Act One: Death

“Grandmother.”

At the sound of John Peter’s voice, Elmira Donovan lifted her head. Blurry vision made her strain to see her grandson’s handsome face, tall frame, and wide shoulders.

Her life was close to its end. Regrettably, her doctors sent her home to die; she intended to fight to survive.

That was what she’d done almost her entire life, especially when her dear Logan went into one of his rages.

Fresh air blew through the opened window, sweeping away the sour smell of the Grim Reaper, lingering in the shadows, awaiting a chink in Elmira’s will to live. The breeze fluttered the faded striped curtains.

Months ago, she’d asked Logan to consider allowing her to redecorate the farmhouse, her room in particular. He’d declined, citing lack of money. Unaware of their finances, she hadn’t been able to dispute her husband.

Even if she knew the size of their bank account, she wouldn’t have been able to gainsay him.

Her beloved Logan knew best.

She’d contented herself with a potted plant on her dresser and whipping up the wooden floors with oil soap and a coat of wax. Her plant died within two months.

Movement at her feet reminded her that Zoann and Ophelia sat at the foot of her bed. Their mother—Elmira’s daughter—Pattie, stood close to Elmira on the other side of John Peter.

She lifted her hand to him. “My boy,” she croaked.

Her grandson glanced down at her but refused to take her hand. They’d had a falling out six months ago, right before her beloved Logan returned from Alaska. John Peter had been with her when she received her cancer diagnosis. She had months, if not mere weeks, to live, and he’d wanted her to make amends with Christopher.

John Peter loved that devil. Zoann and Ophelia loved him. Every time Elmira saw him, she remembered Cee Cee’s filthy touch.

So she’d refused her grandson’s request. Besides, what would her dear Logan think if she suddenly embraced Christopher?

“My boy.” She stretched her arm farther, just wanting a touch, anything to die in peace if she lost her battle.

John Peter started to turn, but halted, and heaved in a breath. Walking closer, he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. He held her hand in place, his hot tears brushing her skin. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’ll finally have peace,” he whispered in a broken voice, taking her frail body into his powerful arms and hugging her. He wept in her neck. “You won’t have any more pain.”

Zoann released a sob. Elmira knew her granddaughter’s every sound. She was a good, dutiful girl, who loved her mama. Elmira felt as if Zoann loved her and Logan, but she didn’t like them.

Like Johnnie, it was because of Christopher. If Pattie didn’t force Zoann to visit and show them respect, the girl would’ve made herself scarce.

Johnnie straightened.

“W-water,” Elmira wheezed.

Pattie shifted. “I’m hungry.”

“I-I’ll fry up some eggs and bacon, Mama,” Ophelia volunteered.

She was a timid child. If she didn’t grow a backbone, she would have a rough future ahead.

“No. No. Johnnie, take Zoann and Ophelia to get burgers for everyone,” Pattie instructed.

“But—”

“Aren’t you hungry, darling?” Pattie interrupted whatever protests Zoann might’ve made.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” John Peter said gruffly. “We’ll get fries and shakes—”

“I—”

“Christopher’s at the club,” Pattie said. “Stop there and say ‘hello’. Give him an update on Mother.”

“I do want to see Christopher,” Ophelia piped in.

She was obedient, if a little too mousy for Elmira’s tastes. She didn’t make a habit of going to the club. Not the way Zoann and Johnnie did to see that devil.

John Peter came back to Elmira and kissed her cheek again. Even with blurry vision, she saw his concern. “Don’t go anywhere. We won’t be long.”

“I’ll be here,” Elmira swore, determined to lay her gaze on her dear grandson and her beloved husband one last time. Logan was out in the apple orchards, tending the trees.

Elmira hated that place. It always stank.

Once her grandchildren trooped out, Pattie walked around to the side where John Peter had been.

“Have I been a dutiful daughter, Mother?”

“A few years before Fred’s death, you turned into a paragon.”

Through a squint, Elmira saw Pattie’s nod. They both knew it was the truth.

“I wish you had been a better grandmother to my son. You starved him and abused him whenever you got the chance.”

A sliver of remorse sank into Elmira. Not because of Cee Cee’s get, but because of Pattie. Logan and Elmira’s treatment of Christopher hurt and angered Patricia.

She swept Elmira with a disdainful look.

“You never lifted a finger to stop Daddy, even when he turned on me for defending my child.”

Fear replaced Elmira’s remorse.

Because of her rage toward Cee Cee, Patricia had been a little late to the motherly protection game, yet she came to her senses and defended that piece of garbage with surprising fierceness.

“Why, Mother? He was an innocent child! I love my boy and you made me suffer because of it. You made him suffer.”

Elmira raised her hand and reached out to her daughter. “For you,” she rasped. “We were avenging you.”

Pattie’s nostrils flared. Wrath morphed into hatred, blazing from her eyes. Elmira trembled, realization dawning on her. Pattie had her beauty, but Logan’s sense of justice.

“I have always loved you, pet,” Elmira managed.

Pattie cocked her head. “Have you, Mother?”

“Yes!” she croaked and reiterated, “I did it all for you.”

She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready. Even with nothing more the doctors could do for her cancer, she wanted to live.

“I’m sorry, Patricia. Please, have mercy on me. Your mother.”

Bitter laughter escaped Pattie.

Years after her youngest daughter’s death, Elmira learned what Logan sanctioned at Patricia’s demand. Though Tess’s death devastated Elmira, she understood why her son carried out her middle child’s plan and their father—her beloved husband—approved the idea. The Donovans were destined for greatness. They did not allow weak links.

Had Tess lived, she would’ve tempted Patricia’s miserable husband and divided the family.

“You abused my son for me?” Pattie spat into the heavy silence. “For me?”

“Pattie…Patricia…” Had Elmira known she’d end up a feeble old woman, somehow left alone to face Pattie’s ire, she would’ve changed so much.

She couldn’t have killed Christopher. Pattie would’ve known what happened. Besides, if that spawn disappeared, then his demon father would’ve swooped in and exacted revenge. But she could’ve hidden her derision a little better.

“Patricia—”

“For me, yes, Mother?” Blurry but beautiful, Pattie loomed over Elmira. “Well, this is for him.”

Right before it landed on her face and stole her breath, her life, Elmira saw the pillow.