Page 39 of The Silence Between

“Same as always,” I said, not bothering to sugarcoat with Mari. “They'll release him to the recovery center on Pine tomorrow, until he decides to walk out.”

She nodded, unsurprised. We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the occasional car pass on the street below, headlights briefly illuminating the shabby buildings of The Hollows before darkness reclaimed them.

“I heard from Northwestern,” she said finally, voice carefully neutral.

My attention sharpened immediately. “And?”

“Preliminary acceptance. Early decision. With the Young Scientists scholarship.”

Pride surged through me, momentarily displacing exhaustion. “Mari, that's amazing! Congratulations!”

“It would cover most of tuition,” she continued, still in that measured tone that suggested she was withholding something. “But not room and board. And it's in Chicago.”

Chicago. Over two thousand miles away. Might as well be another planet.

“We'll figure it out,” I said automatically, my mind already calculating possibilities—additional work hours, loan applications, selling the car I'd saved three years to buy.

“Leo.” She turned to face me fully, moonlight revealing the conflict in her expression. “It's too far. Too expensive. And you need me here with Diego and Sophie.”

“No,” I said firmly. “That's not how this works. You're going. End of discussion.”

“It's not that simple?—”

“It is exactly that simple. Everything we've done—everything I've done—has been about giving you this exact opportunity. The chance to go wherever your brain can take you.” I gestured vaguely toward the surrounding neighborhood. “To get out of here. To have the options I never had.”

“But what about Diego's appointments? And Sophie's after-school stuff? And your work schedule? We barely manage now with both of us.”

She was right, of course. Our careful family system relied on her help. Picking up the younger kids when my work schedule overlapped with school dismissal, helping with homework while I worked evening shifts, managing household tasks I couldn't fit between jobs. Her departure would destabilize everything.

“We'll adapt,” I said, more confidently than I felt. “I'll adjust my hours. Find new arrangements. Whatever it takes.”

“But—”

“No buts. You're going.” I put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “We'll figure out the rest.”

She didn't argue further, but I felt the tension in her body, the weight of responsibility she'd carried too young pressing against her excitement for this opportunity. We sat in silence afterward, both contemplating the approaching changes.

For the first time in years, I allowed myself to consider what Mari's departure might mean not just for our family logistics but for my own deferred dreams.

“You could apply to schools too,” she said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. “With me gone, maybe it's time.”

The suggestion hung in the night air, dangerous in its possibility.

“Let's focus on getting you to Chicago first,” I deflected. “One massive life change at a time.”

But the seed had been planted, and I couldn't pretend it hadn't taken root.

* * *

Second Chapter Bookstoreexisted in a strange neutral zone between East and West Riverton, occupying the ground floor of a Victorian house that had seen better days but maintained a certain faded dignity. The bell above the door chimed as I entered during my lunch break, the familiar smell of old paper and coffee wrapping around me like a welcome.

This place had become a sanctuary since high school, when Ethan first brought me here senior year. What started as occasional visits with him transformed into my own refuge after we parted ways—a quiet escape between responsibilities where I could reconnect with the person I used to be. The maze of overstuffed shelves created hidden corners where you could disappear into other worlds for as long as your schedule allowed.

Eleanor emerged from behind the counter, her silver hair swept into its usual practical bun. At seventy-three, she moved more slowly than when I'd first met her, but her eyes remained sharp and observant behind bifocals.

“Right on time,” she said, gesturing toward the small table where she'd set up coffee and sandwiches. “Tuna salad okay? I ran out of turkey.”

“Tuna's great. Thanks.” I settled across from her, aware of the minutes ticking down before I needed to head to my next job. “Your message said you wanted to discuss something?”

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