The Devil Casts a Long Shadow- Chapter Fourteen: Those Who Reign Over Us

The summer heat in Meadow Partings had become unbearable.

Even as autumn approached, the humidity clung to the town with the persistence of a fever.

Stepping outside Jena's air-conditioned barndominium felt like entering a prison locker room where the ventilation had failed. The air was hot, stale, and so heavy that breathing seemed to require a conscious effort.

Jena often took cold showers in the evenings, hoping to wash away the heat and the day's frustrations. Within minutes of drying herself, however, she felt uncomfortable again.

She had begun to think the entire town was rotting beneath the sun.

Her hours at the childcare center had increased during the summer break. With school out, there were more children to supervise and fewer opportunities for Jena to decline additional shifts.

Ordinarily, she would have resented the demands on her time.

That year, she welcomed them.

Working gave her an excuse to avoid the festivals, community gatherings, and other social occasions that had once made Meadow Partings feel like a pleasant place to live.

The rumors about Nate and Amber Coates had never disappeared.

If anything, they had grown more elaborate.

Some people believed Jena had discovered the affair and murdered Amber in a jealous rage. Others insisted that she had helped Nate conceal what happened. A few seemed convinced that the entire incident had been some depraved arrangement involving all three of them.

Jena had stopped trying to correct anyone.

She could not disprove stories that changed every time they were repeated.

The accusations had begun affecting her employment.

Several parents had withdrawn their children from the center after learning that Jena was among the staff.

She overheard one mother asking whether it was appropriate for someone associated with a suspicious death to supervise young children.

The woman had spoken loudly enough for Jena to hear.

Jena pretended she hadn't.

One afternoon, while she and Nikola were cleaning up after the last children had gone home, Nikola asked a question that Jena had grown to dread.

"Did you see it coming?"

Jena looked up from the table she was wiping.

"What?"

"With Nate. And that girl."

Jena stared at her.

"No."

"Nothing seemed strange?"

Jena considered the question.

Everything about her marriage had seemed strange for years.

But that was hardly the answer Nikola wanted.

"Nate and I barely had a relationship anymore," she said. "We lived in the same house. That's about all."

Nikola looked uncomfortable.

"Oh."

Jena resumed wiping the table.

"There's not much to see when somebody doesn't let you into his life."

The conversation ended there.

But Jena knew it would not be the last.

By late summer, Jena suspected that her employment was nearing its end.

The owner had begun interviewing applicants for a position that sounded suspiciously similar to hers.

Nobody had told Jena she was being replaced. They simply stopped discussing future schedules with her.

She continued working while the opportunity remained.

The extra money was useful.

Her financial circumstances had become increasingly precarious despite Turner's continued payment of the mortgage and other major household expenses.

Jena had learned how to open and maintain credit accounts in Nate's name, using his existing financial information and the lingering appearance that she was managing his affairs.

At first, she had paid the minimum balances.

Then the amounts grew beyond what she could comfortably manage.

She began missing payments.

When one account became particularly troublesome, she found ways to move money between others, using refunds, advances, and whatever temporary arrangements were available.

Each solution created another problem.

Jena understood that the system could not continue indefinitely.

She also understood that stopping would require her to confront circumstances she had

spent months avoiding.

She told herself she had no reasonable alternative.

She could not easily sell the house. She could not afford to move somewhere with better employment opportunities. Her legal affairs remained entangled with Nate's condition and Ivy-Mae's claims.

Turner paid for the property, but he had never offered to cover every ordinary expense associated with living.

Food, fuel, clothing, and the countless small necessities of daily life remained Jena's responsibility.

The credit cards allowed her to maintain the appearance of stability.

She preferred that appearance to the humiliation of admitting how little money she actually possessed.

Jena sometimes wondered whether Turner remembered that he was still paying the barndominium's expenses.

The arrangement had become so automatic that she rarely heard anything about it.

She suspected Yriella had simply added the property to KT Construction's recurring payments and forgotten about it.

Yriella was not a particularly capable secretary, although Jena could hardly blame her for every administrative problem at the company.

Turner's hiring standards had never placed much emphasis on conventional qualifications.

Youth, attractiveness, and a sufficiently profitable online following seemed to matter more than experience.

