The thought was insane.
Impossible.
And yet the necklace existed.
I barely slept.
At seven the next morning, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Rachel?”
Christopher Bennett.
I sat up.
“What do you want?”
A long silence.
“Come back.”
“Why?”
“Because you need the job.”
Anger flared through me.
“And you need someone willing to tolerate you.”
Another pause.
“That too.”
I looked toward Brandon sleeping on the couch.
“Will you tell me about Ryan?”
“No.”
I nearly hung up.
Then Christopher added, “Not yet.”
I gripped the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“It means there are things you do not understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Five thousand dollars a week could change my children’s lives.
It could move us out of that apartment.
Pay medical bills.
Put food in the refrigerator.
Give Emma new shoes.
Give Brandon the inhaler the doctor recommended.
And maybe, just maybe, staying near Christopher would give me answers.
“What time?”
“Four.”
I returned.
Christopher acted as if nothing had happened.
That almost made it worse.
For three days, we barely spoke beyond what was necessary.
I helped him bathe.
Dress.
Eat.
Transfer to bed.
Stretch his arms.
Manage medication.
And every day, the silver locket remained around his neck.
He never removed it.
I began noticing other things.
Christopher hated mirrors.
He refused visitors after dark.
He woke from nightmares shouting names.
Daniel.
Marcus.
Ryan.
The first time I heard my brother’s name, I nearly dropped a glass.
Christopher pretended he hadn’t said it.
By the end of the first week, Brandon’s fever was gone.
Emma had stopped asking whether we had enough food.
I paid three months of overdue rent.
Then Christopher did something unexpected.
He asked about my children.
“What are their names?”
We were in the library.
I was organizing his medication.
“Brandon and Emma.”
“How old?”
“Eight and five.”
“Father?”
I stiffened.
“Gone.”
“Dead?”
“No.”
Christopher glanced at me.
“He left when Emma was two.”
“Why?”
“Because responsibility bored him.”
Christopher looked almost offended.
“His loss.”
“Yes.”
For several seconds, silence settled between us.
Then he asked, “Brandon likes baseball?”
I stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
“You mentioned buying him a glove yesterday.”
I relaxed slightly.
“Yeah. He loves the Cubs.”
