Chapter 12: T.C., Age Seven

"Two years of what?" Sean asked.

Nobody answered him.

I put the photograph of his brother down on the desk very carefully, face up.

"I need to go out," I said. "I will be back before the vote."

"Erin," Sean said. "My girl. You are not well."

"I am fine."

"You are as white as the page."

"Please, Sean."

It was the first time I had used his name.

He closed his mouth.

He nodded.

I walked out.

Ronan caught me at the foot of the back stairs.

He did not grab my arm.

He stood in front of me with his hands open, and for a moment he did not know where to put them.

"Let me explain," he said.

"You are on the clock," I said.

He went still.

"It is eight in the morning," I said. "I have a vote at noon. You are my guard. Guard me, and do not touch me, and do not talk."

"Erin."

"Is it true?"

"Yes."

"You knew who I was when you wrote the letter."

"I knew you were Sean's daughter. I had a photograph of your collarbone from a harbor festival ten years ago. And I knew who shot my father."

"And you brought me here anyway."

"Yes."

"Why?"

His jaw worked.

"I'll tell you everything," he said. "Not on the stairs."

"Then you can tell me after."

I took the rifle case from my room.

I took the keys to Sean's second car from the hook in the hall.

Ronan walked behind me to the garage, and he did not say a word.

At the car door, I turned.

"Do not follow me."

"I can't let you go alone."

"You can," I said. "You have already let me do everything else alone. For two years."

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