We fell quiet, and I did an internal scan. I wasn’t about to have a panic attack, which startled me.

  “Oh, my fucking god,” he repeated.

  “I'm sorry,” I said somberly.

  He swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet office. “Obviously, you don't have anything to apologize for.”

  “I didn't have to tell you.”

  “It's not your secret to keep.” He took a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair. It fell with a thwack to his thighs. “Fuck. Does my grandfather know you know?”

  “Yeah, he saw me. He hit me after that.”

  “Did you and Jake ever talk about it?”

  “No, dude, I was ten. I’m pretty sure he preferred to forget it.” I felt so helpless at that moment. “I just tried to be there for him. I knew he was reckless and drinking too much in college, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to stop him. Obviously, I couldn't be with him all the time.”

  As I looked over at Rhys, my heart twisted sharply. I felt awful. “You know, I've seen a therapist. It wouldn’t hurt you to talk to somebody.” Rhys stared at me and sagged into his chair. “He gives me fucking panic attacks. I've mostly gotten them under control, but it hasn't been easy.”

  “Shit. No wonder he hates you so much.”

  “Yeah, he knows I know something that could cause him a lot of trouble.”

  He sighed. “I'm guessing he also did more of these balloon loans. We’re pressing legal charges. It's felony embezzlement,” Rhys said firmly.

  “You're sure you want to do that?”

  “Hell yes. We can't charge him for what he did to my brother. Jake’s dead. But he shouldn’t get a pass on this.”

  “What about you? He used to beat you,” I said flatly, almost startling myself with that comment.

  Rhys shrugged. “I know, but I was a kid.”

  “Did he—?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, he didn't. My brother was always more his target. I thought it was because Jake was older.”

  “Shit.” I let out a heavy sigh. “He’s a fucking monster.”

  “More of a monster than I knew before.”

  “I'm sorry,” I repeated.

  “It's not your fault,” Rhys said.

  “Yeah, but I don't see how it helps you to know this.”

  “I want the truth. It helps me understand what Jake was going through.”

  “We need to talk to Gram together. Are we going to tell her this part?”

  Rhys nodded. “I think we should. If we don’t, I’m not sure she’ll agree to press charges on the embezzlement. With this, she'll understand and want to do the one thing we can.”

  “All right, when do you want to talk to her?”

  We both glanced at the clock on the wall. “Tomorrow. It's late. Let's go get a drink,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Phoebe

  “He called?” My question came out in a screech.

  My father nodded, his eyes worried. “Yes. He told us Archer can't help.”

  “Dad, I talked to Archer. I know he can help. Let me call him right now.”

  “I'm worried that will make it worse,” my mother said.

  “Mom, trust me, trust Archer. There's no way his uncle had the money to do that. Whatever he did was off the books.”

  I lifted my phone off the table, immediately calling Archer. Unfortunately, I got his voicemail.

  “Hey, it's me. Clint called my parents and told them you can't help them with this. Please call me as soon as you get this. I miss you.”

  “I promise Archer will help,” I said as soon as I hung up.

  My mother let out a sigh. “This whole thing is stressful.”

  I made a sound of agreement. I wanted to tell them about Clint and his general awfulness, but I didn't know if I had permission. All I said was, “It'll be okay. I promise.”

  I finished coffee with my parents, worried that my father was just picking at his bagel. Later that evening, I finally heard back from Archer.

  “I can help,” he said as soon as I answered. “Clint’s being an ass. Here's what's going on. He embezzled the money from the company to make the loan and is earning money off the payments. He didn't just do it with your parents, but other employees and former board members.”

  “Why is he threatening them?”

  “I think he's upset because he doesn't have control of the company anymore. We're going to press charges. I’ve already talked to Rhys about it.”

  I sensed Archer wasn't telling me everything, but I didn't know why.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “I'm okay. I'll need to stay a little longer because we're talking with the prosecutor and our attorneys, but I promise to keep you posted. Tell your parents not to take any more calls from him and to save any emails, messages, anything they hear from him.”

  “Of course. I'll talk to them right away.”

  “I miss you, Phoebe,” he said, his voice low.

  My throat felt tight, and my heart ached a little. “I miss you too.”

  I was starting to feel okay about it the next day. My parents promised they wouldn't answer any more calls from Clint.

  My morning was routine until my phone rang. I recognized the area code for Seattle and answered, thinking it was Archer calling from his offices. My stomach dropped the moment I heard his great-uncle's voice.

  “I'm going to keep this short and sweet. You need to tell your new husband to back the hell off. You also need to know he's lying to you.”

  “I'm not going to talk to you,” I said firmly.

  “Well, just listen.”

  Like an idiot, I did.

  “He has secrets, big secrets, and he was tangled up in his cousin's death. If he keeps pushing on this, I’ll expose the whole thing.”

  I made myself hang up. It was too late, though, because doubt started to churn in my gut. Archer’s panic attacks, the way he always hedged whenever he talked about his uncle. Why was he hiding something from me?

