told me what happened,” I say. “But not how she got away from Ellis Burr.”
I don’t say “your father,” or even “your biological father,” because I know Raylan doesn’t view him that way.
Raylan lets out a long breath. “I’ll tell you,” he says. “But not in here. Come for a walk with me.”
20
Raylan
I walk with Riona down along an avenue of birch trees. Their leaves have fully changed from green to gold, later in the year than usual, as it’s been a warm autumn after a lengthy Indian Summer.
I’m surprised that Mom told Riona about Ellis, but also glad in a way I can’t quite express to her. It’s a story I wouldn’t have told without my mother’s permission. And I want Riona to know it. I want her to know everything about me.
As well, it shows that my mother thinks highly of Riona. She trusted her with our family secrets. She obviously has intuited how I feel about Riona, though I haven’t explicitly told her.
The other part of the story is something that our family has never shared with anyone. I never expected to tell it myself, even to a future partner. But Riona is different. As she said, her family has its own dark secrets, its own history of violence. I know she won’t be shocked by anything I tell her. I can trust her to take the story to her grave. Only a mafia daughter understands true discretion.
So I’m not nervous as we walk along.
I’m just rolling the story over in my head, trying to think how best to explain.
“My mother had a friend,” I say. “A boy she knew from the time she was little. Similar to Bo and Duke. They went to elementary school together. Eventually his family moved back to North Carolina, to Cherokee land. But my mother and Waya still kept in touch—he would visit her when his family came back to Silver Run for any reason. Though at the time she got married, she hadn’t seen Waya in almost three years.
“She also had two younger brothers—maybe she told you?”
“One of them was named Abott, and he was big like Grady, right?” I say.
“That’s exactly right. Uncle Abott. The other was Uncle Earl. At the time she got married, they were only thirteen and fifteen years old. But they were both tall, and hardened, if you know what I mean.”
I nod. I’ve never experienced poverty, but I’ve seen boys become men at a young age.
“Before Mom got married, she was still seeing her siblings regularly. Still taking care of them. As soon as she moved into Ellis’s house, he cut her off from them entirely. They weren’t allowed to call or visit. And my mother was barely allowed out of the house at all. Never without Ellis right beside her.
“Of course, they were worried about her. And not just because there was nobody to take care of them anymore. They tried to slip notes to her, when Ellis would bring her into town. And two or three times they tried to visit.
“There were gates all around the property, and cameras. Uncle Abott climbed the wall and managed to speak to her when she was pregnant with me. Right before she was about to give birth, actually.
“She tried to tell him that she was alright, and he needed to leave her alone. But she was wearing a white shirt, and he could see bruises all over her arms, even through the shirt.
“So he left. But he called Waya. He said, ‘Celia needs help. Will you help her?’ And Waya drove in that night, with two of his sisters.
“They waited outside the property all night, till the early morning, with Abott and Earl in the car, too. They were scared, arguing over whether they should go in right away. They were worried that Ellis might be hurting her, if he’d seen Abott on the camera. Which, of course, was exactly what was happening. But they also worried he might do something worse to her if he caught them trying to break in. My mother had told them that he had dozens of guns in the house—one in every room.
“So they waited, staying up all night. Then, in the morning, Ellis didn’t leave for work at the usual time. They debated again what to do. Finally Ellis’s black BMW pulled away, with him sitting in the driver’s seat.
“They waited for him to get all the way away from the property. Then one of Waya’s sisters went to the door. They knew Ellis wouldn’t recognize her on the camera.
“She had to climb the fence. Then she sprinted up to the door. She rang the bell, terrified in case nobody answered. In case my mother couldn’t answer.
“But she did. My mother peeked through the window, then opened the door. Her face was so battered and swollen that she couldn’t even really see Ama, only out of one eye.
“Ama said, ‘We’re leaving right now. What do you want to take?’ And my mother said, ‘Nothing. I don’t want a single thing from this house.’ She stripped off her wedding ring and left it on the floor in the front hall.
“They had to run across the property, knowing that Ellis was probably already speeding home as fast as he could. They got to the wall and my mother couldn’t climb it, because of how pregnant she was. Ama got down on her hands and knees so my mother could get on her back, then she boosted her up. Waya was on the other side to catch her.
“They drove off as fast as they could. They’d left the car down the road, out of sight of the cameras, so Ellis wouldn’t know who had taken her.”
I pause. The next bit is the part that nobody outside my family knows. Or at least, nobody still alive. I look over at Riona. We’ve been walking side by side all this time, not touching each other, but the closest thing to touching. Our hands only an inch apart.
Riona looks tense and expectant. Her face is paler than usual, I think out of sympathy. I know she likes my mother, and doesn’t enjoy thinking about her beaten, battered, and heavily pregnant.
It’s strange to think that I was technically present for all of these events. Just a nearly-grown fetus, carried along for the ride. I don’t remember any of it, obviously. I’m only going off what my mother told me after I found her wedding certificate in the attic.
She was willing to tell me everything, once I knew the truth. She described it all in perfect detail, and Waya added anything she didn’t know, or couldn’t remember.
It’s all burned into my brain. It was the most unexpected thing that’s ever happened to me. I was so safe and secure in my life. I had never suspected for a second that Waya wasn’t my “real” father.
God, I was so angry at them. I’m ashamed of it now. I can picture them standing there, my mother sick with guilt and regret, Waya looking at me with his gentle dark eyes. Both of them trying to say anything they could to comfort me. And me shouting at them, wrapped up in my own emotions without a thought for what they’d been through, or what they were feeling.