Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(33)

“Sad business that,” Simon expanded. All four nodded.

Janet fidgeted with her apron, frowning. “She was driving. Alone. Went off the road into a tree. Not a mile from their house. Sheriff said she probably died instantly. Old car didn’t have an airbag.”

Michael’s hawk brows shot together. “What ran her off the road? An animal? She drunk?” The man wasn’t nearly satisfied with Janet’s story.

Janet shrugged. “Who knows? She wasn’t drunk. No alcohol at all in her.”

Jamie grabbed her water. “Let’s go. I’m starved.” She didn’t want to hear gossip. These people obviously weren’t fond of her brother. Any words out of their mouths would be biased. She had a hunch they were about to blame her brother for the car accident.

“Nice to meet you,” Michael said over his shoulder as they headed out the door.

“You too. Sheriff’s probably down at the diner. He usually eats dinner about this time,” Janet called after them.

Jamie power-walked down the sidewalk, and Michael grabbed at her hand. “Slow down,” he said, pulling back on her. “What’s wrong?”

Jamie shook her head. “Those people. They don’t know Chris, but they judge him anyway. That’s how it’s been his entire life. People just look at the outside.”

“Well, sounds like he’s not letting anyone see inside.”

“And that poor little boy. I don’t even know my nephew’s name! No mother. And it sounds like Chris is raising him to be as introverted as he is.”

“Well, at least his dad is spending time with him.”

Jamie stopped and turned to look at Michael. He had a shuttered look on his face. “That’s true. It’s important to have that connection. But the boy needs more in his life. I’m going to talk to Chris about moving back home. Janet has a point. The boy needs to be around other children.”

“Think he’ll be open to that?” Michael’s tone wasn’t optimistic.

“I hope so.” Jamie felt a heavy weight on her heart as they started walking toward the diner. It’d been so hard for Chris to adjust when he came home from the hospital. School became the enemy. No, the children and many of the adults in school had become the enemy. People in general were the enemy because they stared at him and talked about him like he wasn’t right in front of them, hearing every word.

She’d been confused as a child, unable to figure out her big brother’s thoughts. Her big brother was home…but he wasn’t. For two years, she’d prayed for God to send her brother home. He finally did, but Chris was seriously damaged inside and out, and Jamie didn’t understand.

She could see the outside damage. The marks on his face, the scars on his arms, the bony protrusions at all his joints, the lopsidedness to his jaw where it’d been broken and never healed right. She remembered the first time she’d seen him in the hospital. He’d been so still, his eyes closed and his face swathed in bandages. She’d gently held his fingers, the only part of him that looked like it didn’t hurt, and they’d softly squeezed back. Jamie had studied his hospital bed, so many tubes and machines.

Her mother hadn’t left his bedside since he’d been found. Her father had driven back and forth between the hospital and his job, seeing Jamie at dinnertime where he’d promise Chris would be coming home soon.

Looking at him in that hospital bed, Jamie knew it was going to be a long time before her brother truly came home.

Over those next few weeks, she lost count of the number of times she said, “Chris is doing good, and he’ll be home soon.” This was in reply to neighbors, teachers, and even strangers who somehow knew about her brother. That was probably from the TV. Chris’s story was frequently on the TV, even though the reporters never talked to him or her parents.

Her parents whispered to each other all the time. Outside his hospital room, in the car, in their bedroom. Sometimes it sounded like they were arguing in whispers. Jamie heard them mention brain damage and burns and therapy. Her mother cried a lot, not nearly as much as when Chris first went missing, but more than a mother should when her lost boy has finally come home. Jamie played silently with her Barbies, read books, watched TV, and waited for someone to tell her when her family would be back to normal.

Chris missed another year of school. Three years total. His parents had pushed for him to return when he could walk without needing to rest every ten feet, but Chris said he wasn’t ready. He was nearly fourteen and should have been starting high school with his friends. Instead, he’d avoided his friends, telling them he was too tired and telling his parents he didn’t like the way his friends stared at his scars. Eventually, they stopped coming around. When he could look at a book without getting headaches, he’d started studying. And studying. His parents had bought their first computer, and Chris took it over. After a lot of discussion, his mother had designed a path for him to get his GED. That decision seemed to alleviate some of his stress.

He’d helped Jamie with her homework, tugged on her black braids, and called her “Licorice,” like he had before he’d vanished. His own light-brown hair grew back uneven and patchy from where he’d had the surgery on his skull. He kept it buzzed short, making him look like he was from Auschwitz, not Oregon. He never gained enough weight to resemble the healthy, heavy athletic boy he’d been before. Until the day he moved out, he’d looked anorexic and pale.