PART 1 — THE BOY BESIDE MY BED
The first thing I heard was a clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
At first, I thought it was the clock in my bedroom.
Then I smelled antiseptic.
My eyes opened halfway.
White ceiling.
Blinds.
A plastic tube taped to my hand.
For several seconds, I had no idea where I was.
I tried to move, but my body felt buried beneath concrete. My throat was dry, and there was a strange weight behind my eyes.
Then I noticed the chair beside my bed.
A small boy was sleeping in it.
His body had curled sideways, his knees tucked beneath his chin. One sneaker had slipped off, and his dark hair stuck up in several places as though he had been running his hands through it.
I stared at him.
I knew that face.
“Ben?”
My voice came out as a weak rasp.
The boy’s eyes opened instantly.
He shot upright.
For one second, he looked terrified.
Then his face crumpled.
“Granny!”
Before I could say another word, he climbed onto the edge of my hospital bed and wrapped both arms around me.
He was crying so hard his shoulders shook.
I barely had the strength to lift my hand, but I touched the back of his head.
“Ben…”
“You’re awake.”
“I think I am.”
“You’re really awake.”
He pulled back, wiped his cheeks with both hands, and stared at me as though I might disappear if he blinked.
“How long have you been here?” I whispered.
“All the time.”
“All the time?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t leave.”
I smiled weakly.
“You must have been sleeping in that chair.”
“Sometimes.”
“Ben, you’re only nine.”
“I know.”
“Where is your mother?”
He looked toward the hospital door.
The change in his expression frightened me more than anything else.
His smile disappeared.
His little fingers tightened around mine.
“Granny…”
“Yes?”
“You have to listen to me.”
I waited.
He leaned closer.
His breath trembled against my ear.
“When Aunt Rachel comes, pretend you’re still asleep.”
I frowned.
“Aunt Rachel?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
His eyes darted toward the door again.
“Because when she thinks you’re asleep…”
He swallowed.
“That’s when she tells the truth.”
My heart began pounding.
Before I could ask what he meant, the door handle moved.
Ben jumped out of the bed.
He hurried back into the chair and pulled his blanket around himself.
A moment later, the door opened.
A woman stepped inside carrying a paper cup of coffee.
Rachel.
My younger daughter.
The daughter who had spent the previous three weeks telling everyone I was lucky to have survived.
She smiled when she saw my open eyes.
“Oh, Mom.”
She placed the cup on the table and walked toward me.
“You’re awake.”
I looked at her.
She looked exactly the same as I remembered.
Perfectly styled blond hair.
Cream coat.
Gold earrings.
Carefully applied lipstick.
But something about her eyes was different.
There was no surprise in them.
Only calculation.
She leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“I’ve been worried sick.”
I looked toward Ben.
He was staring at the floor.
Rachel straightened.
“How are you feeling?”
“Confused.”
“That’s normal.”
“How long was I unconscious?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Almost three weeks.”
Three weeks.
The number echoed inside my head.
Three weeks of nothing.
Three weeks erased.
“What happened to me?”
Rachel pulled the chair closer.
“You fell down the stairs at home.”
I stared at her.
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“You found me?”
“Yes.”
“Were you there?”
“I came after I couldn’t reach you.”
I watched her face.
Something inside me whispered that I had heard this story before.
But I couldn’t remember.
All I could remember was rain.
A ringing phone.
Someone standing at the bottom of my stairs.
And a voice saying:
“You never learn, Mom.”
Then darkness.
A nurse entered to check my monitor.
Rachel stood up.
“I’ll give you some privacy.”
She walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she glanced at Ben.
It was only for a second.
But Ben flinched.
The door clicked shut.
Silence filled the room.
I looked at him.
“What does Aunt Rachel say when she thinks I’m asleep?”
Ben climbed back onto the bed.
“She asks where the key is.”
“What key?”
“The blue key.”
I stared at him.
“What blue key?”
“The one Grandpa gave you.”
My breath caught.
My husband, Arthur, had been dead for six years.
I had almost forgotten the blue key.
Not because it was unimportant.
Because I had been trying very hard not to think about what it opened.
There had been one promise between Arthur and me.
One secret we had agreed would never be discussed in front of the children.
I had kept it for six years.
Until now.
I looked at Ben.
“What do you know about the key?”
He whispered.
“Aunt Rachel knows about it too.”
“How?”
“She heard you and Dad arguing.”
“Your father?”
“My dad heard Aunt Rachel talking to Uncle Mark.”
“About what?”
Ben looked toward the closed door.
Then he leaned close enough for me to hear every word.
“She said if you died before signing the papers, everything would be harder.”
My stomach turned.
“What papers?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
He looked frightened.
“But Granny…”
“Yes?”
“I think someone tried to kill you.”
The heart monitor suddenly seemed louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And for the first time since waking from the coma, I understood why my grandson had refused to leave my side.
He wasn’t staying because he was afraid I might die.
He was staying because he was afraid someone might finish the job.
