“What exactly are we doing?” Braden asks. He gets up and takes the basket from Allie. She gives him a look that says she loves him, even though she doesn’t hug him or say so, and Phee feels a whisper of ease, that maybe her meddling has helped bring them together.
“Hot dog and marshmallow roast!” Steph crows. “Yes, we know this is not breakfast food. This is an adventure and rules do not apply.”
“Is that so?” Braden says, raising his eyebrows at Phee. “Any other rule breaking I should know about?”
“Anything is fair during an intervention,” Dennis says from up on the deck. He’s got one end of a folding table, Len comes behind holding the other.
“I’m too old for this,” Len says, but he looks more energetic than any of the rest of them.
“Really, there are no rules,” Katie says. “Except for the coffee rules. Those always apply.”
Celestine has forgotten all about the lake, for now. He’s under everybody’s feet, sniffing at the hot dogs and buns, asking to be petted.
“Can I give him one?” Allie begs. “He looks so sad. And starving.”
“He is neither,” Phee objects, shaking her head at the dog, who sits looking up into Allie’s eyes as if his very last breath depends upon her giving him a handout. “He’s too big to start feeding him table food. Little dogs are cute when they beg. A dog this size turns into a terrorist. If you really want to feed him, come with me. You can give him his breakfast.”
“All right,” Allie says, stroking the dog’s head. “Come on, Celestine. Why’d you name him that, anyway? Since he’s a boy dog.”
“A whole bunch of popes were called Celestine, so it can be a boy’s name. Plus, he was already named that when I got him. Enough things in his world were already different, I figured at least he could keep his name.”
Jo is waiting at the top of the stairs, a bundle of blackened metal rods under one arm, a bag of marshmallows in her hand. “Roasting sticks. Haven’t used them in years, but they were in the closet waiting. Everybody sleep okay?”
“Some did, some didn’t,” Phee says. “We’ll be right down.”
Once inside the cabin, she unpacks the box that holds the container full of Celestine’s kibble, as well as his bowl and treats. “One scoop,” she says to Allie. “Set it over by the door where we put his water bowl last night.”
While the girl is feeding the dog, Phee proceeds with her real motive for getting Allie away from the crowd. She crosses to the cello case, unlatches it, and lifts out the cello.
Allie comes to stand beside her.
“You know you want to play. You’re like your dad that way. Music is your soul.”
“Even if I hurt people?”
“And people hurt you by trying to keep you from it. Listen, Allie.” Phee turns to look directly into her eyes. “You’d be helping your dad out, if you play. It might help him remember. I think at the least it would comfort him to know that the cello is being played.”
Allie floats her palm across the strings.
Jean emerges from the bedroom, looking from one to the other. “Could have sworn I heard something about breakfast.”
“You did!” Allie says, taking a step back. “Down by the firepit. Oh, and Katie made coffee.”
Jean is the most perceptive and sensitive woman Phee has ever met. The timing of this interruption isn’t by accident. Jean doesn’t give her an opportunity to ask, slipping out the door ahead of Allie.
Phee leaves Celestine inside, to keep him out of trouble and out of everybody’s plates. She feels like she’ll need her full attention for whatever is going to happen. Fifteen minutes later, she thinks maybe she’s been wrong and that nothing is going to happen at all.
The mood has taken on the tone of a classic adventure. People laughing, burning hot dogs and their fingers. Dennis spills his coffee, and Katie fetches him a refill. Once, Allie actually laughs. Braden is the only one quiet, reserved, his face more like a man on the rack than a man on an adventure. Jean is watchful and anxious, but that’s normal behavior for her.
When the last hot dog has been roasted, the last marshmallow burned, a silence falls, all of them sitting around the warmth of the fire. And that’s when Jean says, very quietly, “Jo, Allie, Braden has something to tell you.”
His eyes widen; he jerks upright in the chair. Phee feels the way his breath snags on something sharp in his throat. Feels the mood of the group shift to watchful, uncertain. Len glances at her, a small warning, but she shrugs her shoulders at him. This isn’t her doing, at least not directly.
“It’s better this way, Braden,” Jean says. “Trust me. Trust them. Get it over with. Spit it out.”
He pales visibly at those words.
“What?” Jo asks. She looks shaken, glancing from face to face around the circle as if she’ll read an answer written somewhere.
“You sure about this, Jean?”
“I’m sure,” she says.
Braden swallows, visibly. “I . . . remembered something last night.”
Jo’s hands dart to her face, and he shakes his head. “Not that, Jo. Not how he died. Something else. It’s going to hurt you, both you and Allie.”
He takes another breath. “When Mitch came out here to talk to me, that night, he wanted to tell me something. He had a confession.”
Jo stares at him, lips parted, eyes dark. “Trey.” A statement, not a question.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t, until now. Just always wondered. It’s the only thing I could think of that would bring him out here.”
“What about Trey?” Allie asks.
“Your mom and your uncle Mitch were . . . Trey is, was, your half-brother, Allie.”
She stares at her father with her mouth gaping open, then closes it with a sharp snap. “Mom? You’re kidding, right? I mean, Mom wouldn’t even tell a fib. How could she ever . . .” Allie’s eyes travel from Braden to Jo and back again, and her words fade into confusion.
