PART 2 — THE SECRET BENTLEY WAS TRYING TO KEEPBentley stood between me and his little sister like a ten-year-old boy could somehow make himself big enough to stop the whole world from getting through that door.“Please don’t call anybody,” he whispered again.His voice cracked on the last word.Maddie was still holding out her empty sippy cup.I reached for it.“I’m not calling anyone this second,” I said. “First, I’m getting you two warm.”Bentley didn’t move.His eyes went straight to the telephone in my hand.“You promise?”

I should have told him I couldn’t promise that.I should have said there were things adults had to do when children were alone.But there was something in his face that stopped me.It wasn’t just fear.It was exhaustion.The kind of exhaustion no ten-year-old should know.“I promise I’m not going to let anybody separate you from Maddie without a fight,” I said.His shoulders dropped about half an inch.That was all the trust he could give me.I took Maddie by the hand.“Come next door. Both of you.”“We can’t.”“Why not?”

Bentley glanced toward the back bedroom.“Because Mom said to stay here.”My stomach tightened.“Bentley, your mother is in the hospital.”He looked at me sharply.“She said she’d be back.”“When did she go?”He stared at the floor.“Bentley.”“Last Tuesday.”I felt the room tilt.Last Tuesday.Nine days.

Amber had been gone nine days.And these children had been here alone.Every morning Bentley had put on his backpack.Every morning he’d knocked on my door at 7:10.Every morning he’d used my bathroom, filled his bottle, taken whatever crackers I happened to offer him, and then walked toward the bus stop.And every morning, after I went back inside, he’d waited until the bus disappeared.Then he’d come home to his three-year-old sister.My eyes burned.“You’ve been taking care of Maddie by yourself?”He shrugged like it wasn’t worth mentioning.“She doesn’t need much.”That nearly broke me.Three-year-olds need everything.“What have you been eating?”“We had stuff.”“What stuff?”

He didn’t answer.I opened the refrigerator.The light didn’t come on.Inside was half a jar of mustard, a bottle of ketchup, two shriveled apples, and a plastic container with something gray growing along the edge.I shut it quickly.Then I opened the cabinet.One box of cereal.Empty.A bag of rice.Almost empty.And three sleeves of saltine crackers.Two of them were the sleeves I’d given Bentley.I turned around.He looked ashamed.“For recess?” I asked quietly.His chin trembled.“Maddie likes them in milk.”There was no milk.I pressed my lips together.I was suddenly furious.At Doug.At Amber.At myself.Especially myself.For nine mornings, that child had stood inside my warm kitchen asking me for food.And I’d never asked the right question.Maddie tugged my sleeve.“Miss Arlene?”“Yes, baby?”“Can Bentley have pancakes?”Bentley closed his eyes.I didn’t ask another question.“Both of you are coming with me.”“But—”“That wasn’t a request.”Something in my voice must have reminded him of a grandmother instead of a landlord, because he finally nodded.I carried Maddie.Bentley followed three steps behind us.When we reached my kitchen, Maddie immediately climbed onto Ray’s old chair.Bentley stayed standing.“You sit too.”“I’m okay.”“Sit.”He sat.I made pancakes.Not the boxed kind.The kind Ray used to make on Sunday mornings with flour, eggs, vanilla, and too much butter.Maddie ate the first one so quickly I had to tell her to slow down.Bentley cut his into tiny pieces.He kept pushing half of them onto Maddie’s plate.“There’s more,” I told him.He froze.“What?”“There is more food, Bentley.

You don’t have to save yours for her.”His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.Then his face crumpled.He turned away from me so fast I almost pretended I hadn’t seen it.Almost.But I was done pretending.I walked around the table and put my hand on his back.He started crying without making a sound.That was somehow worse.His shoulders shook.His fists pressed against his eyes.“I tried,” he whispered.“I know.”“I tried really hard.”“I know you did.”“Mom said she’d only be gone one night.”“What happened to her?”“She got hurt at work.”My hand stopped.“What kind of hurt?”“She fell.”“Did you see it?”He shook his head.“She called from the hospital.”“When?”“The first night.”“And after that?”“She called again the next morning.”“What did she say?”“That they were doing surgery. She told me there was money in the blue jar and food in the freezer and she’d call somebody if she couldn’t come home.”I glanced toward the wall separating our two kitchens.“Did she?”Bentley wiped his face.“I don’t know.”“Did she call again?”“Once.”“When?”“Six days ago.”My chest tightened.“What did she say?”He stared at his pancake.“She sounded funny.”“Funny how?”“Sleepy.

