Chapter 10 - The Boy Who Remembered
Henry looked smaller in the hospital bed than he had on the camera.
An IV ran into his arm. A heart monitor blinked beside him. There was a red mark across his left cheek.
I stopped in the doorway because moving any closer felt dangerous.
Not to him.
To me.
If I touched him, I was afraid the guilt would crack me open.
He saw me anyway.
“Dad.”
I crossed the room in three steps and wrapped my arms around him carefully.
“I’m here.”
“You came back.”
“Of course I came back.”
He pressed his face against my jacket.
“I thought she was going to take me somewhere.”
I closed my eyes.
“She’s not taking you anywhere.”
Dr. Patel gave us a minute, then explained that Henry’s lab results were consistent with a prescription sedative not prescribed to him. He would recover, but they wanted him overnight for observation.
“Can I ask him questions?” Detective Torres asked.
“Not without me.”
She nodded.
Henry told us about the blue folder.
He had seen Caleb carrying it from my study two days earlier. That morning, Henry went into Caleb’s office because he wanted tape for a school project.
The folder was open on the desk.
“I saw Mommy’s name,” he said.
Sarah.
“What else?” I asked.
“A picture of her car.”
The room went silent.
Henry looked from me to Torres.
“And a picture of you sleeping.”
“Me?”
“On the couch in the library.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. You had the blue tie.”
Lena spoke quietly from the wall.
“You wore a blue tie at the foundation dinner last month.”
I remembered that night.
I had come home with a pounding headache and fallen asleep unusually fast after one drink.
My stomach tightened.
“Henry,” Torres said gently, “you told Miss Lena Rebecca had the bad medicine again. What did you mean by again?”
He picked at the edge of his blanket.
“She put drops in Dad’s glass before.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Lots of times.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
His eyes filled.
“But Rebecca said grown-ups don’t believe kids who tell stories.”
I took his hand.
“I believe you now.”
Henry shook his head.
“No, Dad.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“You have to believe the other thing too.”
“What other thing?”
May you like
He looked toward the door.
“Mommy didn’t crash by herself.”
