"When?" I ask, my voice muffled against her cardigan.
"Soon." Mom pulls back to look at me. "Before he gets worse. While he still has the strength to process it."
I nod, wiping my eyes. "I'll talk to Jack first. We should tell him together."
"That's probably wise." Mom moves back to the table, finally taking a sip of her now-lukewarm tea. "The way he looks at you.A mother recognizes that look, Mia. He's in love with you. Still. Or maybe again."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "It's complicated."
"Love usually is." Mom sets down her cup.
Her expression shifts again, something darker crossing her features. She folds her hands on the table, and I recognize that look. It's the same one she wore when she caught me sneaking out in high school, when she knew I was lying about where I'd been.
"Actually," I say quickly, desperate to change the subject, "I should probably check on Dad. See if he needs anything."
"Mia." Mom's voice stops me before I can stand. "There's something else you need to know."
My stomach drops. "Mom, I really think we've covered enough heavy topics for one night."
"Your father already suspects."
The words hang in the air between us. I stare at her, not comprehending. "Suspects what?"
"About you and Jack." Mom's eyes are steady on mine. "That something happened between you two when you were eighteen."
The kitchen tilts. I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles going white. "That's ... how could he possibly..."
"He's not stupid, sweetheart." Mom's voice is gentle but firm. "He saw how Jack looked at you that summer. How you looked at Jack. And then you disappeared." She pauses. "Jack stopped coming around as much after that. When he did visit, he and your father would sit in uncomfortable silence. Robert noticed."
Mom's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "He's been waiting, Mia. All this time, he's been waiting for one of you to trust him enough to tell him the truth. To confess."
The word "confess" hits me like a punch to the gut. Ten years. Dad has carried this suspicion for ten years, watching, waiting, hoping one of us would be honest with him.
"Oh God." I press my hand to my mouth, fighting the wave of nausea.
From the living room, Dad's voice calls out, rough with sleep.
"Linda? Is Mia still here?"
37
NOAH
The white paper flutters against my windshield like a trapped moth, and my stomach drops before I even pull it free from under the wiper blade. I know what it is before I unfold it. The same crisp white paper Blake described. The same typed message, impersonal and threatening.
Stay away from Mia.
Someone is watching us. Someone knows about our relationship and is systematically targeting each of us. The parking lot suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable. I scan the area, looking for anyone suspicious, but see only the usual afternoon exodus of teachers heading home.
I pull out my phone and call Blake first.
"Noah?" His voice carries concern immediately. "Everything okay?"
"I got one too. Same note you did. 'Stay away from Mia.'"
Blake curses colorfully. "When?"
"Just now. It was on my windshield when I came out after school." I unlock my car and slide inside, suddenly needing the illusion of safety four doors and windows provide. "We need to tell Jack."