The truth was muddy. Grandma still could not speak clearly, and too much of the past remained buried. But the graves on Rosbel Island were real. They could not be denied.
Yael turned his head slightly toward Lewis.
"And you," he said, "do you think my mother treated you badly? She has never smiled at us, not once. But for the past ten years, she has sent people to protect you, cooked for you, and cleared the way for you in secret. Why do you deserve that? You're not her son. I am."
Lewis said nothing.
And the truth was, besides trying to kill me, Amber had never truly mistreated him. Lewis had once told me that during his illness, Amber took care of him. Meanwhile, her own son had held onto the memory of one simple ravioli meal for years.
Yael licked his lips and kept talking.
