He looked at me first. Then at my parents. Then at his father.
Finally, he pointed at Zane.
And in a rough, rusted voice I had not heard in eight years, my son said, « You knew why I stopped talking. »
No one moved.
His breathing became quick and shallow.
Zane went white.
I pushed back my chair so fast it nearly tipped. « Jeremy? »
His breathing became quick and shallow. He looked terrified, like the words had escaped before he could stop them. Then he shoved back from the table, ran upstairs, and slammed his bedroom door.
Then I looked at his face.
I started after him, but Zane caught my wrist.
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