Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Nora’s mother had rearranged the kitchen again.
The colander now lived under the sink. Nora had hung it back on the hook Sunday. By Monday, it had migrated back.
She didn’t say anything about it.
Nora hadn’t said anything about a lot of things lately.
Her quiet mornings were gone. Most days somebody was coming or going, the phone was ringing, or one of her sisters was showing up with food, questions, or both.
And Christian was home.
Her little brother had returned three weeks ago after ten years of praying, wondering, and trying not to hope.
His return was an answered prayer. It was also unsettling. There was so much Christian couldn’t remember. So many ways he’d changed.
Special Agent Prudence Prine had interviewed him twice, but Christian hadn’t been able to give her much. A few sounds. Flashes of places he couldn’t identify. Nothing that told them where he’d been for the past decade, who had taken him, or how he’d gotten away.
At Prine’s suggestion, Christian and both of their parents had submitted cheek swabs for a kinship test. The lab had warned them the results could take several weeks.
But Christian was back, and that was the important thing.
Mom was humming again. Cooking again. She’d spent more nights here than at her own place. More and more, she was the woman Nora remembered from childhood.
Nora was grateful.
She was also tired.
Stress lived beneath everything, bubbling where nobody could see it. Nora made sure it didn’t show. Wren had been through enough after her son, Mason, had been kidnapped a few weeks ago, and she still looked as if she hadn’t caught up on sleep. And Marlowe . . . well, Marlowe was the youngest.
Nora had spent most of her life protecting her younger siblings, whether they wanted it or not.
Maybe especially then.
Her mother stood at the stove stirring spaghetti sauce while Nora tore lettuce into a wooden salad bowl.
Mom had once been the kind of woman who turned heads without trying.
But ten years of grief had left her caring little about her clothes, her hair, or whether anyone noticed her at all.
Since Christian’s return, though, traces of the woman she used to be had begun to reappear.
The kitchen smelled of garlic, tomatoes, and the bread warming in the oven. Christian was somewhere upstairs, and Mason had already been in and out twice asking when they were eating.
The familiar chaos should have felt comforting.
Mostly, it did.
“Marlowe’s here.” Her mother kept stirring the sauce. “I can hear that thing from the county line.”
A few seconds later, the motorcycle cut off in the driveway. The back door banged, and Marlowe came through carrying a two-liter bottle of Coke in each hand, her helmet tucked beneath one arm.
Wren caught the door before it closed and followed her inside. “I heard her coming from the cabin.”
Marlowe set the bottles on the counter. “So did everyone else in Fog Lake.”
Wren’s gaze tracked toward the living room, where Mason sat on the floor with Bo beside him.
“Nash make it to Nashville okay?” Nora asked as she tossed the salad.
Wren nodded. “A little while ago. He has some things to straighten out with the Bureau about his medical leave. He’ll probably be gone a few days.”
“And Tank?”
“He went with him. I offered to dog-sit, but Nash said Tank loves a good road trip.” Wren smiled.
A small rush of happiness moved through Nora. After everything Wren had endured, seeing her this settled—with Mason home and Nash in her life—felt like something none of them had dared hope for a few weeks ago.
Still, Wren watched Mason more closely now. She touched him more too. A hand on his shoulder when they crossed a parking lot. Fingers brushing his hair when he walked past.
Nora understood. She’d be the same way if she had a kid.
Bo abruptly came barreling back into the kitchen. His paws slid on the linoleum before he crashed against Nora’s legs and looked up at her with his whole ridiculous face.
She gave him a dirty look.
Goblin.
Bo continued to stare until Nora tore off a tiny piece of garlic bread and dropped it into his mouth. He swallowed without chewing.
“Dad’s behind me,” Wren announced.
“Good.” Their mother turned from the stove. “I asked him to stop at Miller’s and pick up an apple pie.”
Headlights swept across the kitchen window, and their mother wiped her hands on a dish towel before carrying the sauce toward the dining room.
Last week, at Dad’s request, the store Dad worked for had transferred him to its Knoxville location.
Since then, Dad had spent many nights on Nora’s couch. He claimed the arrangement was temporary, but his overnight bag had remained beside the coat closet for nearly a week.
