Page 39 of Finding Gideon

“You should’ve tried harder.” Her voice cracked, not with sadness but with fury. “He would’ve finished college by now. Had a real job. Maybe a girlfriend. A future. He’d have made us proud.”

My breath stuttered. “Don’t—” The word came out strangled.

“You were always his shadow. Garrett waslight. Do you know what that’s like? To lose your sun?”

I bowed my head, breath shuddering. “I lost him too.”

“You don’t get to say that. You’re still here.”

Still here. That old guilt clawed through my chest like an animal trying to escape. My eyes burned.

“I’m your son too,” I said softly. “You can have me. We can be there for each other.”

“I don’t want a half-ghost reminder of what I lost.”

It felt like she’d reached through the phone and carved a hole inside me.

I couldn’t breathe.

Why couldn’t she love me?

Even a little?

Even out of duty?

“I—” My voice broke again. “It doesn’t have to be… I need you. I need Dad. Please, Mom?—”

“You don’t get to needme.” She didn’t stop. “He always had such promise. Not like?—”

“Don’t.” I didn’t shout it. I just said it, firm and hollow.

Dennis whimpered softly. The dog knew pain in its many forms.

“You should have tried harder,” she said, her voice anguished. “You were there. He was your twin. You were supposed to look out for each other.”

If I weren’t already stooping, my knees would have buckled right then. I leaned forward, forehead nearly brushing my thighs, one hand still resting on my dog’s back like a lifeline.

“I told him the climb was risky,” I whispered. “Told him to come down… I tried to hold on to him, Mom… but… but…”

My whole chest felt like it was being squeezed by invisible fists.

“You think telling me this makes it better?” she snapped. “You think that brings him back?”

“No. But neither does pretending I didn’t try to save him.”

A beat. Then she hissed it, low and venomous: “I could never have a son like Garrett again. He was?—”

“I was your son too.” Then I caught myself. “Iamyour son. Garrett and I shared the same face. The same blood. Why couldn’t you love me even a little? It didn’t have to be the same. Just... something.”

I heard it then—my father’s voice, deeper and sharper. “Give me the phone.”

I heard a rustle.

“Gideon.”

Not tender. Not with longing. It landed like a sentence. A line drawn in dust.

I swallowed, trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Dad.”