“That’s his writing,” Mack said hoarsely.
“No,” Elias muttered, already crying. “No, no, no…”
Ronan crouched to the girl’s level. His voice came rough. “What’s your name?”
“Ember.”
“And where is your mother?”
“She died last winter.”
The answer was simple. Flat. Practiced.
Something broke in Dean’s face.
“Who’s taking care of you?” Luis asked.
Ember looked down. “Dad did. Until three nights ago.”
Ronan felt the blood drain from his body. “You’ve seen him? Recently?”
She nodded.
Every man at the table leaned in.
Ember’s voice stayed steady, but her fingers twisted in her sleeves. “We lived in a cabin near Black Pine Road. He was sick for a long time. Coughing. Sleeping more. He told me stories about all of you. Said you were his brothers. Said if anything happened, I had to go to Maple Ridge Diner on a Sunday. He said you’d be there. He said you never stopped coming.”
Ronan closed his eyes.
Because that part was true. Painfully true.
“Why didn’t he come himself?” Mack asked.
Ember looked at him, and in that instant she stopped seeming like a child and started seeming like someone much older wearing a child’s face.
“Because he said you all buried him once already,” she replied. “And he didn’t know if you’d forgive him for still being alive.”
The words hit like a fist.