“You did something wrong to help someone,” he said.
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to his lap, to the fingers he’d twisted together into a knot of worry.
Now that her initial alarm had faded, she could think about what he’d told her. “Everett, what did you mean about seeing pictures in Alex’s storage unit? What kind of pictures?”
He shrugged.
“Scary pictures?”
“No. Photos from the paper. Printouts. Stuff like that.”
Oh, thank God. “Sweetie, Alex lives in Tennessee. He recently lost his job at a newspaper. So first off, he’s a reporter who probably researches a lot of things. Second, I told you he came here to help because his uncle can’t take care of himself. Even if you think he was someone bad, his uncle is a harmless old man now, Ev.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. He had to move out of his home and into a place with nurses and helpers. So there’s nothing at all to worry about. No one is coming to get me.”
His body quieted a little, relaxing under her hand. “Okay.”
“Does that make you feel better?”
“A little.”
She sighed, suddenly unbearably exhausted. “I’m sorry I got upset, but you can’t go through people’s things. Not ever again. I know this is our home, but people trust us to take care of their belongings and respect their privacy.”
“Yeah,” he agreed before shifting away. “I know that.”
“Is that what you’ve been so worried about? Is that what brought on your nightmare?”
“No. I’m fine.”
She wanted to say, You’re obviously not fine, but she squeezed his arm instead, then gave him a sideways hug and a kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry I scared you tonight. And I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“I’m sorry too,” he whispered.
She took his mug, then followed him to his bedroom to tuck him in. “It’s late,” she said, turning off the light. “Time for bed.” But she left his door slightly ajar before heading into her own room to close the door. She leaned her back against it and let a tear slide down her face.
Jones had started out with small crimes around Everett’s age. His transgressions had spread from there, like rot and mold creeping out to decay everything around it. After stints in and out of juvenile detention for breaking and entering, he’d stayed out of trouble long enough to get a degree in accounting, but only because he’d decided to graduate to the big leagues and steal from the inside instead. He’d probably cheated his way through school too.
Everything Jones had ever told her about his childhood was a lie. He hadn’t been raised by a single dad in Idaho. He’d been taken from an abusive home in Kansas City and stuck into foster care at age nine.
His truth might have elicited pity if he’d pled his case, but he hadn’t bothered. She’d learned his history from the detective banging on a table in the interview room. The same place she’d learned about the extent of his theft in their own town. From their friends. His coworkers. People whose children she knew.
And the whole time—the whole damn time—she’d thought he was a caring, sensitive guy. Just like Everett.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, pressing it hard against the wood so she could feel the rolling contours of her own skull, the faint crunch of her hair against cheap paint. No, not like Everett.
He was her boy, she’d raised him. He hadn’t been abused and neglected and taught that there was no love or safety in the world. He’d always been a good son, and she just had to keep loving him and protecting him.
After all, she hadn’t exactly transitioned smoothly through adolescence herself. By fourteen she’d been babysitting for neighborhood moms and using her money to buy clove cigarettes or wine coolers from older teenagers on the weekends. And she’d turned out just fine, hadn’t she?
She had to cover her mouth to smother a horrified laugh at that.
Everett was okay. He was good. She knew that was true because it had to be. And if Jones was somehow still nearby . . . The only danger to her was that he might tell Everett the truth, which meant she needed to gather up the guts to tell him herself.
Such a simple, impossible thing. Tomorrow, she thought. Or the next day. Just not tonight.
CHAPTER 21
Everett waited. He waited probably an hour until he heard his mom get ready for bed.
He listened to the sound of water as his mom washed her face in the bathroom. Her footsteps then went to the kitchen, and he heard the clink of dishes as she moved around. It seemed like forever until the lights clicked off in the rest of the apartment and her bedroom door closed.