Chapter 53 Buried Truths
"What do you mean by that?" Flynn's face turned bright red, as if someone had thrown hot water on him.
"You think I came here for money?" Flynn attempted to explain, visibly agitated.
Alison shook her head. "This is for Uncle Gregory. Please give it to him for me."
Flynn's words caught in his throat as Alison continued. "Mom died in prison without a funeral. After you cut ties with her, she considered herself an orphan. But before dying, she insisted on contacting you because she knew you were ashamed of her. She wanted you to hate her forever, to never forget her, and to be completely powerless against her memory."
She delivered Ava's final message before explaining about the money. "The prison guard contacted Uncle Gregory, who said your family couldn't take me in. He gave me ten thousand dollars and told me not to call you again."
Flynn was stunned.
He hadn't known about this, but finally understood why Gregory had been so evasive when Flynn asked why he hadn't taken Alison in back then.
"The year your mother died, your grandmother also passed away, and I fell ill. Things were difficult at home, and your uncle..." Flynn instinctively defended Gregory.
But he knew the truth better than anyone. While that year had been emotionally challenging, they had been financially stable. His eldest daughter had married well, and Gregory had a respectable job. Taking in another child wouldn't have been difficult.
Alison acknowledged his explanation with a soft sound, seemingly accepting it, but Flynn felt she knew the real truth.
He opened his mouth to say something more but couldn't find the words. Sunlight illuminated his deeply lined face, making him look particularly old.
Oliver and Taylor hadn't expected to hear such personal revelations. Oliver, who knew more of the background than Taylor, felt particularly conflicted.
"This card contains fifty thousand dollars. Ten thousand is what I agreed to repay Uncle Gregory—money I considered borrowed. The other forty thousand is support money for you," Alison pushed the card toward Flynn. "Please take it. I want to fulfill the obligations my mother couldn't."
Flynn didn't want to accept it, but Alison had mentioned Ava.
He had brought Ava into the world and raised her for many years, yet never enjoyed any filial care from her.
His cotton shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his hunched back. Flynn looked at the family photo on the table, then at Alison, suddenly realizing Alison didn't resemble Ava as much as he'd thought.
"You're a teacher now? What subject?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"History," Alison replied.
"Your mother was actually good at history in school," Flynn said, brightening slightly as he continued asking about her. "Do you live at the school? Or have your own place?"
"I rent an apartment," Alison answered.
"Is your salary enough to live on? Are you dating anyone?" Flynn inquired.
"It's enough, with some left over. No dating—I'm focused on my career."
Flynn glanced discreetly at Oliver. "You're not getting any younger. You could date someone, get to know them for a few years, then marry and have a child. You're not like your mother—you could definitely live a stable, smooth life."
"I have no right to lecture you," Flynn blinked hard, pointing to the burlap sack on the floor. "I brought you some potatoes I grew myself."
Alison realized how difficult it must have been for him to carry them all this way. She bent down and pulled the sack toward her, untied the string, and carefully examined two potatoes. "They look good. I'll cook them."
"Good, good," Flynn struggled to speak. "Could you tell me about your mother? Who was your father? Why did she go to prison?"
Frowning, Oliver remembered Bradley's story and tried to prevent Alison from talking further with Flynn.
Taylor felt this involved Alison's privacy and thought he and Oliver should find an excuse to step away.
But Alison gave them no chance to speak, summarizing her mother's story in a few sentences, as if reciting a textbook biography of a historical figure.
Her and Lucy's father had been a teacher—honest, gentle, and somewhat romantic despite his frail health. Alison's memories of him had faded, but Lucy would remember more.
As for her mother, during the year Alison lived with Ava, she repeatedly told Alison about her experiences. Even after all these years, Alison could recite them perfectly.
She omitted most details, including how Ava had later tried to take Alison with her in death. After finishing, she drank her entire glass of water in one go.
Oliver silently ordered another glass of warm water for her.
Flynn didn't speak for several minutes, his shoulders slumping. "And what about... your sister? I heard Ava had two children. She's called..."
Alison stopped him from continuing. "She was adopted early on. I have no contact with her."
Flynn wanted to say more, but Alison shook her head. "It's getting late. I need to get back to school."
Oliver crossed his arms, understanding clearly—Lucy was Alison's sister. No wonder Alison had been so dedicated to the investigation.
Flynn invited Alison to visit him, and she didn't refuse outright. After Flynn left, she said goodbye to Oliver and Taylor.
Taylor believed Alison needed time alone and thoughtfully packed two small cakes for her, preparing to leave.
However, Oliver took the car keys from his hand.
"Mr. West? Aren't you coming?" Taylor gave him a meaningful look.
"Take a taxi back," Oliver told Taylor, then asked Alison. "Hospital or home?"
Alison widened her eyes in surprise, thinking she had hidden it well. "It's just a minor cold."
"Minor cold?" Oliver nearly scoffed. He'd noticed it as soon as she arrived—eyes more watery than usual and cheeks flushed with fever, looking deceptively attractive.
Taylor suddenly realized that what he'd mistaken for poorly applied makeup was actually fever!
"How long have you been sick?" Oliver demanded.
"Since Monday, until today," Alison lowered her head, clutching her purse straps. "I don't want to go to the hospital."
"Home it is, then," Oliver decided for her.
Alison messaged Steve to request sick leave, while Taylor reclaimed the car keys, eagerly offering to help buy medicine and food so Oliver could stay with Alison.
Oliver agreed they needed someone to run errands and kept Taylor on.
Shortly after getting into the car, Alison fell into a deep sleep. Beyond her cold and fever, sleep deprivation had been the real destroyer of her health.
Alison slept until midnight, waking to a dark room filled with starlight.
The bedroom was dimly lit, the door ajar with warm yellow light filtering through from the living room.
A glass of water and medicine tablets sat on the nightstand. Barefoot, Alison got out of bed and opened the door, smelling the aroma of oatmeal porridge from the kitchen.
The living room was quiet. Oliver lay half-reclined on the sofa, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even, his long legs curled somewhat awkwardly.
One hand rested on his stomach, the other hanging to the floor beside a half-read case file.
Alison walked over, picked up the file and gently placed it on the table, then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa, staring vacantly at Oliver.
Oliver opened his eyes, his gaze clear—he hadn't been asleep after all.