“Mom, talk to me.”
I found the photograph.
Michael was 22.
He was standing beside my father at a barbecue, both of them squinting into the sun.
I handed it to Tyler.
“What am I looking at?”
“Your uncle.”
“I know who Uncle Michael is.”
“Look at his neck.”
Tyler lowered his eyes.
The silver pendant was visible against Michael’s shirt.
He looked toward the basement.
Then back at the photograph.
“No.”
“That’s Dad’s necklace.”
“Lots of necklaces look like that.”
“There’s a scratch along the bottom.”
Tyler looked again.
I said, “Noah has a birthmark behind his left ear.”
“So?”
“So did Michael.”
Tyler went pale.
“Mom…”
“He said his father’s name is Michael.”
Silence.
Then Noah called through the door.
“Tyler, what is happening?”
Tyler turned to me.
“Open the door.”
I hesitated.
“Mom, if you’re right, Noah still hasn’t done anything.”
That hit me.
He was right.
I unlocked the door.
