Chapter 12 - The Reckoning of Brenda
The patio disintegrated.
Diana turned on her heel and practically fled through the French doors into the safety of her house, her face buried in both hands. Paige let out an incoherent sob and turned toward the garage, but Trent didn't follow her.
Trent turned directly toward me.
He walked the five paces across the limestone, stopping two feet away. His face was pale, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes carried the profound, hollow exhaustion of a man who had just realized what kind of family he had legally bound himself to.
“Eddie,” Trent said, his voice barely audible over the breeze. “I don't even know what to say. I’m... I am so sorry, man. I should have asked to see the tape. I should have looked at you. I just... I wanted to believe her.”
“I know, Trent,” I said quietly. I didn't offer a handshake, but I didn't spit in his face either. “You have a lot of hard choices to make. But that’s between you and Paige. Just keep my name out of your mouths from now on.”
Trent swallowed hard, gave a single, jerky nod, and turned toward the driveway, pulling his truck keys from his pocket. He didn't wait for Paige. Within thirty seconds, the roar of his Sierra Denali’s V8 engine echoed down the cul-de-sac as he pulled away from the curb alone.
The other guests were already scattering like roaches when the kitchen light flips on. Second cousins were hurriedly grabbing their purses, Trent’s parents were walking swiftly toward their Escalade without saying goodbye to anyone, and Courtney was practically jogging toward her Honda Civic at the end of the street.
The marquee tent was nearly deserted.
The only people left on the limestone patio were me, Leah, Grandma Elaine, and my mother.
Brenda stood beside the ruined dessert table, clutching a floral paper napkin between her fingers, shredding the edges into tiny, confetti-sized strips. She looked like a ghost that had wandered into the wrong cemetery.
She looked at the photographs sitting on the table. Then she looked at me.
“Eddie...” her voice was a dry, paper-thin rasp.
“Don’t, Mom,” I said, holding up a flat palm.
“I didn't know,” she wept, tears finally spilling over her mascara, carving gray tracks down her cheeks. “Eddie, I swear to you on your father’s grave, I didn't know Diana had seen the tape! She told me the venue refused to cooperate! She told me they were protecting themselves!”
“It doesn't matter if you knew about the tape, Mom,” I said. The anger was gone now, replaced by a deep, hollow sadness that had been building since I was ten years old. “That’s what you still don't understand.”
She stared at me, uncomprehending. “What do you mean? Of course it matters! If I had known, I would have—”
“You wouldn't have done a damn thing,” I cut her off, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You were standing right next to me when Paige fell. You saw my hands. You were holding the wine glass I handed back to you. You *knew* in your heart that I hadn't touched her.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“You didn't need a sheriff’s report, Mom,” I continued, every word landing with the weight of an anchor. “You didn't need four-K security footage. You just needed to believe your own son over Diana’s comfort. But you’ve spent twenty years sacrificing me on the altar of Diana’s social circle because you were terrified of being excluded from the big house on the cul-de-sac.”
“I was trying to protect you!” she sobbed, reaching out toward my chest. “I thought if you just apologized, they would let it go! I was trying to keep our family together!”
I stepped backward, letting her hands fall into the empty air between us.
“You didn't protect me,” I said. “You used me as a human shield so Diana wouldn't yell at you. You let them call me a liar, a sociopath, and a failure for six months because you didn't have the courage to stand up to your sister-in-law.”
Grandma Elaine reached out and laid her hand on Brenda’s shoulder. It wasn't a comforting touch; it was an eviction.
“Go home, Brenda,” Elaine said softly. “Go home and sit in your house and think about what you’ve traded away.”
Mom looked from Elaine to me, and finally to Leah. Leah didn't look angry; she just looked at Mom with that profound, clinical pity reserved for people who have burned down their own lives for nothing.
May you like
Without another word, Brenda turned, pulled her purse against her chest, and walked down the brick path toward her car, her shoulders shaking with silent, inconsolable weeping.
***
