I didn’t know what to say. I reached across the table and took his cold hand.
Then someone knocked on the front door.
Wyatt jerked so hard his chair scraped the floor.
“Wy?” Ezra’s voice, muffled through the wood. “Wy, I know you’re in there. Your car’s outside. Please. Just let me explain.”
My son looked at me with pure panic.
“Don’t open it,” he whispered. “Mom, please. Don’t open it.”
CHAPTER 3: THE HOUSE ON JUNIPER LANE
I didn’t open it.
I stood with my hand flat against the door and spoke through it.
“Ezra, honey, he doesn’t want to talk right now.”
A long silence. Then, quieter: “Is he okay?”
“No,” I said. “He isn’t.”
I heard him lean against the door. Heard his breathing, which sounded oddly short, like he’d run all the way from the apartment.
“Tell him I’m sorry, Mrs. Brennan. Tell him I never wanted him to find out like this.”
