Chapter 8: The Closet Door

I put the envelope behind my back before my mother's eyes had finished moving.

"There you are," she said. "Everyone's been looking for you. Dylan, honey, you shouldn't be running. You know what the doctor said."

"I'm not running, Mom. I'm standing here."

"You were running. I heard you in the hall."

She held out the vest, and he took it.

I could see him decide to say something.

His mouth opened, and I held my breath.

"Your heart, sweetheart," my mother said, in a soft voice.

He closed his mouth.

"Mm-hm. Let's get you home to rest. Zack, say good night to your brother."

"Good night, Dylan."

"Good night."

She steered him out with her hand on the back of his neck.

At the door she turned her head and looked at the arm I was holding behind me.

"I'll see you at Dot's Sunday for a visit," she said. "Just to talk."

"Okay, Mom."

She was gone, and my shoulders came down.

Aunt Dot found me a minute later, still in the coat room.

She didn't ask about the speech.

She picked a coat off the floor where it had fallen, hung it back up on the rack, and said, "Let's go home."

It was the first time I'd heard the word used for her place.

I didn't correct her.

In the car I opened the envelope on my knees and showed her the nine pages.

She looked at them under the dome light for a long time.

"Your brother did this?"

"He hid them."

"That's a good kid."

"I know."

"Better than they deserve."

"Yes," I said.

At the house she made hot chocolate, and I sat at the long table with the pages laid out in a row.

The heron looked back at me from two of them.

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