So many things I want to tell my son. That I love him. That I still believe in him. I’m not in denial. I’ve seen the darkness in his eyes. But I’ve seen the light, too. I’ve seen all the moments that Evan got to be Evan, and I wouldn’t have missed those moments for anything.

Something occurs to me. I turn my head to peer at my husband. “You said I was lucky the EMTs got me to the hospital in time. But how did they know? Who called them?”

Michael sticks his hands in his pockets. “Evan,” he says at last. “He dialed nine-one-one, told the operator he’d stabbed his mother. He said you were bleeding and needed help.”

“He tried to save me.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The operator asked him what happened. You know what he said?”

I shook my head, bewildered.

“He said the Devil made him do it. And he said the ambulance had better come quick, because the Devil wasn’t finished yet.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

DANIELLE

When Aunt Helen opened the door, first thing I noticed was her red-rimmed eyes. She tried to hide her tears. Brushed at her cheeks, ran her fingers through her short brown hair. Her cheeks remained wet, her face blotchy. She noticed that I noticed and, for both our sakes, gave up on pretense. She gestured for me to come in.

She’d moved out of her downtown condo years ago. Now she had a newer townhouse just outside the city limits. Lower maintenance as she approached the downsizing phase of life. She’d retired from her corporate-lawyer gig years ago. Instead, she worked thirty hours a week for a nonprofit that specialized in promoting better rights, funding, and legislation for abused and at-risk kids. She liked the work, she said, precisely because it was a one-eighty from her previous career. She’d gone from protecting the fat cats to fighting for children’s rights.

You’d think this would give us more in common, easy conversation for the few nights a month we shared dinner. Instead, neither of us ever talked about work. Maybe we had those kinds of jobs; you had to leave them at the office, or you’d go nuts.

“Coffee?” she asked, leading me into the small but expensively appointed kitchen.

“Whiskey,” I replied.

Sadly, she thought I was joking. She poured us both glasses of water. I didn’t think that was strong enough for what I needed to do next.

She carried the glasses to another small but beautifully decorated room. The sitting area featured gleaming hardwood floors, a white-painted fireplace mantel, and a vaulted ceiling. Off the family room was a screened-in porch that overlooked a stretch of wetlands. Earlier in the summer, we’d sat on that porch and watched for herons. This late in August, however, it was too hot and sticky.