She kept forgetting what she was saying.”“Did she tell you which hospital?”He nodded.“Ball Memorial.”“And you’ve heard nothing since?”“No.”I stood so quickly my chair scraped the floor.Bentley jumped.“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just making a phone call.”“No!”He grabbed my wrist.For a ten-year-old, his grip was surprisingly strong.“Please.”“Bentley, I need to find your mother.”“They’ll know we’re alone.”“Who will?”“The hospital. The police. Those people.”“What people?”His voice dropped to a whisper.“The foster people.”Maddie stopped chewing.Bentley looked at her, then leaned closer to me.“Mom told me what happened to her when she was little.”I remembered Amber sitting at this same table months earlier.Three homes in four years.Nobody’s ever splitting up my babies.Suddenly I understood.Amber hadn’t just been telling me about her childhood.She’d been telling me about her greatest fear.Bentley had inherited it.“If they know Mom isn’t here, they’ll take Maddie,” he whispered. “And I’m too old to go where she goes.”“Who told you that?”“Nobody.”“Then how do you know?”He looked down.“I looked it up.”Of course he had.A frightened child with an internet connection could find enough half-truths to terrify himself for a lifetime.I crouched beside him.“Listen to me.

Your job is not to figure out the entire world. Your job is to be ten.”“But Mom—”“Your mother wanted you to protect your sister.”He nodded.“You did.”His eyes filled again.“You kept her warm. You fed her. You got water. You stayed with her. You did everything you knew how to do.”I squeezed his hand.“But protecting Maddie now means letting me help.”He looked at me for a long time.Then he whispered, “Will you come with us if they take us?”My throat closed.“I’ll go wherever they’ll let me go.”That seemed to be enough.I called the hospital.The first person wouldn’t tell me anything.The second transferred me.The third asked who I was.“I’m her landlord,” I said.Then I looked at Bentley.“No. I’m her neighbor. And right now, I’m the person taking care of her children.”There was a pause.“Hold, please.”I waited.Three minutes later, another woman came on.“Mrs. Mercer?”“Yes.”“My name is Dana. I’m a hospital social worker.”My knees weakened.“Is Amber alive?”Another pause.“Yes.”Bentley heard.He covered his mouth.I grabbed his hand.“Can I speak to her?”“Not right now.”“Why?”“Mrs. Mercer, Amber experienced complications following surgery.

She’s currently in intensive care.”Bentley stared at me.I forced my face not to change.“What kind of complications?”“I can’t discuss her medical information without authorization. But I need to ask you something. Are her children with you?”I looked at Bentley.He shook his head frantically.I squeezed his hand.“Yes.”The silence on the other end changed.Not surprise.Relief.“Thank God,” the woman whispered.“What?”“We’ve been trying to locate them.”Bentley went white.“Why?”“Amber regained consciousness briefly two days ago. She kept asking for someone named Bentley.”“He’s her son.”“She gave us a phone number.”“My number?”“No.”My stomach tightened.“Whose?”“I don’t know. We called repeatedly. No answer.”“Can you give it to me?”“I can’t release information from her record.”I nearly shouted.“Then tell me this. Did anyone go to the house?”“We contacted the number Amber provided and left messages. We were preparing to request a welfare check.”Bentley’s fingers dug into mine.“Please don’t send police,” I said quickly. “They’re safe with me.”“We need to verify that.”“I understand.”And I did.I hated it, but I understood.The social worker lowered her voice.“Mrs. Mercer, there’s something else.”“What?”“When Amber was able to speak, she said one sentence several times.”My skin prickled.“What sentence?”“She said, ‘Don’t let him take my children.’”I looked at Bentley.He was watching me carefully.“Who is him?”“We don’t know.”“Did she say a name?”“No.”I thought immediately of Doug.Then I hated myself for thinking it.My son could be hard.He could be cruel about money.He’d had their water shut off.But take her children?No.That made no sense.“Can I bring the kids to see her?”“Not tonight.