Jena had once joked that an applicant's OnlyFans account was more important than her résumé.

The company also had a remarkable rate of employee turnover.

Under such circumstances, it was entirely possible for an expense to continue being paid long after everyone had forgotten why it had been authorized.

Nevertheless, Turner had recently taken a more active interest in Jena's legal situation.

Roman kept her informed of the developments he considered appropriate for her to know.

According to him, Ivy-Mae's attempts to gain further control over Nate's property were encountering considerable resistance.

Jena took satisfaction in hearing that.

After everything Ivy-Mae had put her through, it was gratifying to imagine the woman being frustrated in court.

Jena was rarely invited to participate.

Roman handled the proceedings through motions, filings, and appearances in which he spoke on her behalf.

When she asked questions, he tended to dismiss them as unnecessary.

When she offered an opinion, he reminded her that he was the attorney.

Jena had gradually stopped asking.

She was beginning to understand that legal representation could become another arrangement in which someone else controlled the decisions while she remained responsible for the consequences.

But Roman was effective.

Or at least he claimed to be.

And Jena had no money to hire anyone else.

So she let him continue.

With so little influence over her own affairs, Jena concentrated on maintaining what remained of her relationship with Sue.

Their conversations had become infrequent.

Sue generally answered only when she was away from Beau and Thallea.

Even then, something about her had changed.

At first, Jena noticed the pauses.

Sue would take several seconds to answer ordinary questions. Sometimes she seemed to forget what they had been discussing. Other times, she responded with a flatness that was entirely unlike her.

Jena remembered her mother as an enthusiastic conversationalist.

When Jena had been away at college, Sue could keep her on the telephone for hours, recounting everything from neighborhood gossip to the latest antics of the family pets.

She had a gift for finding something amusing in the most ordinary circumstances.

Now Jena struggled to persuade her to speak at all.

"Are you all right, Mom?" she would ask.

"I'm fine."

"You sound tired."

"I'm busy."

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

The answers seldom varied.

Sue insisted that it was difficult to concentrate on conversations while running errands.

Jena found that explanation unconvincing.

Her mother had once been perfectly capable of talking while shopping, cooking, cleaning, or driving.

Now she seemed to resent the effort of maintaining even a brief exchange.

Jena wondered whether the strain of caring for Beau's family had finally overwhelmed her.

She also wondered whether Beau and Thallea had persuaded Sue that speaking to her daughter was some form of disloyalty.

The possibility hurt more than she wanted to admit.

One afternoon, Jena called Sue while she was returning from visiting Jena's father at the dementia care facility.

The call went to voicemail.

Jena waited a few minutes and tried again.

She had not spoken properly with her mother in weeks.

This time, Sue answered.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

"Hi, Mom!" Jena said brightly.

"Hello, Jena."

Sue's voice was dull.

"What do you want? I'm driving."

Jena felt a small pang of disappointment.

"I don't need anything. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

There was a pause.

Then another.

Jena waited.

"Mom?"

"I'm here."

"How was your visit with Dad?"

"Fine."

"Was he having a good day?"

"I suppose."

Jena looked toward the window.

She had once been able to ask her mother a single question and receive a twenty-minute account of everything that had happened.

Now she felt as though she were interviewing a reluctant witness.

She decided to speak about something else.

"Nate's still the same," she said. "And the court stuff with Ivy-Mae is still going on."

Sue said nothing.

"I thought maybe we could just talk for a little while."

Her mother's tone changed abruptly.

"So you called to complain about your problems?"

Jena blinked.

"What?"

"I've got enough going on without listening to you complain."

"Mom, I wasn't—"

"That is an incredibly selfish thing to do."

Jena felt her face grow warm.

"I was just trying to have a conversation."

"Well, some of us don't have time to sit around discussing ourselves."

Jena stared at the phone.

The accusation sounded more like something Beau or Thallea would say than anything she remembered hearing from Sue.

She had noticed this new sharpness before.

But she had never heard it directed at her with quite so much contempt.

For a moment, she considered ending the call.

Instead, she searched for something harmless to discuss.

"Mom, do you remember that little questionnaire you sent me years ago?"

"What questionnaire?"

"The one about what kind of bird you are."

Sue made a faint noise.

