Melissa had recognized her brother before he even spoke. She was always surprised that people couldn't tell Garthe and Michael apart. To her, they looked nothing alike.
Despite what Uncle Devon and Michael had told her, she had known Garthe wasn't dead. She still froze when she saw him, unsure what to do. Running was out the question. Not with her bad hip. Maybe she could get inside and call Uncle Devon?
"Time to go. Though I'm sure you'd like to stay, I can tell you're not up for it."
Nancy's mother chimed in, "Yes, sweetie, you do look a little peaked.
Melissa couldn't say anything. It was like there was a fog between her and the world. She let Garthe walk her to a car. Nancy's mother chattered the whole time about how nice it was of Garthe to take such good care of his sister. But then, Melissa had meet Nancy in high school, well after Garthe's incarceration in that overseas prison. So Nancy and her family knew nothing about Garthe.
Garthe removed her leg brace, which he tossed in the back seat of the car with her crutch and bag of clothes. He then helped her into the front passenger seat. Though 'manhandled' would be a more accurate description.
"Say 'goodbye,' little sister. Remember your manners."
"Oh, that's okay, Garthe. The poor thing is clearly exhausted," said Nancy's mother.
Garthe got behind the wheel and they drove off in silence. Which gave Melissa time to think of all the things she should have done to get away. But at least she didn't have to talk with Garthe. She hadn't seen him in years. She hadn't missed him, either. So, of course, that was his first question.
"Did you miss me, little sister?"
"I didn't believe you were dead."
Talking with Garthe was always problematic. You never knew what would offend him and what he would let go. And after so long, she was a bit rusty when it came to reading him. However, she did remember that statements of fact were usually safe while contradicting Garthe never was.
"Were you surprised to see me? Or disappointed?"
"I was expecting Uncle Devon."
"Ah, yes. Mr. Miles. Ever the faithful lackey. And still doing Father's bidding, even after the old man's death."
Melissa knew Garthe despised Uncle Devon, considered him a mere underling. It was the reason Garthe called him 'Mr. Miles,' as if he was just another employee rather than a close family friend.
"Uncle Devon was supposed to pick me up at eleven." Melissa knew she was walking through a minefield. If she said nothing, Garthe would likely be angry that she was withholding information. But if he thought she was threatening him, that would be so much worse. She tried to keep her words – and her tone – neutral. "I just thought I should –"
"Warn me?"
"Make sure you knew when Uncle Devon would learn I am with you."
"It doesn't matter. Mr. Miles is . . . no longer of concern." Garthe laughed unpleasantly.
"What do you mean?"
"He won't be able to help you. Not anymore."
"Garthe, what do you mean that Uncle Miles –"
"Why do you call him that? He isn't family."
"He's my godfather. And yours."
"A meaningless gesture by our Father. One that's even more meaningless now."
"Did you hurt Uncle Devon?"
"I have hurt Mr. Miles worse than he was ever hurt in his life."
"Please," whispered Melissa. "You didn't . . . kill him, did you?"
Garthe laughed again. "I should have put a gun to the back of his head the last time I saw him."
