Page 45 of Willowbrooke
“Do you think it was the same person who got into the solarium?” I asked.
“Maybe—I don’t like the idea of someone knowing their way around this house better than me,” Leo said anxiously.
Another pregnant pause enveloped the room.
“Did you read it?” Leo asked hesitantly.
I nodded slowly.
Leo sighed in relief. “Thank god—what did it say?”
He wasn’t upset. I hadn’t expected that. I’d spent two days convincing myself that he’d be furious with me. But he’d been understanding, open, and kind. I needed to work on giving him the benefit of the doubt more often.
I hadn’t realized how much trauma I was carrying from my relationship with Adam—he always blamed me for everything. I just defaulted to protecting myself.
Leo wasn’t like him—in fact he couldn’t be more different.
“You okay?” Leo’s hand slid down my arm to take my own.
“Yeah, just a little overwhelmed with everything,” I said honestly.
Leo smiled gently.
“It started a few months before her death,” I began. “It was normal at first. I wondered if maybe she was writing it foryou, or to remember how you were when you were younger.”
The idea perplexed Leo. So much of his mother must be an enigma to him. Everything he knew about her was through other people—their ideas of her, their perspectives. Leo hadn’t been old enough to be able to make his own impressions of her.
“She loved you. She loved your father—she wished he was around more often to spend time with you, but the first half of the journal was mostly talking about your milestones, and what she was up to around the house, who she had lunch with in town, just everyday kind of stuff.”
Leo sat enthralled as I told him more about his mother’s state of mind, her regular routines, how she’d spent her time. I felt so guilty he couldn’t read it himself.
“She often referred to someone with a symbol, instead of their name. I couldn’t figure out who it was; she used gender-neutral pronouns.”
“A symbol?” Leo’s brow furrowed.
I got up from my chair and grabbed a notepad and pen and drew the symbol that looked like the narrow “X’s” in a row, the tops and bottoms of the letters connected: XXXX.
Leo stared at the symbol. “They were skinny like that,” I pointed out.
“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Whoever they were, they were close to Christine—she told them everything. Do you know who your mom wasfriends with back then? Would William know? Maybe Val?”
“Maybe…” I could see the gears turning in Leo’s head, trying to think of who XXXX could be, or who would know Christine’s mystery friend. “Why use a code?”
“I thought the same thing. I wondered if maybe she was worried about someone finding the journal.”
“So a friend she wouldn’t want my father to know about?” Leo suggested.
“Or maybe the friend themselves, because halfway through writing in the journal, their relationship changed. Christine found out something X had done. Do you know anyone named Thomas and Mary?” I asked.
“My grandparents—paternal,” Leo replied.
My eyes widened.
“Whoever X was, they did something to Thomas and Mary. Christine said they didn’t deserve what X had done. She said if your dad found out, he’d take revenge on X, and she was terrified he’d get arrested and be taken from both you and her.”
Leo remained perplexed. “Okay, so not Dad for sure then—who else was she close to?”