"I think so."

"I found it again."

Jena tried to sound cheerful.

"It says I'm a quail. Do you remember what you were?"

"I don't have time for silly things."

"It's just something to pass the time."

Sue sighed.

Jena continued.

"I'll ask the questions. You can answer while you're driving. You don't have to look at anything."

There was another pause.

"Fine."

Jena felt a little surge of relief.

She looked down at the questionnaire.

"What did you have for dinner last night?"

"Beans on toast."

"Okay."

Jena smiled.

"That sounds like something you used to make when we were kids."

Sue did not respond.

Jena moved to the next question.

"When was the last time you were startled?"

She regretted asking almost immediately.

Sue inhaled.

"Beau startled me."

Jena sat upright.

"What happened?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night. The boys were gone, and he'd pulled a chair up beside my bed."

Jena frowned.

"He was sitting in your room?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Sue spoke as though describing an ordinary inconvenience.

"He was just sitting there watching me sleep."

Jena felt a chill.

"Mom, that's strange."

"I suppose."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much."

Sue paused.

"It was dark. For a moment, I thought he was your father. Scared me something awful."

Jena stared at the questionnaire.

She tried to imagine waking to find Beau sitting silently beside the bed.

The image disturbed her.

"Did you ask him what he was doing?"

"I don't remember."

"Mom—"

"What's the next question?"

Jena hesitated.

She wanted to ask more.

But she was afraid that pressing the issue would end the conversation.

She looked down at the page.

"When was the last time you laughed?"

Silence.

Then Sue answered slowly.

"I don't..."

Another pause.

"I don't know."

Jena waited.

Sue's voice returned.

"What's next?"

Jena felt something tighten in her chest.

Her mother had once laughed at everything.

Bad jokes. Silly television commercials. The absurd things people said when they were trying to sound important.

Jena could scarcely remember a conversation in which Sue had not laughed at least once.

Now she could not remember the last time.

Jena swallowed.

"When was the last time you cried?"

This time, Sue answered immediately.

"When I saw Beau."

Jena closed her eyes.

"What happened?"

"He got so drunk I thought he was going to die."

Jena sat forward.

"Mom, that's horrible. When did that happen?"

"Oh, a while ago."

"A while ago when?"

"It's fine now."

"How is that fine?"

Sue sighed.

"I went to the doctor."

Jena frowned.

"Why?"

"Because I was getting too upset about everything."

"What did he say?"

"He gave me some very strong medicine."

Sue sounded almost pleased.

"Nice, heavy pills. They keep me from getting worked up."

Jena said nothing.

Sue continued.

"I don't have to let my emotions get the better of me anymore."

"Mom, what are you taking?"

"Something the doctor prescribed."

"Do you know the name?"

"I'd have to look."

Jena felt increasingly uneasy.

Her mother's flat voice, the pauses, the sudden irritability, and the apparent loss of interest in things she once enjoyed had begun to fit together in Jena's mind.

She did not know whether the medication was responsible for all of it.

But the timing frightened her.

Sue had sought help because she could no longer endure the distress surrounding Beau.

And now she seemed almost incapable of expressing ordinary happiness.

"You should talk to your doctor about how you're feeling," Jena said.

"I feel fine."

"You don't sound like yourself."

"Well, perhaps you ought to consider taking something, too."

Jena stared at the phone.

"What?"

"You get terribly upset over things. Maybe some medicine would help you."

"Mom—"

"I could ask my doctor to call you."

"No, thank you."

"Or I can give you his number."

"I don't need his number."

Sue made a small, dissatisfied sound.

Jena wondered whether the medication was helping her mother cope with circumstances that should never have been allowed to continue.

Perhaps Sue had found a way to tolerate Beau's behavior without having to confront it.

The possibility filled Jena with a grief she could scarcely name.

Jena rose from the couch and crossed the living room.

A window had been left open, allowing the humid air inside.

She reached to close it.

Sue's voice sharpened.

"What are you doing?"

Jena stopped.

"What?"

"I can hear you moving around."

"I'm closing a window."

"So you're not even paying attention to me?"

Jena stared at the glass.

"Mom, I've been listening to everything you've said."

"Here I am wasting my time talking to you, and you're wandering around the house."

