The slamming of the front door of her home made Grace stop what she was doing - preparing the girl's snacks, which were kool-aid and cheese melted on crackers today - and go to investigate. She found Becky, now eleven, collapsed in the couch, arms crossed over her chest with angry tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Grace took a seat next to her, stroking her adopted daughter's short black hair. "You okay, hun?" she asked.
"No," stated Becky simply.
"Want to tell me what's going on?"
Becky looked as if she were going to say no again, but at the last second, confided, "McKenna and Rachel were making fun of me again. They said my family is messed up and that you should be dead. I hate it when they say that."
Truthfully, Grace could understand where the teasing girls were coming from - with a mother with a horribly disfigured face, a police officer father, and a sister who is a little too quirky for some people's taste, some people might think the Rigsby family a little strange. And, technically, Grace should be dead. But still, Grace knew that Becky was extremely protective over her adoptive family, even Ri Ri, though she was hard-pressed to admit it. Grace liked to think Becky got this trait from Lisbon, even though the two were completely unrelated and had never met (and never would meet).
Grace wrapped her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Don't pay attention to them."
"I know, I know," Becky said, "It just makes me so angry sometimes. What even happened to you and Aunt Teresa and Uncle Patrick and Uncle Kimball?"
Grace tensed. "I'll tell you, when you're"
"Older? Aren't I old enough now? Mom, I'm almost twelve years old."
Grace had to smile. "I know."
"Come on, Mom. I need to be able to tell them - to tell them that you were doing something good when you got...hurt. Nobody believes that it's just a birthmark, Mom." Becky knew that her mother had been in an accident, but that was all. She'd guessed Aunt Teresa and Uncle Patrick were dead, nobody needed to confirm that, and she sensed Grace knew she knew.
Grace was silent for a moment, running her finger down her face softly. She took a deep breath, turning so that she and her daughter were facing each other. She took both of Becky's hands.
"You're right, Becky. You should know."
"Yes, Mom. Yes I should."
Grace decided to start from the beginning.
"Becky, there once was a man who people knew as the notorious Red John..."