When I got back to the hospital, a deputy stood outside Mom’s room. I walked past him with the hollow Bible under my arm.
Mom saw it and went white.
“Hayden.”
“Tell me she’s dead.”
Her eyes filled. “Please don’t say that.”
“Tell me she’s dead, Mom.”
Mom saw it and went white.
“No,” she whispered.
I gripped the bed rail. “She’s alive?”
Mom covered her face. “I had to protect her.”
“And yourself,” I said.
Her eyes flicked toward the door. “From your father.”
I threw the Bible onto her blanket. The photo slid out.
“Who is he?”
“She’s alive?”
Mom stared at the boy’s face.
“That’s your brother.”
“Dad has another kid?”
She nodded. “Before you and Hannah.”
“And Hannah found out?”
“At the retreat.”
“So she didn’t disappear from the trail.”
“That’s your brother.”
“No.”
I stepped closer. “Tell me what happened.”
Mom wiped her cheeks. “Hannah saw him near the lodge. She thought he was you. Later, she overheard Dad and the elder arguing near the parking lot. He was the man who oversaw the church benevolence fund with him.”
“The elder knew?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Dad chaired the benevolence committee,” Mom whispered. “The elder approved vague emergency-aid requests. I signed the checks because I was treasurer.”
I held up the church envelope. “This?”
Mom nodded.
“Why hide Hannah?”
“Because she wanted to tell you. She wanted to tell everyone.”
Mom nodded.
“Good.”
“Your father was already saying she was confused. Reckless. Too young to understand what she’d heard.”
“She was 16.”
I stepped back. “You remembered that for her.”
“Hayden, please.”
“You saved Hannah by letting me drown.”
Her face collapsed. “I thought I was choosing the child in danger.”
“You remembered that for her.”
“No,” I said. “You were scared she would expose you too.”
Mom didn’t deny it.
That hurt worse than a confession.
“You had two children.”
Mom cried quietly. “Every morning, I told myself I’d tell you. Every night, I looked at you and knew I’d stolen one more day.”
“You were scared she would expose you too.”
I held up the address. “I found this.”
“She isn’t there anymore.”
“Then where?”
Mom didn’t answer.
So I turned to the deputy. “I want to give a statement.”
Mom sat up. “No.”
I looked back at her. “You don’t get to protect me from the truth after using grief as a babysitter.”
“She isn’t there anymore.”
I didn’t go to the address alone.
I sent the deputy a photo of the address before Rose drove me there. She had followed us to the hospital and refused to leave. She was overbearing, but I knew she loved my sister.
Rose drove in silence until she said, “Your mother looked terrified that weekend. Not guilty, son.”
“Those look the same when you’re the kid she lied to.”
“Your mother looked terrified that weekend.”
The address led to a small blue house. A teenage boy was mowing the lawn. When he looked up, my breath caught.
Same eyes. Same jaw.
An older woman stepped onto the porch. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Hayden,” I said.
Her eyes moved over my face, then to the boy.
“You must be his son.”
“Can I help you?”
“Eli’s mother stayed quiet because that money was his only support,” she said.
I held up the folded address. “I’m looking for Hannah.”
The woman’s shoulders dropped. “She stayed here for two weeks after the retreat.”
Rose touched my arm. “Breathe, Hayden.”
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“With your Aunt Marlene and Uncle David.”
The woman went inside and returned with an envelope.
“She left this for you. Your mother told us not to mail it.”
“Breathe, Hayden.”
My name was written across the front.
Not Hayden. Hay.
Only Hannah called me that.
I opened it on the porch.
“Hay, I begged Mom to tell you. I tried sending one message, but Mom caught it and said Dad would trace me through you.
I hated her for that.
Then I hated myself because I was safe and you were home grieving me. I never left you on purpose.”
Only Hannah called me that.
The boy stood by the mower, staring at me.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Eli.”
His voice shook like mine.
I nodded. “None of this is your fault.”
I wished someone had said that to me a year ago.
“What’s your name?”
Aunt Marlene opened the door before I knocked. Uncle David stood behind her.
“Hannah?” I called.
A mug shattered in the kitchen.
I turned.
She stood by the sink with soap on her wrists. Her hair was shorter.
But it was her.
“Hayden?” she said.
“Hannah?”
My name sounded trapped in her mouth.
I wanted to hug her and yell at the same time.
Instead, I looked at her ankle.
“Still can’t hike right?”
She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
Then I crossed the kitchen.
She hit me so hard my arm twinged.
My name sounded trapped in her mouth.
“I wanted to come home every day,” she cried.