His Baby Boy novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Floor Under My Feet

"That's Dexter," Malcolm said.

He did not touch the photograph.

He sat very straight on the edge of the bed with his bare wet feet on the boards.

"Who is Dexter?" Perrin said.

"My brother," Malcolm said.

"Desmond said you were never the same after."

"Desmond would."

"After what?" Perrin said.

Malcolm's mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

His eyes had gone to the middle distance, and Perrin saw a muscle tighten in his jaw.

"I can't tell you tonight," Malcolm said at last. "I'm sorry. I'm not ready to say more than that."

"Is he the last one?"

"The last what?"

"The last boy," Perrin said. His voice cracked. "Desmond's note. Ask him about the last one. It was on the back. Do you collect, Malcolm? Is that what I am? A soft thing you keep in a nice house and put on a diagonal sandwich?"

"No."

"Then tell me."

"I can't." Malcolm's hands were clenched on his knees. "Perrin, it isn't what you think. It isn't anything like that. He was nineteen, and it was nine years ago, and I."

He stopped.

His breathing was short.

Perrin stared at him.

He had never seen Malcolm lose the thread of a sentence.

For a moment his heart turned over with pity, and it very nearly won.

Then the other thing came up from under it, the thing he had held in his chest since the first night.

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