When the next short lull in shoppers came, I opened up the photo of my brother’s little family and stared hard at the image, as though it could give me answers. None came, but I thought back to the phone conversation we’d had a few years back.
Our only conversation since I walked out the door of our childhood home fourteen years ago.
A decade had passed and still I recognized his voice the minute I answered the phone.
“Eden, it’s time to come home. Forgiveness is yours. This has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”
As shocked as I was bitter, I’d replied, “Yes, brother, I think the shame and subjugation of women has been going on far too long. Thanks for the offer, but I won’t be coming back. Not now, not ever.”
“I’ll pray for you, Eden.”
Then he’d sighed—not like he was disappointed in me, not an echo of the countless sighs I’d inspired in my parents throughout my life, but like he was disappointed in himself.
How had I forgotten that? What did it mean?
The internet held no further information for me to find, not about Isaiah or about his little family, except that he was still listed as the minister at the Church of Eternal Light in Binghamton.
For half a second, I debated calling him, then shook the urge away with a shudder. I wasn’t willing to embroil myself with anyone from that church, not even my brother, without good reason.
And I still wasn’t convinced my brother himself would seek to hurt me. He hadn’thelpedwhen I was constantly in trouble as a child, but he had never ratted me out, either.
Even when he’d had plenty of opportunities to do so.
A pair of giggling twenty-somethings entered the store and I forced a bright smile even as I stuck my bandaged hand inmy pocket behind the counter. Detective Hanson was right—I should leave the investigation to them.
I just…wasn’t sure I could.
With the flow of customers never truly dying off, I lost all track of time, each day blending into the next. In my free moments, I continued scouring the internet for information about Isaiah, Mary, and Eve, but there was no trace of them on social media.
It was like they were ghosts.
Addie hovered around the store as much as possible, during her work hours and beyond. It was obvious she’d been tasked with making sure I was okay, since Milo hadn’t even tried to cross that line I’d drawn in the sand.
A line I wished he’d just swept away, but this distance between us was on me, not him.
“When do your stitches come out?” she asked as she unnecessarily refolded a pajama set beside me.
“Soon. What day is it?”
“Tuesday,” Addie answered.
My entire body turned to ice.
“Eden, it’s okay. Olivia’s taking a couple weeks off from gaming, at least until Milo’s new window goes in. I think that’s happening this week. Breathe, babe.”
I didn’t realize I wasn’t until I heard the harsh wheezing coming through my own lips. Addie made some cheery excuse to a customer as she guided me into the break room and nudgedme down into a chair. Once I was seated, she crouched in front of me and clasped my hands.
“Breathe,” she urged again, pressing our joined hands to my chest. “I want to feel your lungs filling with air. You can do it.”
With effort, I managed to suck in enough oxygen to lift our hands. Addie murmured soothingly until each breath came more easily than the last.
“Is Milo okay?” I whispered.
“Oh, honey. He’s fine, just worried about you. I wish you’d talk to him.”
I nodded, but we both knew I was lying. Eventually, Addie had to leave for her shift at the crisis center. Even though I promised her I was fine on my own, now that the initial panic had subsided, this past week had taught me that I wouldn’t be alone for long.
If Addie wasn’t at the shop, then Olivia found excuses to drop by, along with Monique, Libby, or Terry. It was like a not-at-all covert girl squad had taken responsibility for my wellbeing.
