4

I had one more stop to make before I went home.

The Edgar residence was a mansion, much like all the other estates in Parklands. The creeping arrival of winter had killed the glorious display of summer flowers in the courtyard. I preferred it this way, the gravel driveway circling a graveyard patch of dirt.

Julian Edgar and his other councilman cronies had held the power of life at their fingertips. My baby, our babies, so many babies that would never be born.

He’d used that power to destroy rather than to create.

I’d moved passed the devastating pain. When I thought of the family I should have had one day, the family I could have had, red-hot fury burnt away the pain until all that remained was this single fact: Julian Edgar had killed my unborn child.

This courtyard inviting guests into the magnificent stone mansion now reflected the nature of the owner.

Death.

I shook off the cold shiver as I propped my bicycle against the wall by the front entrance and knocked on the door.

McKinnon opened, looking and acting every bit his usual self with his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, black butler uniform and starched collar and his stiff spine.

“Mrs. West,” he greeted formally.

“Hi.” I smiled. Occasionally a smile would sneak through his prim and proper countenance. Not today. “Is Brenda around?”

“I will let her know you’re here.” He stood back, allowing me to enter before he closed the door behind me. His gaze took in my hoodie—no coat to deliver me from—and then my sneakers—no mud to be cleaned off.

He led me through to the den, Daniel and Brenda’s recreational area in the west wing, and left me there while he went in search of Brenda. The last time I’d been inside this room, I’d been waiting to see Julian Edgar, waiting to sedate him and steal his handprint. My gaze drifted over the snooker table to the bean bags, where I’d fake collapsed to stall Daniel from checking up on his father.

I wanted to say deception didn’t come naturally to me.

I wanted to believe I was an honorable, noble person.

I didn’t feel any guilt about Julian Edgar. But he wasn’t the person I’d wronged that day. Daniel had welcomed me into his home, into his life, and I’d struck like a viper. I’d poisoned his family and I’d betrayed his trust.

I’d already lost Daniel. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. But standing here, in the bosom of his family home, I knew he’d never forgive me. I would save him. I would do everything within my power to free him. And if that didn’t work, I’d do everything outside of my power.

He’d saved me once, by not offering for me. A councilman’s wife has to be perfect in the eyes of Capra.

Daniel had seen me from the very start. You’re a wildflower in a garden of potted plants. How could I not see you? Your smile is trouble. You have stars written in your eyes.

I was perfect to him, but his greatest fear was that I’d end up like his mother, Miriam. That I wouldn’t be able to hide my nature in the spotlight as a councilman’s wife, that I’d end up in rehab where everything I was would be carved out until all that remained was an empty vessel.

Now the tables had turned, Daniel needed me to save him, and I wouldn’t let him down. But I knew, with every fiber of my being, that nothing would ever bring him back to me. Our friendship would not survive this.

I turned toward the door as I heard it open.

Brenda.

She didn’t look good. Her black hair was nested on her crown, as if she hadn’t bothered to run a brush through it. And there was a crazy, wide-eyed look in her stare. I understood. I’d been there, after all, when Roman had been locked in that cell.

She didn’t come inside the room. She stood there on the threshold, arms folded over a baggy sweatshirt that practically drowned her petite form. It had to be Daniel’s. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing. I’m so sorry.” I stepped forward. “I saw Daniel last night. He’s okay, for now, and I swear I’m going to do everything I can—”

“Get out!” Her stare hardened, a drill boring into me. “Get out of my house.”

This wasn’t her house. Her and Daniel’s house was still under construction across the field. They were due to move in around Christmas. No doubt that project would never be completed now. Brenda and Daniel were never moving into their own Parklands mansion.

But that was all irrelevant. And she had every right to be mad at me. Daniel was locked away in a cell and it was my face, the truths I’d brought, that had put him there.

“Brenda.” I took another step toward her, my heart softening with empathy. I wouldn’t wish this frantic uncertainty on anyone, this not knowing what was happening with the man you love.

Brenda stepped back as I neared.

She was hurting. Vulnerable. Unsure about everything around her. I really did understand.

“Okay.” I stopped moving and put a hand up. “Look, Daniel is being held at the Guard Station just off the town square, across the road from Berkley House. I’m sure they’ll let you see him.”

“You are unbelievable.” Her tone was sharp enough to cut.

I squinted at her, my brow creasing. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Help?” An ugly laugh escaped her pursed lips. “By telling me what I should be doing?”

“I’m not telling you to do anything, Brenda. I was just letting you know where Daniel is.”

She wasn’t listening to me. “You just couldn’t stand it, could you? You still acted like Daniel was yours, even after he chose me !”

I shook my head. “That’s not—”

“And when you finally realized you couldn’t have him, that you’d never have this—” she flung her arms wide, encompassing the room, the house, possibly the entire town “—you made sure everything came crashing down in a vicious, jealous rage.”

She’d lost her mind. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about you up there on the screens last night!” Her voice pitched, her eyes rounding even wider. “Was any of that even true? Or was it all just lies to destroy what I have?”

“Last night had nothing to do with you,” I tried to reason with her. “All I did was speak the truth.”

“The truth!” She sniggered, as if that were the most evil, vile thing she’d ever come across. “You wouldn’t have been so quick to speak your little truth, would you, to blow up everything, if all of this—” her arms flung wide – “was yours to lose?”

My mouth flapped on a thousand protests, but it would be a waste of time and breath. Brenda was beyond reason.

“Daniel chose me, and you couldn’t stand it.” She came forward, jabbing a finger at me. “You couldn’t stand it that I would be a councilman’s wife, that I’d have all this, the house, the family, the prestige, the wealth, the comfort…while you had nothing.”

