I placed a small candle beside her photograph.
And every year, Zane came.
He always sat at the far end of the table. He rarely looked directly at Jeremy, and he always found a reason to leave before dessert.
For years, I assumed he could not bear to see the pie.
I was wrong.
The First Words
Jeremy turned thirteen that spring.
On the eighth anniversary of Janice’s death, he behaved differently from the moment Zane arrived.
He watched his father remove his coat.
He watched him greet my parents.
He watched him take his usual seat at the end of the table.
Jeremy barely touched his food. His shoulders remained tense, and his eyes followed every movement Zane made.
