Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
No one moved. But Wren’s thoughts raced as the man-child’s words echoed in her head.
It’s me. Christian. I found you.
Her chest tightened.
No, this isn’t . . .
He can’t be . . .
You’re imagining things . . .
The doubts looped in Wren’s head, none willing to finish itself. Christian reappearing the exact day he disappeared ten years ago? This couldn’t be happening . . .
“That’s not funny.” Nora’s voice sounded shrill, stripped of its earlier calm. “Do you think this is some kind of joke?”
“No, of course not. I . . . I don’t know what to tell you.” The man-boy took a lumbering step forward. “I need help. I’m confused. Please. Don’t turn me away.”
Wren’s chest tightened at his desperation, and she couldn’t get a full breath.
This had to be a sick joke.
But what if it wasn’t? He sounded . . . scared. And sincere. And . . . like Christian.
Maybe? She didn’t know what Christian would sound like today.
He had the hair. Dark brown, almost black in this light. And the eyes were blue, though twenty-five percent of people had blue eyes.
She made herself look at the rest of him. He was thin. Too thin, the way boys got when they shot up faster than they filled out. His ears sat out from his head a little, and she’d teased Christian about that once, back when it was the kind of thing you could tease a person about.
The nose was wrong. Or it wasn’t. Seven-year-olds didn’t have noses yet, not really. Hers hadn’t settled until high school.
That was the problem with every part of him. Nothing ruled him out.
And nothing proved a thing.
Suddenly, nothing made sense.
“If you’re really Christian, where have you been?” Nora’s voice had gone flat.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I woke up in the woods.” He wiped his face with his wrist. “It was still dark. I walked until I hit the gravel, and then I knew where to turn. I don’t know how I knew. I just did.”
Marlowe made a small sound.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Nora asked. “Before the road.”
He was quiet a long moment. “The party. The lights on the porch.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Wren whispered, her throat burning as the words left her lips.
He stepped closer and began to stumble before catching himself. No one moved toward him.
Not yet. It still felt too risky.
Hope was risky. So was helping a stranger.
Wren didn’t know when it happened. But she and her sisters were all suddenly clinging to each other, Wren in the middle.
As Wren stood there, she got an even better look at him. He didn’t look like the boy from her memories. That boy had been all innocence and gap-toothed grins and obsession with insects.
But something about the shape of this man-boy’s face, about the set of his eyes, snagged something familiar in her thoughts.
He raked a hand through his hair. “I . . . I don’t know what you want. But I know you’re my sisters. Nora, Wren, and Marlowe.”
“Anyone could have found out our names online,” Marlowe muttered, her voice strained.
Bo planted himself between the porch steps and the man-boy, clearly standing guard.
The stranger flinched, and Wren almost pulled Bo away. But she didn’t. Not yet.
She couldn’t until she knew more. Until she knew if she could trust this man-boy. Bo was just protecting them right now. It was one of the few noble things the stubborn goofball had ever done.
“You have to understand where we’re coming from.
” Nora kept the professional calm in her voice, but she’d braced herself against the porch railing.
“Anyone could have heard our story on the news. It was covered on a national level. Dateline. 20/20. A true crime podcast just had an episode on Christian’s disappearance. ”
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t—” He stopped and ran a hand over his face. “I don’t even know how I’m standing here right now. I wouldn’t believe me either.”
Wren wanted to believe him. She really did. But how could she?
What if this man was a fraud? Someone who got his kicks out of doing stuff like this? Out of messing with people’s emotions?
It sounded sick, but sick people were out there.
How was she supposed to manage this situation?
“Prove you’re our brother.” Wren’s voice cracked. “Tell us something only Christian would know.”
The stranger’s attention shifted to the porch. A moment later, his expression morphed into something solid, and he nodded as if remembering something.
“You three—the Loveless Sisters—used to sing out here on the porch.” He stopped, started again, the sentence needing a run-up. “All three of you.”
“I want to believe you.” Marlowe’s voice wavered, her face now pale. “But anyone could guess that.”
His eyes traveled back and forth as if trying to recall a memory. “I remember one time in particular. You were all wearing yellow dresses. Mom stood at the bottom of the steps and told you to show your teeth more when you smiled.”
Wren’s breath caught. Her mom had always told them that, to the point where it had become a running joke.
“She’d . . . she would stop you if the harmony went flat.
” The man-boy’s eyes were fixed on some point past the porch rail as if he’d been transported to a different time and place.
“She made everyone start over. She would never say who’d gone off-key.
It was like she didn’t want to single out any of you. ”
Wren’s stomach turned. Everyone had known who was flat. Marlowe. She’d hated having to sing and perform, but her parents hadn’t given her any other options. Her mom had known if she pushed too hard that Marlowe would simply make life difficult for all of them.
The stranger nodded toward the top step as if he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to get closer. “I couldn’t wait until I could join you on stage. Dad always said I couldn’t. That I wasn’t a sister. He said maybe I could learn guitar instead. That maybe I could tour with you when you hit it big.”
Marlowe let out a gasp, that memory obviously hitting on something tender. “It’s him!”
The next instant, she crossed the yard, her arms outstretched. She practically collided with the stranger before throwing her arms around him and sobbing.
The man-boy raised his arms slowly and uncertainly around her.
Wren didn’t move to hug him. Neither did Nora. They matched in their hesitation the way they used to match in harmony.
But as Wren watched the reunion, something inside her cracked. It wasn’t exactly belief. Not yet. But the space where her doubt used to live was emptying out faster than she wanted.
If this man-boy was a stranger, a cruelty someone had dressed up and sent to their door, the doubt would still be there. Right?
It wasn’t.
“I need to call someone.” Nora reached for the phone in her scrub pocket, her voice cracking under the calm. “The police, or—I don’t know. Who do you even call for this?”
“Wait!” The word cracked as it left the man-boy’s—Christian’s?—lips. “No! Please. Not yet.”
Nora softened her voice. “We have to—”
“I know how it sounds. But please. No.”
“They can probably come here, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nora continued. “We wouldn’t have to take you to the station. They’ll probably want to do a DNA test.”
“It’s just—” He stopped, shook his head. “I don’t want people looking at me. Not yet. Please, just—” His breath came ragged, uneven. “A few hours. That’s all. Please.”
Wren’s thoughts raced. Was he hiding something? Was that why he wanted a delay?
But . . . if he really was Christian, then his explanation made sense.
Wren glanced at her sister. Nora’s thumb didn’t move. Neither did the rest of her. Her shoulders locked, and her jaw was tight.
Bo picked that moment to abandon his post between them and trot back to the porch. He pushed his head against Wren’s leg as if he sensed she needed him.
She did.
She dropped a hand to his ears and worked her fingers through his fur.
She needed something solid to hold onto while she waited to figure out what they were going to do.