Slowly, he turned around.
His eyes were wet.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Tessa Whitaker,” I said. “Jesse was my brother.”
The boy swallowed hard.
“That’s my dad’s name.”
For a moment, the entire world seemed to tilt.
“Your dad?”
He nodded.
“My dad’s real name. He doesn’t use it anymore.”
I pressed one hand against the nearest car to steady myself.
“What is his name now?”
“Sam,” he said. “Sam Reed.”
I stared at him.
The parking lot noise blurred around me. Cars rolled past. A woman loaded groceries into her trunk. Somewhere behind us, the automatic doors opened and closed.
But all I could hear was my mother’s voice from twenty-three years ago.
I’ll wait up.
I always wait up.
