“I’m her sister.”
He studied my face.
“Funny thing,” he said. “A woman came here years ago asking about that unit. She said she was from the hospice on Third Street. Her name was Ruth. She wanted to know whether a little boy’s belongings had been stored there.”
Ruth.
I remembered her immediately.
Ruth had volunteered at the hospice during Ethan’s final weeks. When I was too exhausted to read to him, Ruth sat beside his bed and turned the pages of his favorite books.
She had been gentle with him.
She had also been there the day Ethan’s rabbit disappeared.
The dog leaned against my leg.
I did not open Unit 34.
Not yet.
Instead, I drove straight to Marlene’s house.
She answered the door wearing a robe. The moment she saw my face, the color drained from hers.
“Diane? What happened?”
“Unit 34.”
Her fingers tightened around the doorframe.