She was so, so wrong. I had Roman. I had our house in the woods. I wouldn’t willingly have traded that for a hundred Daniels or a hundred grand estates or all the jewelry left in this miserable world.

“You couldn’t stop until you’d taken it all away,” she went on, her voice finally dropping into quiet, bitter sarcasm. “You won, Georga. You took everything from me. I don’t even have a damn house anymore. I’m…I’m like a leper in society, thanks to you. Congratulations.”

“You’re not a leper,” I said firmly.

She could hate me all she wanted, blame me all she wanted, but I wouldn’t leave her to fret in fear.

“You certainly won’t be homeless. The Sisters of Capra do not hold the wives and daughters of the councilmen responsible for anything. For goodness sake, look at Mrs. Bickens. She’s married to the General and she’s a prominent member of the Sisterhood. Both you and Miriam will be taken care of.”

“Don’t be so dense,” she snapped. “Without Daniel, I am nothing.”

“I’ll get Daniel back to you, I promise.”

“I don’t want Daniel!” Her voice soared again. “I want my councilman husband back. I want my life back!”

It took a minute for understanding to sink in.

My jaw sagged, although it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

This was one of the reasons our friendship had flagged, after all. From the moment Brenda had become Mrs. Daniel Edgar, it was like a switch had flipped. The girl from St. Ives was gone, replaced with a pretentious, callous-hearted, self-centered witch.

She didn’t give a damn about Daniel.

She’d never loved him.

And she honestly thought that I’d engineered an entire revolution out of jealousy. Jealous of her, and her and Daniel, and their possessions. It was more ridiculous than anything I could ever have imagined.

“Good luck with that,” I said and stepped around her, walking out that room and straight out of the house.

A mix of self-loathing and self-righteousness rolled through me as I cycled home, forming a ball of anger, guilt and loss in the pit of my stomach.

Turns out, I had plenty of regrets.

I regretted betraying Roman and Daniel’s trust. I regretted that mission, sneaking behind their backs to steal Julian’s handprint.

I regretted the situation Roman and I had found ourselves in last night. I regretted Roman jumping to my defense last night and getting himself electrocuted and beaten.

I regretted the state of Daniel’s future. If I couldn’t stop it, Geneva would send him to rehab, and when he returned, he wouldn’t be Daniel anymore.

I regretted the toll everything had taken on my friendship with Jessie.

But I did not regret speaking my truths.

I did not regret using my voice.

I did not regret the Sisterhood rising to stamp out the Council.

And I certainly did not regret Brenda losing her extravagant home and status in society.

When I got home, I busied myself making a chicken and vegetable casserole for dinner. The task didn’t keep my mind from spinning. Around and around I went, spinning through guilt, indignation, self-justification and, I’m ashamed to say, bouts of self-pity.

Do you regret anything you’ve done? Roman had asked. Would you do anything differently?

I desperately wanted to say yes, I would do everything differently.

The problem was, I didn’t know what that ‘different’ looked like.

What was the alternative?

Sitting back and doing nothing?

Even stealing Julian’s handprint…I regretted having to do it, but if I hadn’t, the council would still be in control.

I wanted a third choice. I wanted to do everything differently, but still arrive at the same place—without the consequences of course. Daniel wouldn’t be behind bars. I wouldn’t have betrayed anyone’s trust. Jessie wouldn’t be mad at me. Roman wouldn’t be filled with doubts about me and us.

I’d just slid the casserole out of the oven when I received a message on my iComm. Geneva had scheduled a meeting with me for tomorrow morning, at the Foundation Hall. It didn’t sound optional, but that was okay. I wanted to meet with Geneva, too.

It was a little after seven, and Roman wasn’t home yet.

At eight o’clock, I served myself a portion of cold casserole and ate dinner on my own.

Before I climbed into bed, I caved and called Roman on my iComm. After about thirty seconds of uninterrupted beeping, a robotic voice told me that RW3Z was unavailable and invited me to leave a message.

“Hi, it’s me. Georga.” This felt weird, like speaking to myself. Think of it as writing a letter. “I suppose you’ve decided to spend tonight at the apartment in The Smoke.”

He’d never done it before. Even though he’d had that apartment, a second home, he’d never used it to run from our marriage.

Until today.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, please just let me know if you’re okay. I’m worried.”

I fell asleep waiting for his reply. I didn’t get much rest, though. I kept waking up, and each time, Roman wasn’t in bed beside me, and he wasn’t in the spare room.

He never came home. He would have to, eventually, but it wasn’t like that would solve anything. This weight pressing down on my chest wasn’t about Roman not coming home last night, it was all about the reason he’d stayed away.

Morning finally arrived and, with it, the Sisters of Capra newsletter slid under the front door of the cabin, and a message from Roman.

“Georga, sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. I don’t want you to worry. I’m at the warden base. I’ll probably be home tomorrow. If not, I’ll let you know.”

I tried to analyze his tone. Calm and even, although some of the depth was shaved from the usual velvety strokes of his baritone. His voice sounded thin, as if half his essence had gone missing. Of course I worried. Roman wasn’t well. He should be at home, resting, healing, but I’d driven him away.

I called him back, and I tried not to analyze the reason he let it ring out to voice message again. “Thanks for replying. I was worried. Look, I understand if you don’t want to be around me right now. But this is your home, Roman, your cabin. I don’t have to be here. I can…I guess I could go stay with my parents for a few days. Let me know.”

His response came after I’d showered and dressed for the day. “The cabin is your home, too. I don’t need you to leave.”

Of course he didn’t. He had alternatives, his apartment in The Smoke.

A beep alerted me to a new message. Roman again. He hadn’t even tried to call first. He was definitely avoiding speaking directly to me. “We’ll talk. I just need time to sort a few things out.”

Following his lead, I replied with a voice message. “Okay, just take care of yourself. Please.”

There was no response.