"That's not fair."

"I raised you better than that."

Jena felt her throat tighten.

"Mom—"

"The gall of you. I've got a million things to do, and you can't even give me your attention."

"I called because I miss you."

Sue ignored the remark.

"Don't call me again until you learn some manners."

The line went dead.

Jena remained standing beside the window.

She looked down at her phone.

For several seconds, she could not move.

Then she called back.

There was no answer.

She tried again.

Voicemail.

Jena lowered the phone.

She felt as though something essential had been taken from her.

Her mother was still alive.

She still answered the telephone occasionally.

She still occupied the same house and cared for the same people.

But the woman Jena remembered seemed to be disappearing.

And Jena could not escape the thought that Beau had helped bring about the change.

Sue had spent years defending him.

Now she was taking medication to endure the consequences of continuing to defend him.

Jena knew that her mother had chosen to seek treatment and that she could not know everything about what Sue was experiencing.

Yet she could not shake the feeling that Beau had been permitted to remain comfortable while Sue paid the emotional price.

The unfairness of it overwhelmed her.

Jena stood motionless for several minutes.

Then she began pacing.

Her thoughts moved too quickly to follow.

She remembered Sue laughing in the kitchen when Jena was a child.

She remembered the long telephone conversations during college.

She remembered her mother's excitement over birthdays, holidays, and the most insignificant family news.

Then she heard Sue's flat voice again.

I don't know.

What's next?

Don't call me again until you learn some manners.

Jena felt something inside her give way.

She walked down the hallway to the room Thallea had occupied.

The room was empty.

Jena had cleaned it months earlier.

She had repaired what she could and left the remaining damage for another time.

Now she stood in the doorway looking at the walls.

She thought of Thallea smoking in bed.

Of the ruined carpet.

Of the filthy clothes.

Of the way the woman had treated her home as though it existed solely for her convenience.

Jena kicked the wall.

The impact hurt her foot.

She kicked it again.

Then she seized the dresser and shoved it over.

It struck the floor with a tremendous crash.

Jena barely heard it.

She tore down the curtains.

She swept framed photographs from the shelves.

Glass shattered across the carpet.

She screamed.

Then she screamed again.

The sound seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, from a place she had spent years trying not to acknowledge.

She was furious with Beau.

With Thallea.

With Sue for refusing to see what was happening.

With Nate for leaving her trapped in his affairs.

With Ivy-Mae.

With Roman.

With Turner.

With herself.

She had spent so long tolerating other people's behavior that she no longer knew what to do with the anger it had created.

She struck the wall until her hands hurt.

She kicked the overturned furniture.

She pulled at the curtains until the remaining brackets tore loose.

For once, she did not care what anything cost.

Ivy-Mae could have the damaged house.

Turner could stop paying the bills.

Roman could lecture her about property rights.

Jena wanted something to break.

She wanted the destruction around her to become visible.

At last, she seized a heavy marble bookend and hurled it toward the closet.

It struck the door with enough force to tear one of the hinges loose.

The panel collapsed inward.

Jena stopped.

Behind the damaged door, scratched into the wall, were three words.

STFU BITCH.

She stared.

Thallea had carved the insult into the wall.

Jena looked at the crude lettering.

Then at the broken furniture.

Then at the glass scattered across the floor.

The absurdity of it suddenly overwhelmed her.

She had spent hours destroying a room that Thallea had already ruined.

She had accomplished nothing.

She lowered herself to the floor, scarcely noticing the broken glass beneath her.

For a long time, she sat there breathing hard.

A fluttering sound came from the adjoining room.

Jena looked up.

Tiki.

Kora.

The birds were frightened.

She had forgotten about them.

She had forgotten about everything except her anger.

Jena rose unsteadily and hurried to their enclosure.

Tiki clung to his perch.

Kora moved nervously from one side to the other.

Jena looked at them.

They had done nothing wrong.

Yet they were confined inside a house filled with her misery.

She thought of Tiki's long stay away from home and how much quieter he had become.

She thought of the way he had once played, chattered, and greeted her.

Now he seemed diminished.

Like Sue.

Like the boys.

Like everyone Jena loved.

She opened the cage.

The birds hesitated.

Jena crossed to the window and opened it.

