“Did she say why?” I ask.

“Something about it being the only way to make sure a secret was kept; to protect everyone involved. Then she printed out a new page and put it in the empty folder.”

“You promised not to tell anyone,” I say carefully.

“ ’Course not. I never would’ve told a soul. Don’t know if it was me knowing ’bout it or her doing it and feeling guilty that led to her resignation. Shame. Those kids were lucky to have her in their corner.”

“It was my file Heidi destroyed. That doesn’t feel lucky for me.”

“Do you know what was in it?” Thomas asks.

Max shakes his head then meets my gaze. “But if Heidi got rid of it, then you’re better off. That woman would never intentionally hurt a child.”

“ ‘You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.’ Do you remember telling me that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m trying to do that. Tell me what you know about me. Please.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Thomas

“No one wanted you,” Max says.

Sylvie almost hides her flinch. “Why not?”

“Found Heidi crying one day on the back steps of this building. She’d tried to place you in a foster care home. Don’t know why it was so hard. Kids under the age of five were always pretty easy to place. She said you desperately needed a mom and dad, even the temporary kind. Honestly, I thought she might finally be ready to say yes to my proposal. I would’ve taken you in.”

Sylvie grimaces. “But she wasn’t, so you didn’t.”

Max finishes his cancer stick, lights another. “I peripherally knew a guy, president of Rotary at the time. There was a young family who’d recently joined. He thought they might do the trick, just for a bit.” Max coughs, the sound phlegmy and rough.

“What’s their name?” I ask.

“Horsley. Scott and her name was Fay or Faith, I think. They may or may not still live in Portland. That’s all I know.”

Sylvie tugs her ear, hesitates, then says, “You should get a physical. Have them check your pancreas.”

Max chuffs, “Too late. My pancreas and lungs are hosed.” He drops his butt, grinds it beneath the heel of a scuffed boot, and heads back inside the building.

The driving rain eases a bit as we walk back to the hotel. At the corner, Sylvie says, “What you started, back there with Max? If the writing thing doesn’t work out, you could have a promising career as a mentalist. A lot of what they do is intuition.”

We leap a puddle, cross the street. “I almost lost him.”

“You got excited, went too fast.”

A steady stream of cars clogs the street. We wait for a light to change. A cold gust ruffles Sylvie’s hair and a lock falls free. I sweep it from her forehead. My fingers remain and it takes real effort to pull them back. The light changes and we cross the street. I ask, “How’d you intuit that Max is sick?”