“For real?”
“I’m so sorry,” Braden says.
“What are you sorry for?” Jo snaps. “You’re not the one who was having an affair.”
“It happened because of the cello—”
“An excuse,” Jo says. “If it wasn’t that, she’d have found something else. I remember the way those two looked at each other. Let me guess—when he went off on his fishing trips, he didn’t go alone.”
“Seriously?” Allie asks again. “I kinda thought Mom was, like, perfect. Always right.”
“The last thing I want to do is tarnish her memory—”
“It helps,” Allie says, “that she wasn’t perfect.”
“See?” Jean says. “They’re stronger than you think.”
“I’m not done yet,” he says grimly. “I sat out here all night, in the place that it happened, hoping it would all come back. It didn’t. But reason doesn’t take me to a good place.” He pauses. “Mitch came up here to ask me to divorce Lilian so they could be together.”
“Bastard,” Jo says, then adds, “God rest his soul.”
“So I put that together with this other tiny little flash. I keep seeing him sitting out here by the fire, right where Dennis is sitting now. And I punched him.”
“Sounds like he deserved it,” Dennis says. Len looks thoughtful, listening.
“You’re not putting the pieces together.” Braden raises his voice for emphasis. “Mitch comes out here to tell me he’s been with my wife, that he’s the father of my son. He was a threat to my family and my music. I hated him, in that moment. Enough to kill him.” He waits, letting his words sink in.
“Whatever happened out here was so horrific, my own brain has protected me from remembering. Phee here thinks it was so intense that my brain has also protected me by taking away the use of my hands. Do the math. Two men alone, one of them in a murderous rage, and the other one ends up dead. What do you all think happened?”
“You couldn’t,” Allie breathes. “You wouldn’
t.”
“We know I hit him. And then he drowned.”
“He had a heart attack,” Jo protests. “That’s what the autopsy showed. It was a time bomb waiting to happen, they said.”
“And maybe that bomb wouldn’t have gone off if he hadn’t fallen through the ice into shockingly cold water. How do you think that happened, Jo? An outdoorsman like Mitch? He knew better than to walk on the ice this time of year.”
She’s weeping now, softly. “He was drunk.”
“Not that drunk, Jo. I think we all need to face the truth. I killed Mitch.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
PHEE
Phee stares at Braden, stricken. This is not at all what she had in mind when she planned this intervention. She’d fully believed, curse or no curse, that there would at least be healing here. A new connection between Braden and Allie. Forgiveness. Hope.
Braden’s eyes meet hers, and his lips twist in a half smile. “Sorry, Phee. There’s no magic fairy-tale ending. No reversible curse. Everything that has happened to me happened because I deserved it.”
He shifts his attention to his daughter, who is weeping silently. “Allie, honey, I would give anything to undo all of this . . .”
She makes an inarticulate sound, then gets up and climbs the stairs, head bent, not looking back.
“I’ll watch her,” Steph says, following.
Braden drops his head into his hands.
All of them sit in a shocked, awkward silence. Phee can’t stand to watch Braden’s suffering, her eyes wandering out over the expanse of the lake.
“This story isn’t over,” her grandfather’s voice says.
Phee takes a breath. “There are flaws in your logic,” she says. “He died here, that’s clear. But when the ambulance came, he was up at the cabin.”
“You had severe hypothermia,” Jo adds. “You were cut and bruised. Frostbite to your hands and feet. How did that happen?”
“I don’t remember.”
Phee hears music. The cello has been blessedly silent since they arrived, but now a melody drifts into her ears. Braden hears it, too. His head comes up. And then she realizes it’s not in her head, not this time. Every head turns toward the cabin.
“What is it?” Dennis asks.
Braden closes his eyes. “The last song I ever played.”
Katie, uncharacteristically silent, gets up and climbs the stairs toward the cabin. By unspoken agreement, the rest of the Angels follow. Then Jo. Braden stays where he is, and Phee holds out a hand to him.
“Come on.”
“I don’t want—”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
He laughs, short and harsh. “You think I’ll, what, kill myself? Add that to Allie’s burden?”
“She’s playing for you,” Phee says. “You need to let her know you hear her.” Her hand remains outstretched. Finally, he accepts what she is offering, lets her tug him up to standing. Together they climb the stairs, side by side.
Allie, playing the cello, looks whole for the first time since Phee has met her. Her eyes focus immediately on her father, who drops Phee’s hand and stands immobile, as if he’s been flash frozen, an ice sculpture of a once living man.
“Phee said it might help you to remember,” Allie says, her bow arm slowing, then coming to rest.
“Phee has said a lot of things.” Braden takes one step forward. “There’s no magic key, little bird. But I’m so glad to hear you play.”
“I want you to remember.” Her voice breaks. “I don’t believe you killed him.”
“Suppose I remember and I did kill him?”
“Well, then we’d know. Please,” she says.
Braden shrugs, helplessly. “I can’t. Even here. Even with that music. There’s nothing beyond what I told you.”
“We could try hypnosis,” Phee says, lighting the fuse on the dynamite.
