“My brother?”
“You know Charlie belongs to the woodworking club?”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
Tom explained that he and Charlie had known each other casually for years.
A few weeks earlier, Tom had noticed the pocketknife on Charlie’s workbench.
He recognized it immediately from old family stories.
“When you asked Charlie about it?”
“He said it was nothing and put it away.”
“But you kept asking.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother remembered that knife disappearing right before David died.”
My pulse hammered.
“What did Charlie tell you?”
“Not enough.”
“Tom.”
“I shouldn’t tell you the rest.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s his confession, Laura. Not mine.”
I gripped the phone tighter.
“Then tell me what question to ask.”
Silence.
Then:
“Ask Charlie where David was the night before the fire.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“What?”
“Ask him.”
I tried to stand.
The room tilted.
The next thing I remember clearly was Ellie kneeling beside me holding my phone.
“She’s awake,” she was telling someone. “She’s awake now.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“911.”
“Ellie—”
“You fainted!”
“I did not.”
“You fell over.”
That was difficult to argue with.
Paramedics checked me and said I had probably experienced a stress reaction.
They told me to get further medical attention if the dizziness returned or I developed additional symptoms.
Ellie refused to let me drive.
“You just fell down, Grandma.”
“I am aware.”
So my daughter eventually drove me to Charlie’s house.
She stayed in the car.
I walked to the door alone.
Charlie opened it smiling.
“Laura. What are you doing here?”
I held up the red pocketknife.
His smile vanished.
“Where did you get that?”
“Tom.”
Charlie closed his eyes.
That reaction told me more than words ever could.
“You lied to me.”
“Laura—”
“Tell me where David was the night before the fire.”
Charlie went completely still.
Then he looked down.
“He came here.”
My throat tightened.
“When?”
“The night before.”
“Why?”
“To see you.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
“And where was I?”
“Upstairs.”
I stared at him.
“You told him I wasn’t home.”
Charlie nodded.
Something broke inside me.
“Why?”
“You were eighteen.”
“So was he.”
“I was twenty-one.”
“Congratulations.”
He flinched.
Then he explained.
My parents had learned that David had applied for a training program in another town.
They were afraid I would follow him.
They believed I would abandon college.
