“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.
He kept waiting after that, hoping the house would stay dark and quiet until he could be sure she was asleep. When he finally ran out of patience, he got up, tiptoed to his door, and closed it as softly as he could.
He got a flashlight from his bedside table, turned it on, then slid his hand beneath his mattress to feel around. He touched paper, then the point of something plastic, and finally he felt it: soft leather.
He tugged the notebook from its hiding place and climbed into bed.
The first pages were blank. It wasn’t until near the middle of the thin journal that any writing appeared, and that was all nonsense words. When he was little, he’d thought it was a special code for him, a message left from his father that he needed to figure out.
He didn’t remember much from that night. He’d been six or maybe five, and he’d watched his dad walk past his open door in the moonlight. When he hadn’t come right back, Everett had climbed out of his treasured race car bed, tucked his Winnie the Pooh under his arm, and made his way downstairs. There’d been one small light on in the kitchen, but his dad wasn’t there.
Then he’d seen a flash of brightness through a window. He must have crawled past the curtains, because he knew he’d stood there watching, the fabric wrapped around him like a butterfly’s cocoon. His dad had been digging in the backyard, illuminated by the super-cool forehead light he used when he was fixing things in the house.
The only other thing Everett remembered was his dad pulling something from his jacket pocket and dropping it in the hole. Then he’d looked up. Everett must have moved in some way, because his dad looked right at the window, and Everett had quickly dropped down to crawl beneath the curtains and run back to his bed.
Why? He wasn’t sure. It must have been the angry frown on his dad’s face. He’d waited to get in trouble, but it hadn’t happened. It had faded like a dream.
Now he realized his dad must have suspected it was Mom who’d been watching. And Mom who’d dug up the prize he’d buried.
But after his dad had disappeared, Everett had assumed it must be a secret treasure just for him, because he was the one who’d watched his dad bury it in the dark.
He knew from the way his mom talked about those days that he’d been inconsolable when they were forced to move. The bank had given them forty-eight hours to move out. But Everett didn’t remember that part. All he remembered was sneaking into the yard while his mom was crying on the phone. He went to the side of the shed where he’d seen his father, and Everett had dug up the secret his dad had left for him.
But it hadn’t been treasure. Or at least it hadn’t been meant for Everett.
Now as he looked over the long strings of handwritten numbers and letters, he recognized them as access codes or passwords. Something his dad needed to help himself. Something to do with money.
How long could Everett pretend to his father that he was looking for this book that was already in his hands? Days certainly, and probably weeks.
But should he even want to keep his dad close? Everett had been thinking about him so much that he’d forgotten all about Alex Bennick, and now look what had happened. His mom was hanging out with the man’s relative.
He shoved the notebook back under his mattress and fired up the tablet to open Discord.