I stopped breathing.
Diane wiped beneath one eye.
“Tyler had a plan to hurt himself that night.”
I closed my eyes.
“Oh my God.”
“Mason called Hannah over. Hannah got me. We got Tyler help.”
She pointed toward one of the oldest photographs.
A lanky boy stood beside Mason, both looking uncomfortable in front of the camera.
“That’s him.”
I studied the picture.
“Where is Tyler now?”
“Seattle. Married. Two little girls.”
I looked at Diane.
“He’s alive?”
She nodded.
“Because an eight-year-old boy noticed the rhythm of his foot.”
The room blurred.
I finally sat down.
I expected that to be the secret.
It wasn’t.
That was only the beginning.
After Tyler returned home from treatment, he asked whether Mason would come back.
Hannah brought him the following Saturday.
The two barely spoke at first.
Tyler ate pancakes.
Mason arranged sugar packets by color.
Eventually Tyler asked Mason why he hadn’t been scared.
