Uncle Crispen shook his head. “Don’t know about…about the m-m-missing.”
“Served their time?” Cole asked.
“No.”
“Bought their way out?”
“Oh, a…a handful, sure,” Uncle Crispen said. “That’s different. Too m-m-many nobodies have vanished. People with no m-m-money and no…no hope. Ain’t no one paying their debts.”
Outside, Mistel passed the door again.
Uncle Crispen’s gaze followed her. “You going to m-m-marry that g-girl?”
Cole flushed, caught off guard. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t play g-games with her, son. Life’s too…too short.”
There it was again—son. Cole’s jaw tightened. Maybe Crispen meant it kindly, but it sat wrong. “I saw crates here with Thusk’s name. Maybe he’s sneaking people out. Selling them as slaves. Maybe if I check out his warehouse, I’ll see exactly what he’s shipping.”
Uncle Crispen stood and reached for Cole. “Don’t, son. Stay…out of it.”
This time, the word hit like a stone. “Why do you keep calling me that? I’m not your son.”
Uncle Crispen’s frown deepened. “Of course you’re m-m-my son. Are you saying that because I…because I left?”
The room tilted, the air stuck in Cole’s throat. “You’re my uncle. That’s what Nonda said.”
Uncle Crispen muttered a curse under his breath.
Cole barely heard it. His gaze snagged on the man’s thick freckles, the same scatter that covered his own nose and cheeks. It couldn’t be. His heart thudded like a tabor drum in his ears. “You left me,” he said, trembling.
“I-I had to.”
The excuse burned. Everything burned. “Why didn’t you take me with you? Why would you leave me with the Fawsts?”
“Didn’t know wh-what else to do.”
“That’s a lie.” The words tore out sharp, raw. “You left me because I was too small.”
Uncle Crispen flinched. “I-I left you because you always did the right thing.”
“I was a child.”
“You were a talker. Always spoke up. I knew if I…if I brought you with m-m-me, you’d g-get hurt.”
Talker? Cole searched the shadows of his memory but found nothing, only the sting of Nonda’s cane, Drustan’s and Fen’s fists. If he’d ever been a talker, the Fawsts had beaten it out of him.
He barely whispered, “She said my father didn’t want a runt like me.”
“That woman!” Crispen’s hands balled into fists. “I should have…should have taken you with m-m-me. I thought I…I’d be back soon, but I…I loved you too m-m-much to risk it.”
Cole’s chest squeezed so tight it hurt to breathe. His voice cracked. “You loved me?”
“I’m your father. I never thought…you believed otherwise. I’m sorry for Nonda, m-m-my boy. So sorry.”
Sorry for Nonda? As if that fixed years of abuse, neglect, silence from the one man who should have been there. Cole’s mind spun. Father. The word didn’t fit. Didn’t belong to this man.
“I-I never should’ve…taken that job,” Crispen said.
