“My brother is here to take you to his house. Whenever you’re ready. It’s probably best if you get some rest. I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can talk some more. This will give you time to figure out what questions you may have for your dad. I know you’ve had a lot to process.”

I collapse back in the chair, unsure how I’ll make it to the parking lot. Every time a new thought forms in my head, it gets shoved away by another one. Now there’s only one thought, one word, that keeps repeating in my head.

“I already know what I want to say to him,” I announce in a voice that sounds steady for the first time in hours.

“What’s that?” Sheriff Gleason bends down so he’s close to me.

“Why?”

After a few beats, Sheriff Gleason realizes I’m not going to say anything else. “Why …?”

“Just why? That’s all I want to know. Why?”

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter

THIRTEEN

“You can stay as long as you like,” Marian’s mom, Janet, says as we enter their quiet house.

“And let us know if you need anything at all,” Dennis replies. He places a cautious hand on my shoulder as if I’m breakable.

I blink in my surroundings. I’m not really sure how I got here. There are snippets of the car ride over. But if I had to recall any specific moment, I’d fail.

“We made up Susan’s room for you, unless you’d prefer to sleep in Marian’s,” Janet offers.

Usually when I stay over, Marian and I both sleep on the floor of her bedroom in sleeping bags. Even after Marian’s older sister went away to college, we kept up our tradition. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. A night on the floor whispering secrets to each other would be a welcome comfort, but not a good long-term solution.

Dennis and Janet exchange looks since I haven’t spoken in … I don’t know how long.

“You don’t have to decide now. No rush.”

My reply is to stare blankly back at them and then look around. Even with Susan gone, their house is rarely this quiet. Whenever I come over, Marian usually bounds down the stairs to greet me, but it’s only her parents and me in their kitchen. The yellow walls and pristine white cabinets always made this room cheerful and bright. It’s hurting my eyes now.

“Do you want something to eat? Or drink?” Janet opens the stainless steel refrigerator, which is covered with photos and invitations. “I have some leftover lasagna that always tastes better the next day. Or I can make you a sandwich.”

The thought of food makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t imagine ever having an appetite again.