Laura stood halfway and then stopped because she did not know whether approaching him would make anything worse. “You told me Daniel,” Mark said, his back to her. “I panicked.” “You panicked?” “I knew the percentage meant—” “You knew exactly what it meant.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t think—” “Stop saying that.” Mark spun back toward her. His voice finally rose. “Do not stand there after eighteen years and tell me what you didn’t think.”
Upstairs, Tyler sat on the floor beside his bed listening. He had not intended to eavesdrop. He had intended to lock his door, put on headphones, and disappear from whatever came next. But when he heard the name Daniel Mercer, he froze. Then he heard his father say Andrew.
Uncle Andrew. The room seemed to contract around him. Andrew Whitmore was fifty-four, Mark’s older brother by three years, a vascular surgeon in Cincinnati, divorced twice and now married for the third time to a woman named Celeste. To Tyler, he had always been the successful uncle who arrived at Christmas with expensive gifts and slightly late apologies. He had taught Tyler to throw a spiral in the backyard when he was six.
He had paid for half of Tyler’s first car. He had attended every major birthday, graduation, and baseball tournament he could fit between hospital schedules. He had also been unusually emotional at Tyler’s birth. Tyler remembered none of that directly, of course. But there were photographs.
Andrew holding newborn Tyler in the hospital, head bent over the blanket. Andrew standing beside Mark with a hand on his shoulder at the christening. Andrew making jokes about Tyler getting the “Whitmore chin. Twelve percent. Uncle.
Father.” Tyler opened his bedroom door. Downstairs, Mark was saying, “He knew, didn’t he?” Laura said nothing. Mark slammed both palms against the dining-room table.
“He knew.” “Yes.” Tyler stopped midway down the staircase. His mother’s single word traveled through him like cold water. Mark stared at her as if the betrayal had just multiplied into something beyond calculation.
“He knew from when?” “From the beginning.” “Before Tyler was born?” “Yes.” “And neither of you told me.”
Laura shook her head. Mark laughed once, but there was no amusement left in it. “My brother knew he might be my son’s father for eighteen years.” Tyler stepped into the foyer. Both parents turned.
“Don’t,” Tyler said when Laura moved toward him. His face had gone pale. “Don’t come near me yet.” Laura stopped. Tyler looked at Mark.
“Uncle Andrew?” Mark closed his eyes briefly. Tyler’s mouth twisted. “Wow.” “Tyler, I’m sorry,” Laura whispered.