“That you were angry. That you were taking care of your mother. That you fixed the porch railing because she kept pretending she was strong enough to do it herself. That you came by every Sunday even when she told you not to.” Wade paused. “And that you wouldn’t listen to his messages.”
Jonah looked down.
“He said that was probably best.”
The anger went out of Jonah so abruptly he seemed to sag.
Wade picked up another memory card. “There’s one from later.”
I wanted to refuse. My whole body felt scraped hollow, but refusal had become impossible. Every truth was now attached to another truth behind it, like doors in a corridor.
“Play it,” I said.
The next recording showed Randall in a different room. The walls were pale blue. Rain marked the window in wavering lines, and an oxygen tube ran beneath his nose. He looked directly into the camera with the irritated concentration of someone forcing himself to remain awake.
