“That locket was lost.”
“No,” Victor said. “She told you it was.”
My chest tightened.
“Why would my mother give you her locket?”
“Because I gave it to her first.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“When she was around ten, maybe younger,” he said. “She’d had a terrible day. I told her if she wore it, she could pretend I was walking beside her.”
Mrs. Bell lowered her gaze.
Victor opened the locket.
Inside was a faded photograph of two children sitting on porch steps, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Scratched onto the back in childish handwriting were three words.
“My safe place.”
My throat tightened.
“That’s Mom?”
Victor nodded.
“And the boy is you?”
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
“No. Mom only had one brother.”
“Mark was the youngest.”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
“If you were her brother,” I said, my voice rising, “why did she make you live outside?”
Victor flinched.
Before he could answer, Mrs. Bell spoke.
“Because Mark scared her.”