  When I felt my thoughts start to spin out into anxiety, I immediately tried to call Archer. I got his voicemail.

  I decided to be direct. “Hey Archer, it's me. Can you call me as soon as you get this? Your uncle called me this time. I want to make sure you know what he said. I miss you.”

  After hanging up, I looked around the kitchen, shaking my head almost in wonder. The space was both familiar and new. The bones of the house remained the same, but it didn't feel the way it did all the hours I spent here when I was a little girl. The cool granite counter under my palm had once been a sunshiny yellow Formica. The new maple cabinets that brightened up the room when the sunlight came through the windows were once painted yellow with green trim.

  Feeling jittery inside, I slid my hand over the counter as I walked out. My socks were quiet on the hardwood floors in the hallway. There was no more plush carpet under my feet. I paused in the living room, memories bombarding me as I looked around. Archer’s parents had set up a little play area for him in the corner. There'd been three bookcases that made it seem like a little room. I remembered when we made our science projects in first grade. His dad had helped us with the old volcano baking soda and vinegar thing. I'd wanted to make a replica of Mount Augustine, and Archer had made a replica of Mount Illiamna, two of the volcanoes in the Ring of Fire—the ring of volcanoes out in the Pacific Ocean near Alaska’s coast.

  Walking upstairs, I paused in the open area that was now his office. A sleek wooden desk faced the windows and not much else. I didn't have many memories of his parents’ bedroom.

  I suppose the door had been closed most of the time when I was here. I looked around, marveling that I was married to Archer. Lifting my hand, I admired the ring on my finger, whispering, “Wow.”

  This was my house, or so Archer kept saying. I didn't know what was happening, but he was gone just long enough that the rush and haze of falling in love was lifting. I needed to see him, and I needed to talk to him. Instead, I was worried about my father's balloon loan and Archer’s great-uncle making threats.

  Spinning on my heel, I decided to leave the house. I didn't need to be here alone, trapped in my thoughts.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Archer

  My therapist, Marsha, smiled at me warmly. She studied me quietly for a moment before prompting, “Well, how do you feel about it?”

  I rolled my eyes, letting out a sharp sigh. “I asked you how you felt about it.”

  “I know you did. And, of course, I have an opinion. But first I'd like to know how you feel. I want to make sure my opinion doesn't color what you think or feel.”

  I swallowed. “I should clarify. I don't want to tell my grandmother.”

  “When you say you don't want to tell her, what's behind that?” my therapist prompted gently.

  “It's not my story to tell. But Jake’s dead. It's confusing. Even though it didn't happen to me, somehow I'm ashamed.” This secret had been heavy, and I felt tired of every emotion associated with it.

  “Because what you saw carries a lot of shame with it,” Marsha said softly but with a firm edge. “It's not your shame or Jake’s. It's your great-uncle's.”

  I traced my fingertips over the fabric on the rounded armrest of the comfy chair. My therapist’s office was comfortable and inviting. “Do you think he's ashamed?” I heard myself asking.

  Marsha cocked her head to the side before lifting her shoulder in a slight shrug. “Perhaps. Research shows that many perpetrators do experience shame. They tend to mask it with anger and substance abuse. Very few people meet the criteria for being genuine sociopaths, meaning they have no empathy. I haven't met your great-uncle, but my speculation would be that he is not, solely based on how rare that is. He likely experiences some shame for his actions, which is why he lashes out with so much anger. In the end, you're here now, and your cousin isn't. I’m glad you told Rhys. Are you afraid of how Phoebe is going to respond if you tell her the whole story?”

  “Of course, I mean…” Emotion throttled in my throat. I had to close my eyes and breathe through the sharp, abrupt pain. When I opened them, I saw zero judgment and nothing but warmth and understanding in my therapist’s gaze. “I feel like I should have done something.”

  “You were ten years old,” she said quietly. “Children are not responsible for the actions of the adults in their lives, and, Archer, you can't fix that. Please don't blame yourself. Anybody would understand that you weren't in a position to fix it.” I swallowed again, hard. My chest finally started to loosen. “I think you should tell her. Because you love her. And it's a big part of your life and your story.”

  I groaned, leaning my elbows on my knees and running my hands through my hair when I straightened. I asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I just told you what I think. I think it would help you to tell her. If I've learned one thing as a therapist, it’s that when someone asks me if they should tell someone they love something, they probably should. The wondering about it is deep enough to drive a wedge between them if they don't. I don't mean you need to clear your conscience or anything like that. This is huge for you. It shaped your childhood. I've been treating you for panic attacks for two years, and you're doing so much better. This last detail is important.”

  “I told you this at the beginning,” I said, feeling defensive.

  “Oh, I didn't mean telling me. I mean facing what it means. Part of the reason your great-uncle is able to have such an effect on you is because this is still a secret. That gives the panic more power.”

  “Oh,” I said slowly.

  “Sure, he's going to say it's your word against his, but that's irrelevant. That's not the point.”

