Page 150 of Weight of Guilt

Wren glanced back at Nash. “Give me a minute?”

Nash followed her gaze. “Take your time.”

He moved down to the far end of the porch, and Tank went with him.

Wren met her brother at the bottom of her own steps. From here she could still see the crack of light where the cabin door sat open.

“You’re still awake,” she said.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Christian had an unopened Coke can in one hand. “Is Mason in there?”

“He’s in my bed. Out cold.”

Christian nodded slowly.

She waited for him to ask if Mason was all right. Everyone had asked that tonight. Her mother had asked four times.

Instead, Christian sat down on the steps. “How’d you find him?”

“A picture Jacob sent Nora. It had the location built into it somehow. Nash figured it out.”

“So the man who took Mason made a mistake.”

“I guess he did.”

Christian stared at the can in his hands. “Was Mason by himself in the house?”

Her throat tightened. “He was.”

“In a room?”

“A closet.”

Something moved through Christian’s face and settled. He stared at the can. “Did they leave the light on?”

Her throat tightened even more—until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She thought about that hallway and the third door at the end of it and her son curled in the corner with his knees against his chest.

“No.”

Christian nodded again, but there was nothing in the motion she could read.

“He was probably in there six or seven hours,” she said.

“That’s not very long.”

The words sat between them in the dark.

He must have heard himself because he looked up fast. “I didn’t mean⁠—”

“I know.”

“It’s good.” His voice came out rough. “That it wasn’t long. That’s what I meant.”

“I know it is.”

Somewhere past the barn, the cicadas started up again.

“Everybody went looking for him,” Christian said. “The whole town went looking for him.”