She didn’t know whether or not he’d been waiting for the acknowledgment of who he was, of who his father was. Of how his father had consumed hers. But she couldn’t stand to pretend that she didn’t know. She couldn’t let him think he was getting away with something. “He doesn’t know I’m here,” Duvall said easily. “Doesn’t know I’m not twelve years old, these days. Alzheimer’s.” “Rough,” Vera snapped. “What a loss.”
