Page 43 of Second Story

He nods, then points and whispers, “And a giant.”

He isn’t wrong about that. They breed them big in Cornwall, and the bearded guy with a shovel ready to bury this time capsule is a good example. He towers over children and adults. “I bet we’d be even taller than him if you sat on my shoulders.”

It’s a good thing Lenny really is a shrimp. He’s easy enough to carry through crowds then set down beside a hole in the ground that will hold the tote, where he deposits an envelope of his own. That box already contains a map drawn by his brother that Noah posted. Isaac won’t need it again now that he’s found his way here. Luke Lawson doesn’t let Lenny doing the same pass unnoticed.

“And let me introduce our newest student. Everyone, please welcome Lenny Webber!”

Him hiding behind me at all this attention isn’t a sign of weakness. There’s plenty of his brother’s triumph in how quickly he rebounds, his own skinny arms raised. He’s faster at healing than I ever managed, and I love to see it. It should make it easier to leave these Webbers to their happy ending instead of outstaying my welcome.

Lenny stops me doing that by grabbing my hand, then grabs Isaac’s, a happy link between us, and man…

I’ve done what I came here to accomplish.

Got a laptop full of the reports I need and set eyes on a kid who has a tough road ahead.

Noah doesn’t have to walk that road without an advocate, but walking away to let him process and come to his own decision is tough. Walking away from Isaac and his brother will be even harder.

I ignore the buzz from my phone, reminding me I should head home soon.

I turn it to silent and slide it back into my pocket.

Leaving can wait a little longer.

In hindsight,maybe putting off leaving until the sun sinks and a yawning Lenny asks for a bedtime story is a mistake.

Isaac sees me check my watch. So does the houseparent who chivvies Lenny expertly through face washing and tooth brushing, all smiles and swollen belly that is a reminder of Meera.

“There. You’re all set. Tor, it’s your turn for teeth.”

Lenny must like Ruth to speak aloud around her, even if this is aimed at me instead of her. “Are you staying?”

“I can’t, mate. I’ve got to get back on the road.”

Fuck my life, his doe eyes give Isaac’s a run for their soulful money. His chin trembles, and this is fainter. “Why?”

“Because I made a promise to help my brother.” Christ, that sounds weak.

At least it distracts Lenny, and this question has more volume. “You got a brother?”

I nod.

“Is he old like you?”

“Len—” Isaac starts. He stops when I crack up.

“He’s exactly the same age as me. Or almost. Josh is a minute or two older.” Lenny mouths the word, “Twins,” and I nod.“That’s right. We’re twins. Identical ones. And his missus has a baby on board like Ruth does.” She’s returned with Lenny’s minty-fresh roommate, then she stands in their bedroom doorway, hand on the baby bump that is a Meera reminder, and guilt twinges. “Josh is going away for work. Can’t leave her all alone, can I?”

His chin trembles again, so I quickly fish out my phone and make an offer. “How about I give Isaac my number, so you can send a photo from time to time of what you get up to, yeah? Check in if you feel like it.” I couldn’t have given out my personal number when I was his caseworker. Wouldn’t have. A beat too late, I realise I also can’t force his brother to take it, but Isaac already has his phone out to type my number in one-handed.

Lenny still has a hold of my hand, not letting go yet. “You going right now?”

“Soon.”

He’s so like Isaac, wide eyes telling me thatsoonisn’t a word he trusts. Can’t say I blame him—all I’ve proven is that it might as well meanalmost never. That makes me hurry to be clearer. “I won’t go until after I’ve read your story.” This isn’t the ending I expected to theirs, but I get on my knees and try to read another, only to fuck up before I finish the first line.

Lenny has zero problem finding his voice then. “That isn’t how the story starts.”

Isaac intervenes. “This is the good thing about other people reading, isn’t it? They make old stories feel new.” He kneels so close our legs touch, a firm point of contact that is hard to ignore as he gives me storytelling guidance. “But maybe not tonight, yeah? I’ll show Joe how you like to hear every single word.” He demonstrates by reading out the title on the cover, following each word with his finger for Lenny. And for Tor, who abandons his bed for Len’s to get closer. “Every Scar Tells a Story, by Owen Bailey.”

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