Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

went through to get free. I was wondering what that was exactly.”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Tell me anyway.”
    “I don’t talk about it.”
    “You’ve never told anyone.”
    “No.”
    “I want what you have now, Mac. I don’t want any more than that. I want to do what you did—turn my back on it all and just live my life. A life I’ve chosen. My life, for better and for worse. So I’d like to know what it was you went through. I want for you to be able to tell someone. Believe it or not, it’s good to share our secrets. It’s good to be able to tell a person anything and have that person still look you in the eyes afterward. Still care.”
    I said nothing.
    Marie smiled. “C’mon, I’ve told you mine. Now you have to tell me yours.”
    “Are we playing doctor here?”
    “In a way, I guess, yeah. I want you to tell me what you did to get free, Mac. I need to know. Please.”
    “You already know. We were out sailing, the four of us. There was a fire, I made it, they didn’t.”
    “That’s what happened. Now tell me what you did.”
    “That was the thing, Marie. I didn’t do anything.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Right after the fire broke out, there was an explosion in the stern. They were thrown overboard, the three of them. I wasn’t. I was at the bow. I froze.”
    “You were scared.”
    “No. I did nothing.”
    “What could you have done?”
    “I could have thrown them a line. I could have sent over the emergency raft. Their boat had every piece of radio equipment and safety gear there was. I knew what to do in an emergency. I probably could have made it aft and into the cabin, called the Coast Guard. But I just stood there. I chose to do nothing.”
    “You just left them.”
    “We were far out, you could barely see land. It was night. The boat was moving; we were under full sail when the fire started. And even on fire, even with the damage from the explosion, the boat was still moving.” I paused, looked at my hands, then shrugged and said, “The thing is, it didn’t take much. It took just seconds, really. Two, three tops. And then, just like that, it was too late for me to be able to do anything for them.”
    Marie said nothing. She turned and looked out the window.
    “You were a kid,” she said.
    “I was twenty. Old enough to know what I was doing by not doing a thing.”
    “You wanted to get me free of them. Remember, I knew them. I knew how they treated you. My father knew it, even Jean-Marc knew it. You deserved better. You wanted a life of your own. And they weren’t about to let you have that.”
    “It doesn’t make it right.”
    “Maybe not. But I remember when we were kids how you used to not want to go home. You used to linger in our yard, even after Father had called Jean-Marc and me in. There was an opening in one of our hedges, like a little cave. You used to hide in it. I used to look out the window and see you there.” She took a breath, let it out. “You know, my father once offered to take you in. He set up a meeting with Mr. Van Deusen and told him that he wanted you to come stay with us. Did you know that?”
    “No.”
    “He turned my father down flat, said he’d made a promise to your real father. But Father knew that wasn’t the truth. I pleaded with him to try again, I wanted you to live with us so bad, but he said there was nothing we could do, except make you feel welcome whenever you were here.”
    I felt an overwhelming sense of regret suddenly. I couldn’t help but wonder how many lives would be different right now had I come to live at the Bishop house all those years ago.
    “How’d you survive, by the way?”
    I was confused by the question. “What?”
    “The accident.”
    “Oh. The boat took on water after a few miles and turned over. It was the middle of September, but the water was cold. I could see land by then, so I swam for it. “
    “What did you do after that?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I can’t imagine you were in the will. What did you do?”
    “I got a job and finished college. I didn’t have a place to live, so at night I’d sneak into the office of one of my professors and sleep on his couch. Then I met a woman and we lived together for a while. My father had been a cop, and I had a degree in criminology, so I applied to police academy. I got in but didn’t go.”
    “Why not?”
    I shrugged. “I didn’t have it in me. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t like the idea of lives being in my