Be patient with him. That's what she meant. Except that, with Gabriel, excuses felt dangerous. Cut him slack and he'd haul in as much rope as he could, then think you a fool for letting him.
I thought of another reason he might be exhausted, another source of stress. One I was much more comfortable with, because it had nothing to do with me.
I turned from the window. "Has he identified the photos of his mother yet?"
"Photos of his mother?"
"At the police station."
As a crease furrowed between her eyes, I realized he'd never told her.
"Sorry," I said quickly. "I thought--You should ask him about it."
I started for the stairs, mumbling about my morning shift. She stepped into my path.
"Olivia. What are you talking about?"
"I shouldn't--"
"Yes, you should. And you will. What is this about Gabriel's mother?"
I hesitated, but I could tell by her expression it would be cruel to walk away without explaining. So I told her.
"It might not have even been a photo of Seanna," I said as I finished. "Will Evans was clearly trying to separate me from Gabriel and--"
She walked to her desk and opened a drawer.
I continued. "Gabriel might have already established it wasn't Seanna, which is why he never mentioned it to you, and--"
She handed me a small photo album, opened to photos of Gabriel. He couldn't have been more than thirteen. He had his wavy black hair, pale blue eyes, and strong features--too intense for a gangly, acne-pocked adolescent. What I recognized most, though, was his expression. Wary, as if he was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. But there was challenge there, too, a hardness already. As if he was hoping for provocation. An excuse to run. To escape.
The photo Rose wanted me to see, though, was in the top corner.
"Seanna," I whispered.
"Is that who you saw?"
I nodded. Rose lowered herself into a chair.
"Dead," she whispered. "All this time, she was dead." Grief crossed her face, but she blinked it back. "This would explain some of the strain."
"Maybe a lot of it."
She shook her head. "It's not as if this means he'll now realize his mother was a good woman who didn't abandon him. How much do you know about the situation?"
I told her.
"I suppose you're wondering how I let it happen," she said.
"No, Evans told me Gabriel didn't let on Seanna had disappeared, and when you found out, he ran. He kept going until he was over eighteen. Too old for anyone to put him in foster care. Presumably you wouldn't have gotten custody. That's what Evans said."
"I wouldn't. I have a criminal record." She glanced over, as if gauging my reaction. When I gave none, she continued, "I was also living with a woman at the time. I'd have given her up in a heartbeat for Gabriel, but the fact remains that I would not have been deemed a suitable parent. As for Seanna, I knew she wasn't making an honest living, but for a Walsh, I'd have been more shocked if she was. There'd been drugs in her youth, but she told me she gave that up when Gabriel was born, and she hid the signs from me. I only knew she was not a good mother. She neglected him. Yet even there, I couldn't prove anything. There was no obvious physical abuse or anything like that. She was just a lousy parent, and there are plenty of those."
She fussed with the blinds before continuing. "Gabriel certainly wouldn't give me more ammunition. He was as stubborn as a child as he is now. If I interfered, Seanna would refuse me access to him. So I told myself that being a good aunt was enough, that taking him when I could was enough. After she disappeared, I learned the rest, from the police. The addictions--to drugs, to alcohol, to men. And the disappearances. By the time she left, she'd been taking off for weeks at a time. Even now, Gabriel won't confirm that. He doesn't talk about it. Refuses. Push, and I'll stop hearing from him for a while."
"So about this . . . confirming her death. I shouldn't push?"
"No, he has to do it, which means he'll need a push. You might be the only person who can get away with it."