Wednesday was Dad’s only evening off, which was part of the reason none of them had made it to church for the past three weeks. Nobody had actually suggested they skip. It had simply seemed more important, for now, to spend the evening together while Christian was still finding his footing.
Nora told herself they’d get back to their normal routine soon.
Wren waited until their mother walked away before lowering her voice. “She’s staying again tonight?”
“Looks like it.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Their mother had gone back to her own place twice since Christian’s return, both times for clothes. Otherwise, she’d settled into Nora’s house as if she’d never left.
Before Nora could say anything else, Mom returned to humming beneath her breath. For the first two weeks, it had been “Softly and Tenderly.” She’d moved on since to “I’ll Fly Away.”
A few minutes later, their father came inside with an apple pie and handed it to his ex-wife as if bringing dessert to the house where they’d once raised four children was something he’d done every Wednesday for the past ten years.
“Got the last one,” he announced with a grin.
“You remembered the crumb topping?” Mom raised her eyebrows.
“Of course. I was given very specific instructions. I never forget very specific instructions.”
Mom smiled.
Nora looked away before either of them caught her watching. Three weeks ago, her parents could barely get through a conversation without something sharp slipping in. Now they were teasing each other over pie like the past ten years hadn’t happened.
She wasn’t sure what to do with that.
Because somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered: If you’re right, you’ll be the one who takes this from her. And if you’re wrong, you’ll have poisoned it anyway.
And her mother’s happiness—fragile, tentative, hard-won—would disappear the moment Nora opened her mouth.
Christian appeared at the bottom of the stairs as Nora called everyone to eat.
Tonight, their father sat at the head of the table, while Mom filled his glass with sweet tea without asking how much ice he wanted.
She didn’t need to. She still remembered.
Dad asked everyone to join hands, then he prayed for the meal.
After he said amen, Nora watched Christian reach for a piece of garlic bread.
When he’d first come home, every meal had seemed to require thought.
He’d watched where everyone sat. Waited to see what other people reached for.
Asked before taking seconds even when the food was directly in front of him.
Tonight, he reached for the bread without looking at anyone.
It seemed normal.
Or closer to it, anyway.
Their father pointed his fork at Marlowe. “That motorcycle gets any louder, they’re going to start issuing tornado warnings when you pull into town.”
“It’s a safety feature.” Marlowe scooped more spaghetti onto her plate. “Deer can’t run into me if they’ve already fled the county.”
Christian laughed. The sound came out before he seemed to expect it, and his mouth snapped shut.
Their mother’s hand paused around her glass of tea.
Every time Christian remembered something, laughed at something, or did anything resembling the little boy they’d lost, everyone’s instinct was to stop and examine it.
That only made him retreat. So they tried not to.
Instead, Marlowe kept talking about her motorcycle. Dad rolled his eyes. Mason tried to feed Bo spaghetti beneath the table until Wren caught him.
“Mason,” Wren warned. “What did I tell you about feeding Bo from the table?”
Mason pulled his hand back. “But he likes spaghetti.”
“You still have to obey your mother,” Dad said.
“To obey is better than sacrifice,” Christian murmured.
Nora sucked in a breath and glanced at him. He hadn’t hesitated or seemed to realize he’d spoken aloud. Since he’d been back, he hadn’t said anything like that before.
“First Samuel.” Dad smiled faintly. “I’m glad somebody remembers their Scripture.”
Christian stared down at his plate. “I guess.”
But his fingers had tightened around his fork.
To obey is better than sacrifice. Of all the verses he could have quoted . . . why that one?
Nora sat there and let her suspicion stand between them like a wall.
Then Marlowe cracked a joke, and Christian laughed.
For one unguarded second, he sounded like a normal boy enjoying his sister’s joke. But Nora couldn’t bring herself to laugh with him.
She hated herself for that.
Instead, as Nora sat there, Special Agent Jeff Donnelly’s words returned to her.
I may have found something.
Donnelly had investigated Christian’s disappearance when it first happened. The former FBI agent had contacted her twice since Christian returned, most recently a week ago, when he’d said he might have found something and promised to call Monday.
She hadn’t heard from him since, and today was Wednesday.
Nora’s appetite disappeared. Waiting on Donnelly felt like waiting for a bomb to go off—and having no idea when the explosion was coming.
For the rest of dinner, Agent Donnelly’s words stayed lodged in the back of Nora’s mind.