Warm air entered the room.

She looked back at them.

"You don't have to stay here."

Her voice was hoarse.

She knew the birds depended on her.

She knew they had never lived freely outdoors.

But in that moment, confinement seemed more terrible to her than any danger beyond the window.

She wanted them to have something she no longer believed she possessed.

A choice.

A way out.

Kora moved first.

She fluttered toward the opening, paused briefly, and disappeared into the bright afternoon.

Tiki followed.

Jena watched him go.

For an instant, she expected him to turn back.

He did not.

Both birds vanished beyond the trees.

Jena remained beside the open window.

The room was silent.

She had imagined feeling relief.

Instead, she felt a sudden, terrible emptiness.

She had sent away the last creatures in the house that had offered her uncomplicated affection.

And she had no idea whether they would survive.

Jena gripped the windowsill.

The room tilted.

She felt a rushing sensation in her ears.

Then everything went black.

When Jena regained consciousness, she was lying on the floor.

For several moments, she did not understand what had happened.

Her head ached.

Her mouth was dry.

The room seemed strangely distant.

Then she remembered the birds.

She struggled to sit upright.

The window remained open.

Outside, the afternoon was quiet.

"Tiki?"

There was no answer.

"Kora?"

Nothing.

Jena stared at the empty cage.

She had wanted to give them freedom.

Now she wondered whether she had merely abandoned them to a world they did not understand.

The thought was unbearable.

She closed her eyes.

"If only things could be better."

The words escaped before she realized she had spoken.

She did not know how to repair her family.

She did not know how to restore her mother.

She did not know how to reclaim the life she had lost.

And now she had done something she could not easily undo.

Jena remained on the floor until she felt steady enough to stand.

Then she retrieved a broom.

She began cleaning.

The work was painfully familiar.

She gathered broken glass.

She righted the dresser.

She collected the torn curtains.

She swept up plaster and splintered wood.

Every object she handled reminded her of what she had done.

She had spent years cleaning up after other people.

Now she was cleaning up after herself.

The distinction did not comfort her.

She left the window open.

Perhaps Tiki would return.

Perhaps Kora would follow him.

Jena knew it was unlikely, but she could not bring herself to close the opening.

She replaced the damaged picture frames with others she found around the house.

Most contained photographs Nate had chosen.

Empty beaches.

Beautiful fields.

Sunsets over places neither of them had visited.

They were stock images he had downloaded because they matched the furniture.

Jena studied them.

There was something terribly appropriate about the pictures.

They depicted beautiful places without anyone in them.

Just as the house had been designed to suggest a happy life that had never truly existed.

She decided to look through their old photographs.

Perhaps she could find something more personal.

Something that reminded her of a time when she had belonged somewhere.

Nate kept the old photo albums in a built-in filing cabinet in his office.

Jena retrieved them and sat on the floor.

She began turning the pages.

There were photographs from the early years of their marriage.

Nate looked young, strong, and confident.

He smiled broadly in nearly every picture.

Jena remembered thinking, at the time, that they were happy.

Now she studied her own face.

In the earliest photographs, she smiled naturally.

As the years passed, the expression changed.

Her lips still curved upward, but her eyes seemed increasingly distant.

She remembered arguments that had occurred immediately before certain pictures were taken.

She remembered Nate insisting that she stand differently.

That she turn her head.

That she stop making an expression he disliked.

One year, he had begun pushing her shoulder downward whenever they posed together.

He hated that they were the same height.

Eventually, he insisted that she sit while he stood behind her.

It made him appear taller.

Jena remembered how ridiculous she had found the arrangement.

She also remembered agreeing to it because refusing would have led to another argument.

Nate had often edited their photographs afterward.

He altered lighting, removed imperfections, adjusted proportions, and occasionally changed Jena's appearance so thoroughly that she scarcely recognized herself.

He had been more interested in presenting an attractive marriage than maintaining one.

Jena turned the pages more quickly.

She did not want to remember the arguments.

She wanted something genuine.

Something that had not been arranged to satisfy Nate.

Near the back of one album, she found a photograph taken at a New Year's party years earlier.

Beau stood beside Tawny and her mother, Misty.

The boys were still very young.

Everyone appeared happy.

Jena studied Misty's face.