All eyes focus on her. Stunned silence.
“No,” Len says. “This whole harebrained scheme of yours is unethical. I don’t even have a license to practice anymore.”
“Well, then, you have no risk of losing it.”
“That may be the most outrageous thing to ever come out of your mouth. That’s saying something.”
“Would it help?” Braden interrupts. “Would that unlock my memory?”
“It can,” Len says reluctantly. “Hypnosis bypasses the logical mind and the defense mechanisms. But—”
“Can we do it here? Now?”
“Hypnosis is not an exact science. It’s helpful for many things, but memory recovery is controversial. It’s not like the movies.”
“But it might work.”
“What good will it do?”
“I’ll know,” Braden says. “If it works. On some level, I’ve always believed that I was responsible for Mitch’s death, but I still don’t know. Not for sure. You can’t face up to something you don’t know. It’s always lurking, always insinuating.”
“Look,” Len says, his voice falling into professional, soothing tones. “Why don’t I set you up with a psychologist I know when we get back? He’s also skilled with hypnotherapy and—”
“No. If anybody’s going to do this, it will be you.”
“Please,” Allie says.
“Come on, Len,” Phee says. “What are the risks?”
“The risk is that he remembers killing Mitch because he thinks that’s what he’s going to remember. Even if he didn’t.”
“In which case, we’re no worse off than we are already,” Braden says.
“Not like any of this is admissible in court,” Dennis adds. “There’s no evidence. A good lawyer could get him off easy. So it’s not like you’d be sending him to prison.”
Allie starts playing again, very softly, the music swirling around all of them, creating a mood of mystery and possibility.
“Let’s take a vote,” Phee says. “How many people are in favor of Len hypnotizing Braden?”
All hands go up except for Len’s.
Braden is pale, but his face is set in lines of determination. “What do I do? Lie down?”
“Oh hell,” Len says. “You’re going to pay big-time for this, Phee.”
“Don’t I know it,” she answers. She’s already paying, she’ll be paying for a lifetime. But it’s worth it, on the off chance that this will work.
“Maybe everybody should go do something else,” Len says. “Or we could go into one of the rooms.”
“Right here, with witnesses. That way, they can tell me later if you ask leading questions or implant suspicious hypnotic suggestions.” He flops down on the pullout and adjusts his pillow beneath his head. “This is convenient.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Jo says. “It doesn’t matter. What happened, happened.”
“So remembering it won’t change anything, to quote a very wise woman.” He nods at Jean, and she smiles at him gently.
“Do you need a pendulum or something?” Phee asks.
“Everything we need is in Braden’s head already.” Len pulls up a chair, calm and businesslike now that he’s made up his mind. “Keep playing, if you don’t mind, Allie. Music can be helpful. The rest of you, please be very quiet. Do not speak to him or engage with him. Understood?” He looks around the circle of faces, making eye contact with everybody, one at a time. “Phee, can you get control of that dog?”
“Celestine, come,” Phee commands, and he bounds over to lick her hands. “Lie down,” she says, and then sits on the floor beside him to keep him there.
Katie and Steph cram themselves into an armchair together. Jo perches on the other. Jean and Dennis take up positions standing on the far side of the bed. Allie and the cello sit roughly at the foot.
“A circle of Angels,” Braden says. “What could go wrong?”
The process of hypnosis isn’t mysterious or complicated at all. Len takes Braden through some breathing, counts him down ten levels of an imaginary staircase. He goes through several safety exercis
es, establishing a safe place where Braden can return at any time if his memories become too painful.
“Now,” Len says, “You are fully in a world of trance. Trust that your mind will take you where you need to go. Let it carry you back to a memory of this cabin, another night, when you played this music. Are you there?”
“Yes,” Braden answers. His voice sounds distant, different.
“Are you alone?”
“No, Mitch is here. He’s . . . leaving. I want him gone, but he’s drunk. It’s dark and snowing and I tell him to give me his keys.”
“And does he?”
“No. He says, ‘So I crash. Problem solved for you.’”
“What do you say to him?”
“‘Give me your fucking car keys, Mitch.’”
“You’re smiling,” Len says.
“He doesn’t give me the keys. I shove him. It feels good to shove him. A release. But then he says, ‘What the hell, man? Out of my way.’
“I tell him I’m looking out for my sister.
“He says, ‘What are you gonna do, fight me? I’d drop you and your precious hands like a fly meeting a fly swatter.’”
Jo squeezes her own hands into fists. There’s a lump in Phee’s throat that feels like a golf ball. Celestine whines and thumps his tail.
“My hands don’t matter anymore,” Braden says. “I’m giving up the cello. I’ve got nothing to lose. I want to hit him. Only, he gives in. Drops the key ring on the counter.”
“And then what happens?” Len asks.
Phee holds her breath. This is the telling moment. Whether Braden will remember beyond what he’s already told them or not.
“He takes the beer outside,” Braden says. “Makes a fire in the pit. And I . . . I put the cello in her case and close it. I tell her this is goodbye. I can still hear the music, even though she’s locked in the case, and I think maybe I need to bury her or burn her to make it stop.”
Again, he goes silent, and Len prompts him.
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