A Mother's Claim. Janice Kay Johnson

when she got home from work. Her diet consisted of whole grains, vegetables, fruit and nuts. She had a runner’s thin body but didn’t care how she looked.

      On the surface, she lived—had friends, spent time with her family, held a fulfilling job. But she would sacrifice every other relationship to find Gabriel. That hole inside her, the search, secretly consumed her.

      She haunted websites devoted to missing children, posting reminders of her lost son wherever she could. Once a year, she called the detective who had investigated fruitlessly, even though he was now a district commander in the Aurora, Colorado, police department. He was always polite and sympathetic; yes, he would do some follow-up. He always called a few days later to say that nothing new had come up. Although she knew he was thinking it, he didn’t say, Lady, your son is dead. You need to deal with reality.

      If she had believed, truly believed, that Gabe was dead, she wasn’t sure she’d have reason to live. But if Gabriel ever was found, he would need her. She couldn’t surrender entirely to despair.

      She would go to work, immerse herself in other people’s problems, try to find them help, soften their burdens. She’d come home, run until her body ached, eat what she must, read or watch some meaningless television show and finally go to bed, where she would only allow herself to sleep lightly, listening for the faintest of sounds.

      She would keep doing it.

      But every hour, every day, every week and month and year, scoured her out until less and less of the old Dana survived.

      * * *

      UNCLE NOLAN HAD been really quiet since Christian got home from school. Well, not home home—most days, if he wasn’t hanging with friends, he rode his bike to his uncle’s business, which had a private beach on the Columbia River. Uncle Nolan had bought the business when he came back from Afghanistan for good, and immediately made a deal with a really cool small inn to take over an old boathouse and expand it on land leased from them. Then he’d sold the original building on the main street.

      It wasn’t like he’d been busy today; hardly anybody wanted to rent windsurfing gear or a sailboat or kayak in late January, when the weather was this cold and wet. Usually Uncle Nolan didn’t seem to mind slow stretches; he said the busy seasons more than made up for them.

      But today he’d been sitting behind a computer and barely looked up when Christian walked in. All he said was, “Homework.”

      Uncle Nolan used as few words as possible, listening more than he talked. This was kind of different, though. Usually he at least said hi and asked about Christian’s day. He’d been more withdrawn since Mom died. He brooded a lot, which was okay. Christian did, too, going up to his room to lie on his bed, stare up at the ceiling and wonder how Mom could have done that. Hadn’t she worried about him at all? He knew she was sick, but hadn’t she loved him? What if she had changed her mind at the last second but it was too late?

      Was dying like they said, following a white light? In killing herself, had she committed such a sin she was condemned to a horrible eternity? Or was she just...gone? Erased? Uncle Nolan had talked with him about what different people believed and had shaken his head when Christian asked what he thought.

      “I wish I could tell you.” He’d stared into the distance, but not as if he was seeing anything. “You know what I did in the military.”

      Christian nodded.

      “I saw a lot of men killed.”

      Christian knew his uncle had probably killed a bunch of those men. Sometimes he thought that’s why Uncle Nolan was so quiet. Maybe those dead men haunted him.

      But what he’d said then was, “I’ve never seen a ghost. Never had a hint of one of my buddies coming back to let me know he’s okay on the other side. Not sure I believe it when someone claims Grandma appeared the day after the funeral to say goodbye. But I can’t discount the possibility that there is an afterlife. Any minister will tell you there is, and most people believe it.”

      “I wish—” Christian wasn’t even sure what he’d meant to say. He wished Mom hadn’t done it? Or that she was watching over him, like people had claimed she was? Or that she hadn’t been crazy to start with?

      But Uncle Nolan had pulled him into a tight hug and said, in his deep voice, “I do, too, son.”

      And Christian knew he really did understand. That he had all the same wishes, never sure which one to go for, because he had loved Christian’s mom even though he got really mad at her, too.

      They had sat there long enough Christian should have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t, because Uncle Nolan wasn’t. Nobody could say Uncle Nolan wasn’t a really tough guy. If he thought it was okay to hug, then it was.

      Today Christian didn’t argue. He had a bunch of homework. He was in a pullout program to take an advanced math class, and they were doing some algebra and geometry, which he really liked. Today’s problems were hard, and he was still working on them when Uncle Nolan said, “Closing time.”

      He threw Christian’s bike in the back of his Suburban, then said, “I ordered a pizza.”

      “Cool!”

      They picked up an extralarge with practically everything on it. Uncle Nolan cooked broccoli, too. They always had a vegetable with dinner, no matter what else they were eating. Then they sat down and gorged.

      Uncle Nolan did finally ask about his day and grimaced when Christian asked if he’d done any business at all.

      “Sold a couple of Naish sails because I have them discounted. Harness lines, a vest, some little stuff.” Then he grinned. “Couple of cocky young guys rented a Hobie Cat.” That was a kind of small sailboat. Uncle Nolan thought they were ideal for rentals. “Came back an hour later with blue lips and chattering teeth, real sorry they hadn’t accepted my recommendation and rented wet suits, too.”

      Christian laughed.

      Like always, they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher together; Uncle Nolan didn’t like anything left lying around, especially not dirty dishes.

      Christian headed for the stairs. “I’ve still got homework to finish.”

      Uncle Nolan said, “I need to talk to you first.” The way he said that scared Christian. It was kind of like when he’d had to tell Christian Mom was dead.

      He went back to the table and sat down.

      Uncle Nolan pulled out a chair, too. He sighed, rubbed his neck and sighed some more. Finally, he met Christian’s eyes. “I don’t know any way to soften this, so here goes. When Jason whacked you with that ax, I found out your blood type.”

      Christian nodded.

      “You have O positive. That’s pretty common.” He obviously didn’t want to say the rest. “It shook me up, because it meant my sister couldn’t be your biological mother.”

      On an explosion of fear, Christian shoved his chair back. “That’s not true!”

      Lines that weren’t usually there creased Uncle Nolan’s forehead. “I’m afraid it is. You know I had Dr. Santos draw your blood the week after you were hurt.”

      Still not having risen to his feet, Christian went very still. He’d kind of wondered why, when he was seeing their family doctor to make sure the wound hadn’t gotten infected or anything like that, he’d had to give blood. Especially after he’d lost so much.

      “The lab he sent the sample to verified the result. I requested your mom’s medical records to be sure I wasn’t misremembering.”

      He lectured then, about blood types and why someone with AB blood couldn’t have a child with O blood, even if the other parent had it. He said he’d tried to get Marlee to tell him how she’d come to adopt Christian but she wouldn’t. Christian had heard enough to know they were arguing, but not what it was about. Now he did.

      Scared like he’d never been, even