She remembered her as a warm, sensible woman who had possessed a quiet talent for easing uncomfortable situations.

When Nate became argumentative at gatherings, Misty often intervened with a harmless observation or a change of subject.

She had never made a spectacle of herself.

She simply knew how to make people feel less exposed.

Jena had always respected her.

Then Tawny's life had begun unraveling.

There had been drugs.

Parties.

Arguments.

Eventually, Tawny lost custody of the boys.

Jena had heard the story almost entirely through Beau and Sue.

They described Tawny as irresponsible, unstable, and incapable of putting her children first.

Jena had accepted much of it.

She had been occupied with her own marriage and had little direct contact with Tawny during those years.

Looking at the photograph now, she wondered what had happened to Misty.

She realized she had not heard anything about her in a very long time.

Jena set the album aside and opened Facebook.

Misty's account had not been updated in years.

The most recent public post was old enough that Jena wondered whether the woman still used the platform at all.

She began looking through the photographs.

At first, they were ordinary family pictures.

Holidays.

Birthdays.

School events.

Tawny smiling beside her children.

Beau standing proudly with an arm around her.

Then the pictures changed.

Jena noticed it gradually.

Tawny looked thinner.

Her expression became strained.

There were fewer photographs of her with the boys.

More appeared to have been taken at parties.

The people around her changed.

The settings became less familiar.

Jena recognized the progression with a growing sense of unease.

She had just been studying photographs of her own marriage.

The resemblance was difficult to ignore.

In both collections, the early pictures suggested happiness.

Then, year by year, something seemed to drain from the women in them.

Jena had become withdrawn.

Tawny appeared to have become increasingly unwell.

Jena thought of Misty watching her daughter deteriorate.

She wondered how much the woman had tried to do.

And whether anyone had listened.

Jena found Gretchen's account among the old connections.

Gretchen had known both Tawny and Nate.

They had never been close friends, but Jena remembered her as someone who had attended many of the same parties and social gatherings.

She sent a message.

Hi, Gretchen. It's Jena. Hope you're doing well.

The message was marked as read.

No reply came.

Jena waited.

After several days, she tried again.

Do you happen to know what happened with Tawny? I've been looking through some old pictures and realized I haven't heard anything about her in years.

Again, the message was read.

Again, Gretchen did not respond.

Jena found the silence irritating.

She had not been aware of any disagreement between them.

But the more she examined Gretchen's social connections, the more she understood that the old friendships around Nate, Beau, and Tawny had become tangled with one another.

Some of the accounts belonged to people who had known Amber Coates.

Others were connected to Thallea.

There were overlapping groups, photographs, comments, and references to gatherings Jena had never attended.

She began following the trail.

It was astonishing how much of a person's life could remain visible long after the people involved had stopped speaking.

Old photographs still carried dates.

Comments remained beneath abandoned posts.

People had argued publicly about matters they later pretended had never happened.

Jena found herself reading through years of conversations.

At first, she was merely curious.

Then she became disturbed.

The version of Tawny's decline that Jena had heard from Beau began to look increasingly incomplete.

According to Beau, Tawny had fallen into bad company and refused to accept help.

He had portrayed himself as a devoted father who had done everything possible to protect his sons.

But the photographs told a different story.

Beau appeared at some of the same parties where Tawny had first begun associating with people who later became central to her troubles.

In several pictures, he seemed perfectly comfortable among them.

He had not been an outsider trying to rescue her.

He had been part of the social circle.

Jena found comments suggesting that Beau had introduced Tawny to some of those people.

Other posts implied that he had encouraged the lifestyle he later condemned her for embracing.

None of it proved precisely what had happened.

But it contradicted the story he had told his family.

Jena continued searching.

Then she found photographs of Beau with Thallea.

The dates troubled her.

They had begun spending time together while Beau was still publicly presenting himself as Tawny's partner.

There were pictures of expensive dinners.

Hotel rooms.

Weekend trips.

Thallea posing with gifts.

In one photograph, she held up a piece of jewelry with a triumphant smile.

Jena remembered Beau complaining during that same period that Tawny was spending all their money.

She looked at the date again.

Then she found photographs from a vacation Beau and Thallea had taken while Tawny was missing during one of her early drug-related disappearances.

