More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost #2)(7)

“For seeing me.” Then he turns, jogs across the street, and disappears into the darkness beyond.





FOUR

Rev

Thursday, March 15 7:02:08 p.m.

FROM: Robert Ellis <[email protected]>

TO: Rev Fletcher <[email protected]>

SUBJECT: RE: Leave me alone

Where did you come up with “Rev Fletcher”?

Regardless, I’m glad to hear from you. If you wanted me to leave you alone, you wouldn’t have sent me an e-mail at all.

He’s right, of course.

You’re afraid.

She’s right, too. This e-mail seems to double down on the fear.

I can’t believe I showed her the letter. I’m halfway home before I realize I never asked her name. She goes to Hamilton, but I don’t even know what grade she’s in.

Not like it matters. I’ve long since abandoned any hope of a relationship with a girl.

I keep thinking of her eyes. The way she saw right through the anger and uncertainty and pinned me down with two words.

You’re afraid.

And then I proved it by running.

I am such an idiot.

My phone chimes with a text. It’s Kristin.

I wince. It’s Mom.

I expect her to be checking up on me, because I’m sure Dad told her I was playing the role of petulant teenager after school. To my surprise, she’s not. Well, not really.

Mom: Are you coming home soon? We’ve got an emergency placement. I’m getting things ready now.

I stop in the middle of the street.

An emergency placement means a kid needs immediate foster care. Geoff and Kristin are certified for special needs infants and toddlers, so we get a lot of those. Some kids stay for short periods of time—maybe the parents were in a car crash, or there was a medical emergency, and it takes time to work out the legalities of who should take custody. Some kids stay longer—like if the mother has been arrested or is in rehab. The last baby we had stayed for nine months. The spare room has been vacant for less than a week—but it never stays empty long.

Normally, I’d rush home to help.

Tonight, my twisted emotions are in the way. I keep worrying about my father, wondering when something is going to snap inside me. Wondering when I’m going to turn vicious and cruel, just like he did.

I want to text Declan to see if I can crash there, but our last text exchange sits on the screen, making my insides twist. I can’t explain myself without talking about my father. I’m not ready for that. He wouldn’t mean any harm, but it’s his personality. Declan ignites. I extinguish.

I’m probably not being fair to him. Everything seems upside down.

Maybe I’m overreacting. I can go home. I can sit on the couch and make faces at a baby.

I can forget about my father for a little bit.

Once we got an infant who was four days old—the youngest baby I’ve ever held. Her mother had a seizure during childbirth, and died a day later. We kept the baby for six months while the grandparents battled in court over who would get custody. We saw her first smile, fed her the first spoonful of baby food.

Kristin cried for days after she was taken away.

She always cries after they’re taken away. Even when it’s only twenty-four hours.

Then she wraps her arms around my shoulders and says they’re so lucky they get to keep me forever.

That’s never made me uncomfortable until this very moment, when I realize what a monumental secret I’m keeping from them.

My father’s letter burns a red-hot brand into my brain.

I hope you’ll make me proud.

I can’t tell them.

A police car sits in front of my house when I turn the corner. That’s not uncommon, especially with an emergency placement. I come through the front door, expecting to hear a baby or toddler crying, but the house is oddly quiet. Maybe it’s a really little baby, asleep in a carrier.

Low voices speak down the hall, by Geoff and Kristin’s bedroom. I begin to climb the stairs.

Geoff appears from the hallway. “Rev,” he says quietly. “Come downstairs. Let’s talk.”

I hesitate, and our confrontation over the Pyrex bowl flashes to the forefront of my mind. My father’s letter is hot in my pocket. “I don’t—I’m sorry I yelled.”

“It’s all right.” He comes down the steps and claps me on the shoulder gently. “You’re allowed to be a teenager. Are you okay?”

No. “Yes.”

“Come on downstairs. I need to talk to you.”

He heads into the lower level, but I hesitate on the landing, staring down at him. Suddenly I’m seven, staring down another flight of stairs, not knowing what I’ll face at the bottom.

“Rev?”

I blink and I’m me again. “Sorry.”

I still haven’t heard a baby cry upstairs—and it has to be a baby, because toddlers make an insane amount of noise. Geoff sits on the couch and gestures for me to do the same.

He looks like he wants to have a talk.

“I’ll save you some time,” I say. “I know what sex is.”

He smiles. “You’re funny.” A pause. “Bonnie called earlier. They needed a spot for an emergency placement.”

Bonnie is a social worker. She’s close friends with Kristin. “Mom texted me. I saw the police car.”