That sounded true too.
She sat at the opposite end of the bench.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “My mother hated you for years.”
I turned.
“What?”
“She thought you helped Victor cover up Dad’s death.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know that now.”
“I visited her.”
“She thought you were gathering information for Victor.”
I remembered standing outside Elena Soto’s apartment with a casserole.
She had refused to open the door.
Victor told me to stop bothering her.
“She needs someone to blame,” he had said.
I looked at Melissa.
“Your father saved my life.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I know.”
“He came back for me.”
“I know.”
“I never thanked him.”
“You survived.”
Her voice broke.
“That would have mattered to him.”
We sat there, two women connected by a dead man and a living one.