Jena felt cold.

She remembered Sue describing that episode.

According to the family, Beau had been frantic with worry.

He had supposedly spent days trying to locate Tawny.

Yet here he was, smiling beside Thallea at a resort.

Jena stared at the photograph.

She checked the date.

Then checked it again.

Perhaps the picture had been uploaded later.

Perhaps the dates were misleading.

Perhaps there was an explanation.

She searched for more.

There were other photographs from the same trip.

Comments written at the time.

References to where Beau and Thallea were staying.

The evidence did not establish everything Jena feared.

But it made Beau's account of those days increasingly difficult to believe.

Jena returned to the photographs of Beau and Thallea.

This time, she paid particular attention to the dates.

There was no mistaking what she was seeing.

Beau had been involved with Thallea while he was still with Tawny.

The vacations, expensive gifts, and affectionate photographs were not evidence of a relationship that had begun after Tawny's life fell apart. They belonged to the very period when Beau had claimed to be struggling to keep his family together.

Jena remembered Sue describing how devastated Beau had been by Tawny's behavior.

How he had worried himself sick over her disappearances. How he had tried everything to persuade her to get help.

Yet during one of those disappearances, Beau had been vacationing with Thallea.

Jena stared at the photographs.

She remembered that particular episode. Sue had been beside herself with worry. Beau had supposedly been frantic, uncertain whether Tawny was alive or dead.

And here he was, smiling beside another woman.

Jena felt sick.

It was not simply that Beau had cheated.

People had affairs. Jena knew that better than most.

It was that Beau had allowed everyone to believe Tawny had destroyed their relationship through her own failures, while concealing that he had already betrayed her.

He had accepted the sympathy.

He had accepted the praise for being a devoted father.

And Tawny had been left carrying the blame.

Jena thought of the photographs showing Tawny's gradual deterioration. She had grown thinner, more exhausted, and increasingly surrounded by people who appeared to have little interest in her welfare.

Meanwhile, Thallea displayed the jewelry, clothing, and vacations Beau provided.

The contrast was appalling.

Jena wondered how Tawny had felt watching the father of her children spend money on another woman while she struggled to find somewhere to sleep.

Had she known about Thallea?

Had she confronted Beau?

Had anyone believed her?

Jena thought of Sue.

Her mother had always spoken of Tawny with disappointment, sometimes even contempt.

She had described Beau as a man who had been forced to shoulder responsibilities that

Tawny had abandoned.

Had Sue known about the affair?

Jena could not be certain.

But she knew that her mother would have found a way to excuse it.

Sue had always found a way to excuse Beau.

The thought brought back the sound of her mother's voice on the telephone.

Flat. Distant. Almost unrecognizable.

Jena looked again at Beau's smiling face.

For years, she had admired him for raising his sons after Tawny's collapse. She had believed he was a man who had remained responsible when the mother of his children could not.

Now she understood that he had betrayed Tawny while she was struggling, then allowed her failures to become the entire story.

Jena had accepted that story because she loved her brother.

She had repeated it because she trusted her mother.

She had never thought to ask what Beau might have done to Tawny before everything fell apart.

The realization humiliated her.

She had spent years condemning a woman whose suffering she had scarcely understood.

And the man she had defended had been enjoying a new relationship while his old one disintegrated.

Jena closed her eyes.

She could not yet know whether Beau had actively contributed to Tawny's addiction or simply taken advantage of her decline.

But she knew he had betrayed her.

She knew he had lied about it.

And she knew that Tawny had been made to bear the disgrace while Beau enjoyed the protection of his family.

Jena opened her eyes and looked at the photographs once more.

She thought of Tawny's sons, now growing up in a household with the very woman Beau had chosen over their mother.

She thought of Sue, exhausting herself to preserve Beau's life as he wanted it.

And she thought of Mickey-Moon, whose brief life had ended before he ever had the chance to know what sort of family he had been born into.

For the first time, Jena wondered whether Beau's greatest talent was not surviving other people's misfortunes, but arranging his life so that he always benefited from them.

She did not have proof of anything beyond the betrayal.

For now, that was enough.

The brother she had admired was gone.

Perhaps he had never existed.

And Jena was finished pretending otherwise.