Page 19 of The Enemy Plot

“But that’s the thing,” I snap. “Amelia and I weren’t that close. Why do you think I barely know my niece? They lived in the city—everything I hated—and I lived in thecountryside with a lake in my backyard. I was the grumpy uncle Lola only saw a couple times a year.”

“Why didn’t you see your sister more often? Were you two always so distant?”

“I just told you,” I say, turning back to check the sturdiness of his desk. “I didn’t like the city, and she didn’t have the time or the desire to come to our hometown. Not that I blame her. They weren’t always the best memories. And yes, we were always distant.”

“See, now that I find hard to believe, Dea—”

“You didn’t know her.”

“That’s true, but I know Lola. And from what she tells me, her mother held a high opinion of you.”

I stop in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

“Even if you didn’t see each other often, your sister liked you a lot. According to Lola, you were someone she could always count on, and you did a lot for her growing up. You are the eldest child, right?”

I blink back at him, frowning. What I’m hearing doesn’t make any sense. Amelia was very capable of taking care of herself, unlike me, who has no clue how to care for others.

“Deacon?” he presses, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Yes. I’m two years older.”

“And you don’t agree with what Lola said? That you had a positive impact on your sister’s life?”

I stop in front of the fire extinguisher and check the expiration date. “I don’t. I have a negative impact on everyone around me.”

“Why would you say that?”

I scoff. “Just look at my family. They’re all dead.”

“You still have Lola.”

“Until something happens to her because of me!” I practically shout, my body heat increasing threefold. Tears fight to escape, and I tap my fist against the wall. “I can’t protect her all the time. I know that. No matter how hard I try.”

“Is that why you’ve been inspecting every inch of my office since you got here?”

I frown, looking at him.

“You’ve checked my bookshelves, desk, the vents, the window, and the fire extinguisher.”

“So?”

“You’re very attentive to safety. I appreciate you caring about mine.”

“I can’t help it,” I say, balling my fists. “I was too lax in the past, and everyone around me paid the price.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom passed away when I was nine because of my dad. He was drunk, and they were in an accident. I knew hewas drunk. I should have forbidden my mom from getting in the car or stolen the keys.”

“Deacon, you are not responsible for your mother’s death. At nine years old, there was nothing you could have done to prevent such a tragedy.”

“But I could have tried,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “My grandmother died because the steps on her front porch collapsed as she was going out to get the mail. I was supposed to do the maintenance on them. I knew there was a weak step. Iknewit!” I yell. “But I did nothing. She had a bad fall, and two months later, she was dead.”

“So, the fall itself didn’t kill her?” he asks, writing something down.

“No, but it might as well have. She never left the hospital. It was one problem after another. The doctor said it’s often like that with older people. They come in for a minor injury, but it kickstarts an entire chain of issues.”

“How old was your grandmother?”