The shake of our mother’s head was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. “The time is near, Kyle. Don’t let down your guard.”
His blue stare came to me before turning to Jezebel. His fingers balled to fists at his side. “I don’t understand how you two are just sitting here.”
Our mother looked up. “What is troubling you?”
“Her.” He pointed at me. “She didn’t take the sleeping pills. She married him. She doesn’t understand any of what’s happening and you’re...fucking socializing.”
“Emma is my daughter, the same as you’re my son. When you arrived here, we talked.”
His head shook. “She’s not with us.” He narrowed his gaze my direction. “I see it. Liam sees it. She chose her side and that decision is as obvious as the fucking rings on her finger.”
Despite Kyle’s outburst, Jezebel remained perfectly calm. “When you first arrived, you had questions.”
He inhaled.
Jezebel explained, “Emma is in a different position than you were when you woke here, inmyhome.”
“Yours? I thought it was ours?” Kyle ran his hand over his hair, stirring the waves he’d combed back, before turning his heated blue stare my way. “It feels like Emma’s the damn prodigal son. I’ve been here, doing every goddamned thing you ask, taking care of you, making my name known and...fuck.”
“Do you love Emily?” Jezebel asked.
My eyes opened wide. Even though I wasn’t directly part of this conversation, I felt the shift in the atmosphere. Kyle was also obviously taken aback.
“Yeah, we’re engaged.”
I couldn’t help but think of what Miss Marilyn had told Rett. Asking for a hand in marriage was the easy part; being married was when it became difficult.
“Have you told her?” Jezebel asked.
“Of course.”
Jezebel nodded. “And she’s told you in return?”
“Yes, what does this have to do—?”
“Could you love her,” Jezebel asked, “if you weren’t absolutely certain of her feelings?”
I sucked in a breath, realizing how this question related to me and Rett.
Kyle walked to the railing and back. “Yeah. Maybe. Hell, I’m not sure.”
“If you were to have children, could you love them and her?”
“Yes.”
“Because love isn’t an emotion in limited supply,” Jezebel said. “It’s infinite.” Before Kyle could respond, she asked, “Now that Emma is here, are you doubting my love for you?”
“No, but fuck, I’m your son. I’m the rightful heir to Isaiah Boudreau. I need to be seen, Mother.Me.Isaiah.”
Jezebel’s grip of the rocking chair’s arms tightened each time Kyle used that name. Besides her discussion of love, this was the first display of emotion I’d witnessed from her. While mostly covert, it was still there. In the mosaic she’d painted, one that lacked emotion, the blanching of her fingers as her grip tightened was a neon sign.
When I looked up, Kyle was looking back into the house, unaware of what Jezebel had done.
“Why change your name?” I asked.
I supposed the question could go to both of the people with me, but I was directing it at my brother.
His attention snapped to me. “Kyle died.”