Instead, Randall had built himself a room.
Not a real room. There was no window and no ceiling beyond exposed beams and wire mesh, but he had put a folding table along the left wall, two plastic crates beneath it, and a narrow shelving unit straight ahead. Everything was labeled in his blocky handwriting. MEDICAL. HOUSE. M. OCEAN. PERSONAL. A canvas duffel lay on the floor with one broken zipper pull I recognized from years ago.
I stopped breathing properly.
Elise whispered, “Oh.”
Jonah did not move.
Wade’s eyes went to the floor.
That was when I understood he had been here before.
I stepped into the locker and turned around. “How many times?”
Wade looked at me.
“How many times have you stood in here?”
His face settled into that patient expression he used when he believed the truth would injure somebody and was trying to decide how much injury was unavoidable. I had once thought that expression kind. Now I wanted to slap it off him.
