“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“The nurse brought cots. They’re all sleeping in the waiting room except for Dad.”

“Where’s he?”

Camille nodded her head toward a birthing suite, and immediately, I heard the familiar Jim Maddox snore. He would breathe in through his nose, and then his cheeks would fill with air before it finally pushed through his lips.

“He talked them into giving him a room?”

“He was afraid his snoring would wake the kids. He insisted on having his cot out here, but the nurses caught wind of it, and you know ... Everyone loves Jim.”

“Aren’t you tired?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t think Trent wants my company.”

I sat down next to her. “Cami … you know he loves you. It’s a lot to process all at once.”

“I know,” she said, wringing her hands. “The thing with Thomas and me … It’s been festering just beneath the surface all these years. I knew it would come out eventually, and I knew he’d be angry. I just didn’t expect to feel this much guilt.”

“Because you don’t want to see him hurting.”

“No, I don’t.”

I looked down at the ground. “No one’s going to escape it this time.”

“Have you heard from Liis? Any updates?”

“No,” I said. It was the truth. I didn’t need any updates. I knew exactly what was going to happen.

“They said she was flying in. Isn’t that weird she would do that? While Thomas is recovering?”

“She has a new baby, and …” I trailed off. I didn’t want to lie anymore, and the worst was still ahead.

Camille grew quiet. “He didn’t make it, did he? She wants to tell us in person.” When I didn’t answer, Camille stared at me until I faced her. “Tell me, Travis. Is he dead?”

“You want to keep more secrets from Trenton? What if he finds out you knew something about Tommy before him? Again?”

“Just tell me,” she said. “I deserve to know.”

“More than anyone else?”

“Trav. I’ve been protecting his secret for him for years.”

“And look where it got you.”

Camille thought about my words and sat back. She closed her eyes, appearing pained. “You’re right.”

I stood up, leaving Camille alone with her quiet tears. As I walked away, I was surprised to feel even heavier than before. That would have been one less person I would’ve had to destroy. I froze in the hallway, in front of Abby’s door, realizing we would have to tell the kids. My kids. I would have to look them straight in the eye and tell them their uncle was dead.

I closed my eyes, wondering how I could ever explain why they couldn’t lie later in life. How could they ever trust me after that? I pushed open the door just as Abby was screwing the lid on the milk container.

“How did it go?” I asked.

She paused. “What’s wrong?”

“The kids,” I said.

She jerked up. “What about the kids?”

I sighed. “Fuck. No, I’m sorry. They’re fine.” I sat next to her, gathering the pump and tubing in one hand, the container in the other. I kissed her forehead. “They’re fine. It just hit me that we’re going to have to tell the kids about Thomas.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “They’ll be heartbroken.”

“And then … later …”

Abby covered her eyes, and I hugged her. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“They’ll never trust us again.”

“Maybe they’ll understand.”

Her eyes filled with tears for the dozenth time that morning. “Not for a long time.”

The nurse knocked on the door, her short blond hair bouncing. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t get much,” Abby said as I handed the nurse the equipment and container.

The nurse held it up and narrowed her eyes then smiled. “It’ll do. He’ll be a happy boy.”

“Can we see him?” Abby asked.

“Yes,” the nurse said, pointing at her. “Right after you get some rest.”

“We’ve been trying,” I said.

“Not a problem. I’ll make a note. Do not disturb.”

“Unless,” Abby began.

“Unless something comes up. Yes, ma’am.” The nurse closed the door behind her, and I settled back into the recliner.

Abby turned off the light above her, and except for the sunrise peeking through the edges of the blinds, it was dark. The birds were chirping, and I wondered if I would ever sleep again.

“I love you,” Abby whispered from her bed.

I wanted to crawl into her bed with her, but the IV made that precarious. “I love you more, Pigeon.”

She sighed, the bed crinkling as she settled in.

I closed my eyes, listening to Abby’s breathing, the IV pump, and the obnoxious bird happily singing outside. Somehow, I slipped beneath the waves of consciousness, dreaming that I was lying next to Abby for the first time in my college apartment, wondering how in the hell I was going to keep her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SHEPLEY

AMERICA HELD MY HAND, pulling me through Abby’s hospital room doorway. It smelled like bleach and flowers, exactly why I was glad America had our last two boys at home. Hospitals gave me the heebie-jeebies, pretty much just holding bad memories for me. Mercy Hospital was the setting for the times I remembered going with my parents to see Diane, when I broke my arm, when Trenton got into that bad car accident with Mackenzie and again with Camille. The only good memories I have of Mercy Hospital were when Ezra and then Travis and Abby’s twins were born.

“Hi,” Abby said with a smile, embracing America when she bent over for a hug.

“You look so good!” America said, repeating the phrase every postpartum mom wants to hear.

Abby beamed. “They’re taking me to see him soon.”

“Good,” America said, sitting next to her. She held her friend’s hand. “That’s good.”

There was an elephant in the room. The four of us had been close since the first night Abby came to my apartment with Travis. It wasn’t like them to keep things from us. At least, that’s what I’d thought. America and I had several conversations about how the FBI seemed to have forgotten about Travis’s involvement with the fire, how the questions and the suspicion stopped. And then the weird moment the morning after Travis and Abby’s wedding in St. Thomas when he was so upset he couldn’t speak. That was it. That was when it happened. Thomas had given him an ultimatum.

America fell quiet. The America I fell in love with would have raked Abby over the coals for being dishonest, but my wife and mother of three tyrants was wiser and slower to anger. She listened more and reacted less. Their friendship had lasted on the basis of full disclosure. How else could they love each other no matter what? But now we were in a time of our lives when we had to put our spouses first. Marriage made friendship—even old ones—complicated.

“Mare,” Abby began. “I wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” America said. Now that the conversation had started, she wasn’t going to let her off too easy.

“About Travis. I just found out myself a few years ago.”

“When did you stop trusting me?” America asked, trying not to sound hurt.