Because he was cracking up right in front of her. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to hold what she had left of her family together.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
The contrition was also nothing new. He understood the pressure she was under, felt guilty when he made it worse. And yet he wouldn’t do what she asked.
She doubted he would’ve told her about the door if he’d had any way of fixing it so she wouldn’t notice. As it was, he’d stuck a piece of cardboard in the broken frame, but she’d spotted it the minute she’d walked into the kitchen.
“Someone was in our house,” she said.
“Nothing happened,” he responded, a point he’d made several times already.
“And if nothing happened, there’s no need to overreact.”
She spun in her chair to face him. “How do you know nothing happened?”
“Nothing’s missing, is there?”
Not that Beverly could tell. The money she’d received on payday had been moved but every dollar was there. Even Jasmine’s purse and other belongings were safely tucked away in her bedroom closet. “Not that I can see, but—”
“And it’s not as if anyone bothered Dusty,” he interrupted. “You can ask him.
Tonight was like any other night.”
Ordinarily, she would’ve had to motion for Phillip to keep his voice down, but at the moment they could shout and Dustin wouldn’t hear a thing. The only real sleep he got these days was right after his morning shot, and she’d given it to him fifteen minutes ago. They wouldn’t be hearing from him for at least two hours. It was the only respite he received; it was Bev’s only respite, too.
“I’m not sure he’d even remember it,” she said. “Depends on where he’s at with his meds.”
“He was coherent last night.” Probably too coherent. She knew Phillip hated being alone with his brother when the painkiller wore off. He couldn’t handle the begging. Maybe that was why he’d left. Maybe Dustin had been too difficult.
“We still have to tell Peccavi,” she said.
“Why? There’s no need to bother him. He has enough to worry about. It was a vandal,” he said. “You know what the kids in this neighborhood are like. We’ve become Boo Radley.”
“Who?” she said.
“Boo Radley. From To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“That’s a book?”
“Yeah, it’s a book. Everyone’s read To Kill a Mockingbird. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”
She hated it when he made her feel stupid. “Shut up about your books. I don’t have time to read, and you know it.”
“I’m just saying it’s the neighbor kids daring each other. Ever since the police were here, everyone knows there was a body buried in our cellar. We’ve become the local house of horrors.” He laughed as if he almost enjoyed the thought, but she knew he felt exactly the opposite. And suddenly she remembered that she had read To Kill a Mockingbird. In eighth grade. She couldn’t remember a whole lot about it, but she remembered that it was a sin to kill a mockingbird because mockingbirds never hurt anyone.
A twinge of sympathy for her middle son made Bev soften. He wasn’t sick, like Dustin. Or twisted, like Francis. But if he stayed with her, he’d have no greater chance at happiness than they did. “Come here,” she said.
There was a puzzled expression on his face as she reached into her drawer and took out her money. She’d gotten paid a week ago and needed it for Dustin’s care.
But Phillip had never had anything. He deserved this.
Taking his hand, she put the money into it.
“What’s this?” He thumbed through it, obviously shocked.
“Take it and what Peccavi gave you for your own work and leave. I know it’s not a lot, but go somewhere else, get a job, make a life. And never look back.”
The color drained from his face. As much as he craved his freedom, he was like an animal that’d been caged too long. Now that the door had been opened, he wouldn’t go anywhere. “But I can’t leave you! What about Dustin? How will the two of you get by without me?”
She couldn’t imagine, but this was suddenly very important to her. More important than anything else. Phillip was all she had left. She had to be able to lie down at night and believe he was happy. “I’ll manage. Just don’t come back. Peccavi doesn’t like loose ends. He’ll kill you if he finds you.”
“Mom…”
Standing, she pulled him into her arms and gave him a fierce hug. “I shouldn’t have leaned on you so hard, Phil. You’re a good man, as good as Dusty, but with a healthy body.”
Tears filled his eyes. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I did this.”
“You could if you did it for me,” she said vehemently. “Let there be one Moreau who got out.”
He blinked repeatedly. “But—”
“It’s time, Phillip.” She smoothed the hair off his forehead like she used to when he was a little boy, something she hadn’t done for probably twenty years. “It’s past time.”
He slowly straightened. “You want me to go? You really want me to do it?”
The realization in that statement made her smile. “Merry Christmas.”
She sat in her office as he packed and left. He came to say goodbye, but she couldn’t even look at him. It would hurt too much. She was on her own now. She’d lost her husband and her oldest son. Her youngest lay in the room next door in a drug-induced stupor. Only her middle son would escape the life the rest of them had known. But one was better than none at all. Peccavi would have no hold on Phillip.
Not anymore. He could live according to that sensitive conscience of his.
After the house fell silent and the echo of Phillip’s car had died down, Beverly finally roused herself. She needed to get some sleep if she was going to be any use to Dusty today. Maybe he’d feel well enough to play some cards. She could tell him how Phillip had found a lovely woman and run off to be married. Dustin was an old romantic—a story like that would make him smile. As the months went by, she could even write a few letters from Phillip describing the blissful life he was leading.
Imagining that would make them both happy.
Hesitating by the phone, she contemplated calling Peccavi and decided against it. He didn’t need to know about the broken door. It’d be easier to cover for Phillip if she didn’t have to talk to Peccavi for a while.