Free Shades of Avalon by Carol Oates Page A

said earlier, he was staying up north and wouldn’t take my calls. I found out he’d taken up sword training again—”
    “Sword training?” I cut in before she could continue.
    “Your eyes got huge just then.” She dropped her hand, and I made an effort to control my surprised expression.
    “I don’t like swords much. What’s with all the old world weapons? Are the British expecting an invasion?”
    “Old family tradition. So, your turn,” Emma said matter-of-factly.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Isn’t that what we’re doing here? You show me yours, and I show you mine.”
    I did a double take and snorted a laugh at this pocket-sized girl’s audacity. Her expression of innocence didn’t even flinch. As much as I hated the idea, I accepted she would eventually learn the whole truth now that John’s memories had been restored. He’d already said too much in front of her—not to mention my woeful choice of words—and now she wouldn’t give up. First, I needed some answers.
    “How old are you, Emma?”
    “I’m almost seventeen.” She hesitated a moment. “I’m guessing not much younger than you.”
    “I’m almost twenty,” I said and laughed because the “almost” seemed crucial all of a sudden, like a kid adding the half year onto their age.
    “And you’re married, right? That girl—Amanda.”
    I nodded. Her mouth wrinkled up and distorted off to the side as she considered the information. What made perfect sense to Amanda and me didn’t necessarily appear rational to others. We saw no point in waiting to marry.
    The area was mostly residential, many of the houses similar to John’s. By the number of doorbells and intercoms, I presumed a number of them were divided into apartments.
    “Your brother has quite the stuffed wallet.” It was more an observational prompt than a question.
    “It was our parents’ money, and it’ll be mine too, or it will be at eighteen. Johnny had a—” she hummed and sighed, groping for the correct word “—difficult relationship with our dad. When our folks died—”
    “A car accident,” I interjected.
    Her head gave a quick bob in affirmation.
    “Ours too,” I said, although it wasn’t an accident. It was an assassination. Emma didn’t need to know that. She needed to trust me and believe we had common ground.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered sadly.
    “Me too…for your parents, I mean.”
    “Anyway,” she continued, “John wanted to do things his own way. He’s smart, really smart, but he didn’t want to be one of those guys who fell back on Daddy’s money. He wanted to prove something to himself. Once he did that, he got over his aversion to family money.”
    “Why would he keep the extent of his wealth a secret?”
    “He must have had a reason.”
    I scraped my fingers across my scalp, wondering what it might be.
    We had reached the park, and I followed Emma in relative silence through a shaded walkway past sports fields and budding flower beds. A building with arched walls housed a gallery and coffee shop where staff were closing up for the day. Along the promenade, I studied the colorful murals depicting the area in Victorian times. There was a deep sense of history in the area. Triona must have loved London in her time here. Our parents had met in this city when they were teenagers. It bothered me I had no idea where. Maybe it happened in this park.
    Eventually flowerbeds and brick gave way to denser wooded areas speckled with small areas of grass and hidden patches of flowers just waiting for a hint of spring to burst into color. Here and there, some had grown tired of waiting, and flashes of purple, white, and yellow peeped through the green.
    I sent a text to Amanda, telling her Emma was with me and we’d be back soon. I didn’t want her to worry.
    “The park will be closing soon,” Emma said once I put my phone away.
    “And you want answers too?”
    Emma sucked in a deep breath and released a nervous chuckle. She ran a finger under