“I can’t imagine how he processed the fact that his own mother left him behind. What a terrible thing to do to a child.”

“Yeah, and he heard her say it, too. He felt like shit the night I got injured, blamed himself. So, he went to see how I was doing, and he heard my parents going at it. My mom basically threatened my dad, saying if he didn’t send Will to boarding school, she’d leave. My dad said there was nothing wrong with him. He was a normal boy, and that maybe she should try being a better mom. The next day, she packed up me and brothers and took off.”

“How long did you live in New York?”

“We were gone a year.” A year, where it was just Will and his dad. “My brother was eleven.” Gazing out at his beloved mountain, the sun setting on its peaks, Brodie tapped the knife again. “I was her favorite.”

“It was that obvious?”

“Oh, no. She told me.” He shook his head. “All the time. She’d given up on Will, so I was next in line to control my brothers. She used my injury as a way to manipulate me.”

“How did she do it…like, what would she say?”

“She’d tell me, if I stayed with my dad, I’d never walk right again. That she was the only one who cared enough to make sure I got the right care, that she loved me the most because I was the most intelligent, the most well-behaved, and that if I’d just keep my brothers from acting out, she could come home and we’d be a family.”

“No offense, but she sounds horrible.”

“No offense taken. Like I said, we don’t really have much to do with her. It all fell to shit, though, when my brothers and I wanted to play hockey on the iced-over pond in Central Park. Crashed right through.” He smiled at the recollection. They were completely fine, but paramedics had taken them to the hospital, and their mom had come stomping in, pissed as hell. “She sent us home after that.” Here was the tricky part. He never talked about this time in his life, but somehow…he couldn’t stop the flow of words. “I assumed we were all going home—including her—but she wasn’t packing. And, every time I asked about it, she’d say she was busy, that she had a project to finish up. Which, if you know my mom, is horseshit. The only project I ever saw her work on was making sure she was on the list for the latest ‘it’ handbag. Finally, when it came time to get on the plane, I said I wouldn’t go unless she came with us, and she swore she’d come as soon as she closed up the apartment. Of course, she didn’t, so I kept pestering her.”