Page 7 of Weight of Guilt

“I woke up in the woods.” He wiped his face with his wrist. “It was still dark. I walked until I hit the gravel, and then I knew where to turn. I don’t know how I knew. I just did.”

Marlowe made a small sound.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Nora asked. “Before the road.”

He was quiet a long moment. “The party. The lights on the porch.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Wren whispered, her throat burning as the words left her lips.

He stepped closer and began to stumble before catching himself. No one moved toward him.

Not yet. It still felt too risky.

Hope was risky. So was helping a stranger.

Wren didn’t know when it happened. But she and her sisters were all suddenly clinging to each other, Wren in the middle.

As Wren stood there, she got an even better look at him. He didn’t look like the boy from her memories. That boy had been all innocence and gap-toothed grins and obsession with insects.

But something about the shape of this man-boy’s face, about the set of his eyes, snagged something familiar in her thoughts.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I . . . I don’t know what you want. But I know you’re my sisters. Nora, Wren, and Marlowe.”

“Anyone could have found out our names online,” Marlowe muttered, her voice strained.

Bo planted himself between the porch steps and the man-boy, clearly standing guard.

The stranger flinched, and Wren almost pulled Bo away. But she didn’t. Not yet.

She couldn’t until she knew more. Until she knew if she could trust this man-boy. Bo was just protecting them right now. It was one of the few noble things the stubborn goofball had ever done.

“You have to understand where we’re coming from.” Nora kept the professional calm in her voice, but she’d braced herself against the porch railing. “Anyone could have heard our story on the news. It was covered on a national level. Dateline. 20/20. A true crime podcast just had an episode on Christian’s disappearance.”

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t—” He stopped and ran a hand over his face. “I don’t even know how I’m standing here right now. I wouldn’t believe me either.”

Wren wanted to believe him. She really did. But how could she?

What if this man was a fraud? Someone who got his kicks out of doing stuff like this? Out of messing with people’s emotions?

It sounded sick, but sick people were out there.

How was she supposed to manage this situation?

“Prove you’re our brother.” Wren’s voice cracked. “Tell us something only Christian would know.”

The stranger’s attention shifted to the porch. A moment later, his expression morphed into something solid, and he nodded as if remembering something.

“You three—the Loveless Sisters—used to sing out here on the porch.” He stopped, started again, the sentence needing a run-up. “All three of you.”

“I want to believe you.” Marlowe’s voice wavered, her face now pale. “But anyone could guess that.”

His eyes traveled back and forth as if trying to recall a memory. “I remember one time in particular. You were all wearing yellow dresses. Mom stood at the bottom of the steps and told you to show your teeth more when you smiled.”

Wren’s breath caught. Her mom had always told them that, to the point where it had become a running joke.

“She’d . . . she would stop you if the harmony went flat.” The man-boy’s eyes were fixed on some point past the porch rail as if he’d been transported to a different time and place. “She made everyone start over. She would never say who’d gone off-key. It was like she didn’t want to single out any of you.”

Wren’s stomach turned. Everyone had known who was flat. Marlowe. She’d hated having to sing and perform, but her parents hadn’t given her any other options. Her mom had known if she pushed too hard that Marlowe would simply make life difficult for all of them.