The oppressive silence in our house that night was suffocating. Mark crept into the room while I stood by the kitchen sink with the water running. “Is Noah okay?” he asked, looking away.
I told him, “Ethan came to see me at school today.”
Mark hesitated. Kids say silly things.
He remembered, in particular, Ethan telling him he would stop crying.
Mark rubbed his forehead. Maybe it was his way of coping with the loss.
I said, “Maybe,” but felt an uncomfortable tingling on my skin.
Mark reached out to take my hand, but instinctively pulled it away. He seemed hurt, because he remained still. Since the accident, the distance between us had only grown, and this reaction only widened it.
I decided we had to go to the cemetery Saturday morning. Noah carried the bouquet of white daisies I had brought him in both hands, as if it were a very important task. The headstone was still incredibly fresh when we arrived at the cemetery. I knelt down and brushed aside the leaves. I choked back tears as I murmured, “Hello, sweetheart.”
Noah didn’t come over. I said, “Come here and say hello to your brother.”
Noah stood completely still as he stared at the smooth stone. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.
Noah swallowed hard as he told me. “Ethan isn’t in there, Mom.”
“What do you mean he’s not there?”
Noah pointed beyond the headstone. “He’s not in there.”
I stood up slowly, trying to process what he had said. “This is your brother.”
Noah grimaced. “No, he told me himself. He said he wasn’t there.”
My hands felt cold. “Who told you this?”
Noah’s eyes were wide and serious when he answered Ethan.
Panic gripped me, I tried to change the subject. “Well, let’s get some hot chocolate.”
Noah leaned closer briefly, clearly relieved. “But keep in mind, it’s a secret.”
On Monday afternoon, he got in the car and said the same thing again. Ethan came to visit me again. Half-fastened in my seatbelt, I froze. “At school?” he asked, his voice trembling.
He nodded. “By the back fence. He spoke to me and made some statements.”
“What kind of items?”
Noah looked away. “It’s a secret.”
I gripped my seatbelt. “We’re not hiding anything from Mom, Noah. Who’s talking to you?”
The little boy mumbled, “She told me not to tell you.”
“You have to tell me, even if someone advises you to keep it a secret. Do you understand?”
He nodded after a moment of hesitation. That night, as I sat at the kitchen table on the phone, my heart was pounding. Mark stood in the doorway. “What happened?” he asked, noticing my distress.
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