Annoyance.
“My eldest son was always dramatic,” he said. “He mistook disobedience for courage.”
“What did you do to him?”
Samuel looked past me, toward the river.
“Nothing he did not choose.”
Then the door of the car opened.
A man stepped out slowly.
He was thinner than memory. His hair was gray at the temples. His face was lined with years I had not witnessed. But I knew him before he lifted his head.
My brother.
Daniel.
Claire made a sound like a child waking from a nightmare.
Ava dropped the tape.
June stopped breathing.
Daniel looked at them, and twenty-two years of distance collapsed in his eyes.
“My girls,” he whispered.
None of them moved.
Not toward him.
Not away.
I could not blame them.
He looked at me next.
“Noah.”
My hands curled into fists.
I had imagined this moment a thousand times. In some versions, I hit him. In others, I hugged him. In most, I demanded why.
But standing there under the moon, with our dead father alive beside him, all I could say was, “You let me think you abandoned them.”
Daniel’s face twisted.
“I had to.”
Samuel sighed. “Touching. Truly.”
Daniel’s eyes hardened. “Give him the ledger, Noah.”
June snapped, “No.”
Daniel looked at her then, really looked, as if trying to match the woman before him to the child he had left behind.
“June,” he said. “Please.”
