Chương 8
Because she was tired of hearing the same answer from different people.
“You really have only one sentence, don’t you?”
Ethan looked away.
“That’s fair.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She picked up the folder.
“It’s convenient.”
The accusation stayed between them.
Ethan did not fight it.
“I understand why you think that.”
“You don’t understand anything about me.”
“No.”
He looked at the key in the bag.
“But I understand Daniel.”
Mara hated how quickly that angered her.
Nobody had the right to say that.
Not a stranger.
Not someone who had known a hidden version of her brother while she had been searching through the official one.
“You didn’t know him.”
Ethan nodded.
“Not like you did.”
“Then stop talking like you did.”
“I’m not.”
His voice stayed calm, but there was something underneath it.
Regret.
“He trusted you.”
Mara looked at him.
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
Ethan had no answer.
That was the first answer that felt real.
They left the coffee shop separately.
Mara insisted on it.
She did not want anyone watching them to see they were connected.
She did not know if anyone was watching.
That was the problem.
Three years ago, she would have called herself paranoid for thinking that way.
Daniel would have called it paying attention.
The argument had annoyed her when he was alive.
Now she missed hearing it.
She walked four blocks before realizing she had passed her car.
She stopped beside a closed bookstore and stared through the window at rows of old novels arranged behind the glass.
The store had a handwritten sign saying it was closed for inventory.
A man inside moved books from one shelf to another without looking outside.
Mara stood there longer than she meant to.
Her phone remained silent.
Part of her wanted it to ring again.
Part of her wanted to throw it into the street.
She hated that both feelings could exist at the same time.
When she finally reached her car, she did not get inside.
She checked the back seat first.
Then the floor.
Then the passenger side.
The habit embarrassed her.
Daniel would have noticed.
He would have made some comment about her finally learning.
She opened the door and sat down.
For a few minutes, she just listened to the engine of a nearby truck running in the parking lot.
She used to think grief was a constant feeling.
It was not.
It was a room you walked into without warning.
A song.
A smell.
A phrase someone used the same way your brother used to use it.
A stupid argument you remembered and would give anything to have again.
Her phone vibrated.
She almost dropped it.
It was a message from Ethan.
One sentence.
I found something else.
She stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
Something Daniel hid from me too.
Mara typed back immediately.
Where?
The reply came after almost a minute.
Not somewhere.
Someone.
She looked at the screen.
Then typed.
Explain.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally, a message arrived.
Your father.
Mara felt the air leave her chest.
She read it again.
Then once more.
Her father had spent three years saying Daniel was gone.
He had spent three years telling her that chasing answers was destroying what was left of the family.
He had called it unhealthy.
He had called it obsession.
He had called it refusing reality.
She called him.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Mara?”
The concern in his voice was immediate.
Too immediate.
“Were you expecting my call?”
A pause.
Small.
But there.
“No.”
She looked through the windshield.
“You know Ethan Cole?”
Another pause.
This one longer.
“Mara.”
The way he said her name changed everything.
Not because it confirmed anything.
Because it confirmed he knew the name.
“You do.”
Her father exhaled.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Answer me.”
The old instinct appeared before she could stop it.
The instinct to protect him.
The instinct to soften her voice.
Daniel had always been better at confronting their father.
Mara had been better at avoiding fights.
She was tired of being good at avoiding things.
“I asked if you know him.”
“Yes.”
The answer was quiet.
“How?”
“I need you to be careful.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I know.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Her father said nothing.
The silence made her angry.
“Three years.”
“Mara.”
“Three years, Dad.”
Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it.
“You sat there every day and watched me look for him.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
The words came quickly.
Too quickly.
“From what?”
Another silence.
From somewhere inside the house behind him, she heard a television playing.
A commercial.
A normal afternoon.
Her father was sitting in the same house where he had told her to stop searching.
“Mara, come home.”
“No.”
“Please.”
The request surprised her.
Her father rarely asked.
He ordered.
He advised.
He criticized.
But he did not ask.
“What happened?” she said.
“I can’t explain this over the phone.”
“That’s what Ethan said.”
Her father went quiet.
The connection felt heavier.
“You met him.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today.”
A long breath.
“Mara, listen to me.”
“No.”
She closed her eyes.
“For once, you listen to me.”
The words felt strange coming out.
Almost like they belonged to someone else.
“I spent three years believing everyone was hiding something because they were tired of hearing me talk about Daniel.”
Her hand tightened around the steering wheel.
“I thought you were embarrassed by me.”
“Mara.”
“I thought Mom stopped saying his name because she was tired of hurting.”
“That wasn’t why.”
“Then why?”
Her father did not answer.
And that hurt more than an argument would have.
“Dad.”
His voice was lower when he finally spoke.
“Your brother came to me before he disappeared.”
Mara stopped moving.
“What?”
“He asked me for help.”
The parking lot seemed suddenly too quiet.
“What kind of help?”
May you like
“I told him no.”
The honesty was almost cruel.