But I’d like you to bring them tomorrow morning. Come to the main entrance and ask for me.”“I will.”“And Mrs. Mercer?”“Yes?”“Please don’t leave those children alone tonight.”I looked at Maddie licking syrup from her fingers.“You couldn’t make me.”After I hung up, Bentley asked the question I had been dreading.“Is Mom dying?”“No.”I answered too quickly.His eyes narrowed.Kids know.Especially kids who’ve had to grow up too fast.“She’s very sick,” I said. “But she’s alive. And tomorrow we’re going to see her.”He nodded.Then he reached into his hoodie pocket.“I didn’t tell you everything.”My heart sank.“What do you mean?”“The night Mom went to work, somebody came over.”“Who?”“I don’t know.”“A man?”Bentley nodded.“Did you see him?”“Not his face.”“What happened?”“He knocked really hard. Mom wouldn’t open the door.”“What did he say?”Bentley looked toward Maddie.“Can she watch TV?”I understood.I took Maddie into the living room and turned on cartoons.Then I came back.Bentley was holding something in his hand.A folded piece of paper.“What is that?”“He pushed it under the door.”I unfolded it.There were only seven words.YOU HAVE UNTIL FRIDAY.

THEN I TELL THEM.My skin went cold.“Tell who?”“I don’t know.”“Did your mother say?”“She grabbed it and threw it away.”“Then how do you have it?”“I took it out of the trash.”“Why?”He shrugged.“I thought maybe I’d need it.”Ten years old.Thinking about evidence.“What happened after the man left?”“Mom called somebody.”“Who?”“I don’t know. They argued.”“Did you hear anything she said?”He thought.“She said, ‘You promised me he would never find us.’”I read the note again.“Anything else?”Bentley nodded.“She said, ‘If something happens to me, Arlene gets the kids.’”My breath stopped.“What?”“She said your name.”“Are you sure?”“Yes.”“Exactly what did she say?”He swallowed.“She said, ‘Ray put it in writing. Arlene doesn’t know, but it’s legal.’”The room seemed to disappear around me.Ray.My dead husband.“What did she say about Ray?”Bentley looked confused.“Just that.”I stood up.My legs barely held me.Ray had been dead six years.Amber had only lived next door for two.There was no possible reason she should have known him.Unless she hadn’t first met us two years ago.I went straight to my bedroom.Ray’s things were still in the bottom drawer of the dresser.His watch.His old wallet.His Veterans of Foreign Wars pin.A bundle of letters tied with a rubber band.I pulled everything onto the bed.Nothing.I checked the closet.Nothing.Then I remembered his desk.After Ray died, Doug had moved most of his paperwork into boxes in the basement.I hadn’t touched them since.Bentley followed me downstairs.“Miss Arlene?”“Stay on the stairs, honey.”The basement smelled like dust and concrete.Six cardboard boxes were stacked beneath Ray’s old workbench.TAXES.INSURANCE.HOUSE.TOOLS.I pulled down the box marked HOUSE.Inside were forty years of receipts.Property taxes.Repairs.Tenant agreements.Then, halfway down, I found an envelope.My name was written across the front.ARLENE — IF AMBER EVER COMES BACK.I stopped breathing.Bentley whispered behind me.“That’s my mom’s name.”“I know.”My hands shook so badly I tore the corner trying to open it.Inside was a photograph.Ray was standing beside a much younger woman.She couldn’t have been more than seventeen.She was holding a baby.On the back, in Ray’s handwriting, were five words.AMBER AND BENTLEY.

MAY 2016.I nearly dropped it.Bentley stepped down another stair.“That’s me.”“Yes.”“How did your husband know me?”“I don’t know.”There was also a letter.I unfolded it.Arlene,If you’re reading this, then something has happened that I hoped never would.There is something I should have told you years ago.Something Doug begged me to keep from you.My heart stopped at my son’s name.I read the sentence again.Something Doug begged me to keep from you.Bentley came closer.“What does it say?”I couldn’t answer.Because beneath the letter was another document.A notarized document.Amber’s full name was printed at the top.Underneath it was Ray’s signature.And beside Ray’s signature was my son’s.DOUGLAS MERCER.I heard a car door slam outside.Then another.Bentley froze.Someone walked across my porch.Three hard knocks hit my front door.“Ma?”Doug.Bentley’s face drained of color.Then Doug called again.“I know those kids are in there.”I stared at Ray’s letter in my hand.And for the first time in my life, I didn’t recognize my own son’s voice.Because suddenly I remembered something the hospital social worker had told me.Amber had awakened terrified.She hadn’t asked whether her children were safe.She had said one thing.Don’t let him take my children.And now my son was standing on the other side of my front door…