“My parents.”
A weight drops in my stomach. I suck in air, sharp and tight. “What do you mean? What don’t they care about?”
“Anything,” he signs. Then, with a single flick of his wrist, “Me.”
A cold, sick feeling works through my belly. I hate myself for not making the connections earlier. Because I’ve seen all the fucking clues, haven’t I, even if I didn’t want to face what they were? His mother’s cold, angry voice when I came by to ask about his imaginary friend. The shouting I heard when he would disappear inside his house. The fact that he was left alone to fend for himself for an entire weekend.
“Oliver,” I say again, and when he turns his gaze over to me, I sign the rest of it. “Please. Tell me what happened.”
His face is hard and stony, and I don’t know what to do. I need a professional. Child Protective Services? Better safe than sorry, even though the last thing I want is for Oliver to tell them about Theo.
That doesn’t matter, I admonish myself. Theo can take care of himself.
“Please,” I sign. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened.”
Oliver swallows and slowly lowers his knees down until he’s sitting normally. “I want to see Theo,” he signs. “But Mom took my boat away.”
I take a deep breath. “We’ll find a way to get you over there,” I tell him. “Why did she take your boat away?” That seems a safe question, since he clearly doesn’t want to tell me about his eye.
“Because she hates me.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “Was it because of the camping trip? Because you spent the weekend with me?”
Oliver stares sullenly up at me. “They didn’t know about that.” His eyes gleam. “Can you take me to see Theo now?”
“Why do you want to see Theo?” I ask, feeling dizzy. I’m not prepared for this. In fact, I’m certain I’m going to fuck it up.
“Because Theo is my friend,” Oliver says. “And he told me that if anyone ever hurt me, I should tell him.”
I take a jagged breath. A million thoughts flood my head. Would Theo kill someone for Oliver? SurelyOliverdoesn’t realize that, and I don’t think for a second that’s what he actually wants, to be the reason someone—his parents, it seems—should die.
“He’ll protect me,” Oliver says, his signs becoming fast and jagged. It takes me a second to parse what he’s saying. “But I can’t go across the lake without a boat. Can you drive there?”
With that last question, Oliver gives me a look of such pure desperation that I feel my heart crack in two. I know telling him no isn’t remotely a possibility.
“Let me check,” I say weakly.
Oliver draws his knees up to his chest again, squeezing himself up tight. With shaking hands, I pull up a map of Hanging Lake on my phone. The main road does seem to wind around the lake, dead-ending near the start of the peninsula. It’s going totake a lot longer than rowing across. Or even swimming across, for that matter. But Oliver’s not in a swimsuit. To be honest, I’m not sure he even knows how to swim.
“It looks like it,” I say, and he jerks his gaze up to me. God, it makes my heart hurt to see the bruise around his eye. “But we’re probably going to have to hike over to his cabin.”
“We won’t,” Oliver says. “He’ll know we’re there.”
My heart flutters, although I don’t say anything.
“We need to hurry,” Oliver says, his eyes big and desperate. “Please. Before they realize I’m gone.”
The bruising around his eyes seems to swim out at me. All I can do is nod.
Ten minutes later,I’m winding down the lakeside road, my phone’s GPS glowing in the passenger seat. Oliver is curled up in the backseat, watching the trees flicker past us. It’s all trees out here, standing guard against the smooth blue waters of Hanging Lake.
This is a mistake. I’m sure it’s a mistake. I should have told Oliver that I was calling CPS, that someone would come help him. But I think about his big, pleading eyes and how excited he was for our little campout. I think about kind Theo is with him, and how unafraid Oliver is whenever he’s around.
Callie saved me and Penelope, I think, squeezing hard on the steering wheel.She’s just like Theo, and she saved us.
By killing our attacker, though.
The road narrows as we come to the bend of the lake, heading toward the peninsula. Gravel crunches under the tire.
