He glanced away, his lips pressed together. Finally, he said, “So this is about him?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know that Louise claims it was your dad drowning Lula that day, not Walter.”
He swallowed, and his eyes glistened as he stared across the room. “I know that too.”
I gasped.
He turned back to face me. “Lula told me. The memory came back when we were hidin’ her from our dad.” A bitter look washed over his face. “Why do you think we believed he was the one trying to kill her in December? He’d tried it before. Stood to reason he’d do it again.”
I stared at him in shock. “You have to do something.”
“We did,” he whisper-shouted. “We sent her to live with Bingham. There’s no way he’ll let our father hurt her.”
“I’m talking about turning him in, Max,” I said insistently. “He tried to murder an eight-year-old child!”
“It’s her word against his Carly,” he spat.
“Louise would back it up.”
“Well, why didn’t I think of that?” he said in mock excitement. “A jury’s sure gonna believe her.”
He had a point.
“Do you seriously think I would condone him walking free after what he did?” he asked in disgust.
“He’s your dad, Max.”
He slowly shook his head. “Would you let your dad get away with murder?”
His words struck deep. Hadn’t I already? For a year, I’d suspected my father of murdering my mother and possibly my birth father, and up until now, I’d just let him get away with it. Sure, I’d started looking into it on my own—many months later—but to anyone analyzing the situation from an outside perspective, it would appear I’d run away like a coward and let him go unpunished. How was my situation all that different from Max’s?
He had been studying my face, and realization dawned in his eyes. “Jesus. You have.”
Fear seeped into my blood, momentarily freezing me.
I could see him putting things together.
“I knew you were on the run, but I always assumed it was from an abusive relationship.” When I didn’t call bullshit, he continued. “I was right about you running from a man. I just had the relationship wrong.”
My throat burned. My entire life was unraveling around me, yet I was tired of keeping so many secrets from the people I cared about.
He sucked in a breath as another piece fell into place. “You told Wyatt. That’s why he still has an interest in you.”
I nodded and stared at a spot on the wall, not wanting him to see the tears pooling in my eyes. “Yeah. He guessed, and I was stupid enough to confirm it. He knows a lot more detail. A lot.”
He cringed. “Does Marco know?”
I nodded again. “And Hank.”
“Anyone else?”
I hesitated, then turned back to face him. “Your father.”
Fear filled his eyes. “Fuck.”
I swallowed and tried to smile. “Plus your mother, although I have no idea how much she knows.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
He reached over the table and grabbed my hand. “You can’t tell anyone else.”
“I was going to tell Ruth later. I told her that Louise is back and claims to know something about Jerry. We’re supposed to talk after work. I was going to tell her who I really am.”
His hand tightened. “No. Don’t.”
“You don’t trust her?”
A pained look filled his eyes as he cast a glance in her direction. “I don’t know. Just hold off, okay?”
I couldn’t hide my shock. “You don’t even know who I really am.”
“Tell me later. I want to talk to you and Marco together, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, relieved that I wasn’t going to have to keep this from him anymore. “Okay.”
Ruth shot us a questioning look from across the room.
I hated that Max had insinuated that I couldn’t trust her. While I hadn’t trusted her with my identity up until now, it wasn’t because of a lack of trust—more from the theory that the fewer people who knew the better. I didn’t want people to slip up and accidentally tell someone with more nefarious motives. It wasn’t that I’d thought she might betray me—rather I’d feared she would slip up.
It was Max I hadn’t fully trusted. Had I done the right thing trusting him now?
It was too late to turn back.
Chapter Nineteen
Ruth wanted to know why Bingham had shown up, and I told her the truth—that he was pissed off because I’d talked to Louise without telling him about it. But I’d let her believe my conversation with Max had been about how to deal with Bingham. Thankfully, she’d bought it.
It was after ten before I realized Marco hadn’t come in for his dinner break. It wasn’t unusual for him to go somewhere else if he was too far away when his break rolled around, but he’d usually call and leave a message with Max. He hadn’t. Uneasiness crept through me.
I was in the process of settling a tab with a customer when a deputy walked through the door with a nervous expression and headed straight for the bar. He looked young, like he should be at home doing his algebra homework instead of wearing a uniform and a gun.
My heart fell to my feet, and my head swam.
“Marco.” I grabbed the back of an empty chair to keep myself upright.
Max exchanged words with the deputy—then, wearing a disapproving look, pointed him toward Ruth.
I turned to face her in surprise. Why was a deputy here looking for Ruth?
The fear on her face spurred me into action. I hurried over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Ruth Bristol?”
She nodded but didn’t speak.
“My name is Deputy Weaver. Your boyfriend Franklin was in an accident.”
Her knees buckled, and I fought to hold her up, but Max was already rushing over to help. He came around to her other side, wrapping an arm around her back.
“It happened by County Road 83,” the deputy continued, his hands shaking. I wondered if it was the first time he’d had to share this kind of news. “There was another car involved, but it’s no longer at the scene of the crime. Hit-and-run.”
Oh, my God. Had the person who’d run Jerry off the road just gone after Franklin?
Ruth shook her head, her expression stricken. Was she thinking the same thing?
Max stepped in. “Just tell the woman if her boyfriend is okay!” he said, his tone good and pissed.
“Oh,” the deputy said. “Yeah. His truck is totaled, and he’s pretty banged up, but he’s okay.”
“He’s okay?” Ruth repeated.
“Yeah. He needs stitches on his forehead, but Deputy Roland says to tell you he’s madder than a bobcat on a griddle.”
“Marco’s there?” I asked, surprised at how relieved I felt.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to tell his girlfriend that he’s tied up at the scene and won’t be here before she gets off.” He glanced around. “Is she around?”
Max rolled his eyes. “She’s standin’ right in front of you.”