Page 13 of Weight of Guilt

Christian stared at her from the kitchen table. “Who was he?”

“Just a neighbor,” she explained.

Christian seemed to measure her words before beginning to eat again.

He was eating like he hadn’t eaten in days—which might genuinely be true. Nora had put together a ham sandwich, chips, and some yogurt. Christian had gone through half of it before any of them had said a word, shoveling each bite into his mouth.

They hadn’t asked him questions. Not yet.

Marlowe watched him from across the table, the same cautious, held-back hope on her face that Wren suspected was on her own.

Wren couldn’t stop looking at him.

She kept trying to overlay the seven-year-old she remembered with this one. His jaw was wrong—too heavy and square—but faces did that. His hairline was right. So were his ears. When he reached for the water, his hand moved the way Christian’s used to, quick and a little clumsy, like he expected to knock something over.

It fit.

Then he turned his head, and it didn’t.

His sleeve had ridden up when he picked up the sandwich, and she saw the scar on his forearm. It was pale, thin, and right where it should be.

Except she couldn’t be certain it was right where it should be. She’d looked at that scar a thousand times when she was younger, and she’d never once thought she’d need to remember exactly where it sat.

Nora set a glass of water in front of Christian. “We need to talk about Mom and Dad—about if we should tell them about this . . . this . . . turn of events.”

Christian went still. “They should know. Why wouldn’t you tell them? Don’t they want to see me? Where are they even? Why aren’t they here?”

Nora and Wren traded a look.

“It’s not that simple,” Nora finally said. “Mom’s—she’s not been well, Christian. Not since you disappeared.”

“What does that mean?” His expression took on that of a little boy—all worry and devastating concern. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She has her own place in town now, and some days are better than others,” Nora said. “This is going to be a lot for her. And Dad’s got his own life two hours from here. He hasn’t been a part of our lives in years. I don’t know how to even start that conversation, let alone what he does once he’s in it.”

“I need to see them.” For the first time since Christian had walked out of the woods, his voice carried something that didn’t sound fragile. “Both of them. Please.”

Chapter

Six

Wren didn’t know what to say.

“Maybe he should go to the hospital first.” Marlowe’s eyes moved over Christian, soaking in all the details. “Just to be checked out. Make sure he’s actually okay.”

“No.” The word came out fast, sharper than anything he’d said since he sat down at the table. “No hospitals. Not today. Please.”

“Christian—” Nora started.

“I’m fine! I just want to be here. With you.” He looked between the three of them, pleading to them with his gaze. “Please don’t make me go somewhere else today.”

No one said anything for a moment.

“You’re a nurse.” Marlowe looked at Nora. “Can’t you just check him? At least enough to know if he actually needs a hospital or if he can wait until tomorrow.”

Nora hesitated, some kind of professional calculation moving behind her eyes. Then she nodded slowly. “I can do a basic assessment. It’s not the same as an ER workup, but it’ll tell us if there’s anything urgent.”

She disappeared into the downstairs bathroom and came back with the small first-aid kit plus a penlight from the junk drawer.