I thought about Toby upstairs.
I thought about all the times Arthur had complained about children.
And suddenly, something didn’t add up.
“You had another son.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
Arthur didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“What happened to your son?”
“He died.”
The word landed like a stone.
“When?”
“When he was ten.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
Arthur swallowed.
“Leukemia.”
I looked at the twenty-seven money order stubs.
“Maryanne?”
“She needed money for treatment.”
“And you sent it?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t stay.”
His jaw tightened.
