He nodded. “Cal. But then Camden was born. And he was beautiful. Loud and demanding and full of life. Always looking around, even as a newborn. And Lillian… She…became so unhappy. Cried all the time. Wouldn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. Of any of us. And I knew that Cam was the balance. He was the cost of the happiness Xander brought.”

A weight settled on my chest as my stomach hit the ground. “Depression,” I whispered so softly that I knew he couldn’t have heard me.

“She just disappeared into herself, and Cam screamed his head off. Took forever for her to come back to me, and when she did, and Sullivan was born…” He paused, narrowing his eyes again at a ventilation shaft before shaking his head and continuing to trace the 1880 tunnel. “When Sullivan was born, I knew that the balance had been tipped again. That we’d have to pay. You can’t have that much good in your life and not pay for it. That’s not how it works. Everything has a price, Hope; you know that. You’ve seen it, too.”

I blinked rapidly. He thought I was my mother.

“And Lillian saw it, too. The balance. The way Cam just…” He shook his head. “That’s why she loved him more than the others. Felt like she had to make it up to him.”

“She tried to make up for you not loving him,” I argued.

“Too much bad in that boy. Too much violence.”

“He wasn’t.” I pleaded for his understanding in a hushed whisper. “Not as a kid. I was there.”

“Then the balance righted itself. Took Lillian right out of my hands. But I still had those two good boys.” A tear slipped down his cheek, and guilt racked me with nausea. What kind of monster was I to bully a sick man? “So Cam took Sullivan.”

The guilt vanished.

“No,” I said firmly enough that he looked over at me. “Cam loved Sullivan. He protected him. He would never have hurt him. It wasn’t his fault. Cam. Loved. Sullivan.”

He tilted his head. “I never said he didn’t. Too much love can kill someone just as easily as too little.” He turned his attention back to the map.

“He was just a kid. Just a little boy. He wasn’t bad. He still isn’t.”

Art followed another ventilation shaft until it bottomed out, then traced it back to another section. I reached across the table and stilled his hand.

“He isn’t bad. He isn’t some kind of universal weight to balance out your blessings, Art. He is the blessing. He’s kind, and loyal, and protective, and smart. And he wears unicorn shirts for little girls, and rescues bigger ones from snowbanks, and takes on the only brother he has left so you can have what you want.”