By the time the plates were empty, she was antsy.
Their dinners had been lingering affairs lately. Nobody seemed eager to be the first to leave.
Tonight was no different. Dad carried dishes to the sink while Mom cut the pie. Wren and Marlowe argued over whether Mason deserved a full slice when he’d barely touched his spaghetti. Christian watched it all with that distant look he sometimes got.
With everyone occupied, Nora grabbed her cell phone from the counter and slipped onto the back porch. She couldn’t wait any longer. She was going to call Agent Donnelly.
The temperature had already dropped into the forties. She sat on the top step and rubbed her free hand over her arm. The cicadas had finally gone quiet, and the maples bordering the yard had begun to turn red at the tips.
Nora pulled up Jeff Donnelly’s number.
His silence bothered her. He’d sounded like a man who had finally found the end of a loose thread he’d been pulling for ten years. So why hadn’t he given her any updates yet?
She pressed Call.
It rang four times before his voicemail picked up. “You’ve reached Jeff Donnelly. I’m either busy, ignoring my phone, or somewhere I shouldn’t be. Leave a message.”
“Hi, this is Nora Loveless.” She rubbed her arm again. “It’s Wednesday, a little after seven. You said you’d call Monday, but I haven’t heard from you. Call me. Please.”
She ended the message.
Donnelly had first contacted her two weeks ago, after Agent Prine reached out to him about Christian’s return. He’d pulled out his old case files and started going through them again.
“I never stopped thinking about Christian’s case,” he’d told her.
He’d also asked to speak with Christian.
Nora had told him not yet. Prine had already questioned Christian twice, and each interview left him more withdrawn than before. Nora wasn’t putting him through another round unless Donnelly had an actual reason to ask.
To his credit, he hadn’t pushed.
“Your family’s had enough false hope,” he’d told her. “I’m not bringing you another theory unless I can back it up.”
Then, a week ago, he’d called again. “I may have found something.”
May had been the key word.
Nora had pushed for details, but Donnelly refused to give her any until he knew his theory was right. He’d promised to call Monday with an update.
Then nothing.
Nora set down the phone and pulled her cardigan tighter.
She’d spent her whole life protecting her sisters. Deciding what they could handle. What they needed to know. She called it love. Wisdom.
But lately she wondered if she was confusing protection with control.
Ecclesiastes said there was a time to speak and a time to be silent. Nora prayed for wisdom to know the difference. She prayed that her doubt about Christian came from spiritual wisdom and not from fear.
She told herself that each of her decisions was for her family’s sake. But part of her knew her choices were also for her own sake. She wanted to avoid being the person who destroyed another carefully constructed version of normal. She only wanted to protect the people she loved.
The door opened behind her, and Christian stood in the doorway holding two plates. “Mom wants to know if you want pie.”
She forced a smile. “Looks like she already decided.”
“She’s bossy like that.” He handed Nora one of the plates and sat beside her on the step.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Christian glanced at the phone in her hand. “Was that about me?”
“No.” Nora hated how quickly the lie slipped out.
Christian lifted an eyebrow.
She sighed. “Okay, sort of.”
“Everything’s sort of about me now.” The dry edge returned to his voice.
Nora’s mouth almost twitched. “You’ve noticed?”
“How could I not?” He scraped his fork through the crumb topping. “Who were you calling?”
“Jeff Donnelly. He’s the FBI agent who worked your case ten years ago. He’s been in touch with me a few times recently.”
Christian’s fingers tightened slightly around his plate. “What did he want?”
“He asked if he could talk to you.”
Christian looked at her. “And?”
“I told him not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve had enough people asking you questions lately.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “Did he find something?”
“He thinks he might have.”
Christian’s shoulders went rigid. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t answer when I tried to call him just now.” Nora studied him, curious about his reaction. “Are you okay?”
“Everybody wants answers.”
“Yes, they do. I do too.” She nudged his shoulder lightly with hers. “But I want my brother to have room to breathe too.”
He was quiet a moment before murmuring, “Thanks.”
They ate their pie without talking about where he’d been, what he remembered, or what Donnelly might have discovered. They simply sat together on the back steps, hiding from the rest of the family.
It was the closest Nora had felt to Christian since he came home.
However, she wasn’t sure lately if she trusted her own read on anyone.