“Are you Linda?” he asked.
I nodded because my throat wouldn’t cooperate.
He held out a folded note. “This is for you.”
My name was on it. The handwriting was familiar enough to make my hands go numb. Grant. I unfolded it right there, under the porch light.
Mom, don’t call anyone. Don’t ask questions. Just listen to him and get in the car.
“I can’t discuss details here.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Grant was my wild one. The one I worried about when my phone rang late.
The officer said with a flat expression, “Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
I looked up, panicked. “Is my son alive?”
His eyes flicked away for half a second, as if he knew something but didn’t want to spill the secret.
“Please,” I whispered. “Is Grant alive?”
He swallowed. “He’ll explain everything.”
