Page 17

OCTOBER 19 ~ 12 DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN

The first thing I notice about Morrow is that he is trying not to cry. Not because he is calm.

Because he thinks he isn't allowed to fall apart.

I know that look.

I have spent 15 years studying human behavior, both professionally and personally. I know what people look like when they are afraid. I know what they look like when they are angry, defensive, ashamed, or desperate.

I know what they look like when they are holding themselves together because they believe nobody else will.

Morrow… I mean, Morrow Valentine is doing exactly that.

"Sit down," I say gently.

He stands in the middle of my living room like he is afraid touching anything will make him less real.

"I don't want to bother you."

The words hit harder than they should.

"You showed up at my house during a thunderstorm."

His mouth tightens.

"I know."

"You're soaked through."

"I know."

"You're also 15."

His eyes flicker.

"I know."

I stare at him. For someone who arrived at my door claiming I am his mother, he has a surprising amount of patience for my obvious disbelief.

"I need you to understand something," I say.

He nods.

"I have a lot of questions."

Another nod.

"And I need answers."

His shoulders relax slightly.

"Okay."

The simple acceptance almost makes it worse. I grab one of the blankets folded over the back of the sofa and hand it to him.

"Dry clothes first."

His eyebrows lift.