  “Are you always right?” I muttered, casting her a faux glare.

  She smiled softly. “Definitely not.”

  “How do I tell her?”

  “It won’t be easy. It's an uncomfortable subject. This is why so many people keep things like this secret and why shame has so much power. How did it go with your cousin? Did he doubt you?”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  “Phoebe won't either. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who would.”

  Marsha waited me out. That was a skill of hers I didn't particularly appreciate. After what had to be a full two minutes of silence, I said, “I'll tell her.”

  “I'm not saying you have to tell her.”

  “No, but I know you're right. I know that if I don't, it's always going to be there for me.”

  “How much longer are you in Seattle?” she asked just as her friendly chime went off, letting us know our time was almost up.

  “I was only supposed to be here a week, but with the embezzlement mess, I’ll be here a little longer.”

  “Do you want to tell her in person?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Archer

  The truth rattled around in my heart and mind, and I finally settled on telling Phoebe over the phone. That way, if she freaked out, I would have some distance. The intellectual truth of the situation couldn't seem to override my jumbled emotions.

  I called her as soon as I got her message. “What happened?”

  “Clint called. He told me you’re somehow responsible for Jake’s death. I know it's all bullshit, but he’s freaking me out.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I muttered.

  “What is he talking about, Archer? I know you didn't do anything,” Phoebe pressed.

  “No, I didn't. But I know something he doesn't want anyone to know. And I think the only way out of this is through it.”

  “What else haven’t you told me?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, but I stumbled on the words and ended up saying, “It's what I already told you. I promise I'll explain more, but let me talk to Rhys first.”

  I needed to talk to Rhys, and I needed to tell my family the ugly story, but I avoided telling Phoebe.

  Fuck my life.

  The mechanisms I’d developed to tolerate the anxiety and panic that flared were being stretched to their max. I wasn't on the verge of panic, but I knew if I had to confront Clint, I would be.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Phoebe

  “I wish I knew what was really happening,” I finally said to Mae. Like me, Mae had recently moved back to Willow Brook, and we were getting together for coffee.

  Mae nodded. “Well, family stuff is messy. Maybe what he’s not telling you is someone else’s to tell.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How are your parents holding up?”

  “They're fine. My dad's embarrassed. I think that part is going to solve itself. I just hope Archer’s great-uncle doesn't try to call them again. He's really an asshole.”

  “He sounds like a piece of work. If you need anything, say the word.”

  I didn’t know how Mae could help, but it was good to have someone to listen. I was holding my worries at bay until I got another call from Clint. Good lord, the man knew how to leave an intimidating phone message. I didn’t respond.

  Then I showed up at work, and Graham called me into his office.

  “Yes?” I looked over at him when I stepped into the office.

  He gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat, and please close the door if you don't mind.”

  Oh, shit. I closed the door and sat down, smoothing my hands over my jeans. “Is everything okay?”

  Graham studied me for a moment. “I don't know how to bring this up, but I got a strange call.”

  My belly turned. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but Fireweed Industries provides funding for some of our training and routinely funds an annual scholarship at the university in Anchorage to study wildfire mitigation. One of the family members contacted the university and shared concerns that if you remain here, they will withdraw the funding. I don't really know what's going on, but I thought I should alert you,” he explained.

  Dread was bitter and cold in my belly and crawled up my throat from my stomach. I opened my mouth to say I didn't even know what to think before shutting it and letting out a befuddled sigh.

  “I don't know what to think. I don't know what this is about. I do know Archer is dealing with some family issues with his uncle. I promise you we won't lose the funding, but if it's a problem, I'll leave.”

  “I don't want you to leave,” Graham said firmly. “I wanted you to know, and maybe you could follow up with Archer.”

  “Absolutely.”

  After I left Graham’s office, I wanted to call Archer, but I didn't want to do it here at work. I called him in my car on the way home. His voice came through the speakers when he answered, “Hey, Phoebe. I'm glad you're calling.”

  “Hey, look, this is weird. Your uncle is now threatening to pull the funding from an annual scholarship related to wildfire mitigation. I guess it’s funded through your family's business. Graham told me about it today.”

  “What?” Archer’s question came out sharp. “That's, that's… What is…?” He stumbled over the words.

  “Archer, please tell me what's going on.” I didn’t know anything, but I knew he was struggling. I could hear the threads of it in every word.

  “Phoebe.” Archer’s voice went soft, and my heart twisted. He sounded a little lost. “Things are really getting messy here, and it's going to be longer than I planned.”

  “Archer, just tell me what's going on, please.”

  “I-I… I can't,” he finally burst out.

  The line went dead.

  “Archer!” I exclaimed to myself alone in the car.

  I tried calling him again, and he didn't answer. When I got home, I looked around the house that was supposed to start feeling like mine. Now, I couldn't even get him to tell me what was going on, and everything felt muddled. Part of me wanted to just say fuck it and not even try to do anything about this. But I was not going to let this go, not right now.