Page 195 of Don’t You Cry

“Last address you knew.”

She gives it to me—a string of numbers and a street name mumbled into the space between us.

I enter everything into my phone as Sherry watches, fidgeting.

Then, inexplicably, she asks, “Why the hell do you care?”

I slowly look up from the screen. My eyes meet hers, hold them.

She gestures vaguely toward me, hand fluttering near her chest. “All this. Kamden. Steven. John.”

I stand. The chair legs scrape against the linoleum, making Sherry flinch. I think of how many times Kamden must’ve flinched in this house.

“John was my best friend,” I say flatly. “And he trusted me with his son.”

Something almost amused appears on her face—a cruel little light in her eyes. “That little freak? Good fucking luck.”

I hit her, harder this time, and with a closed fist. Her chair skids backward across the floor, catching on a warped tile. Blood appears at the corner of her mouth.

I crouch beside her, bringing our faces to the same level. “If you call him that again,” I say quietly, “I will forget every promise I made myself before walking into this house. Do you understand that, Sherry?”

She presses a hand to her lip. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah.” I don’t blink. “And you let Steven nearly kill him.”

Her expression fills with annoyance, like I brought up an inconvenience she thought was resolved. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?”

“He fell.”

I stare at the top of her head—at the greasy roots showing through blonde dye. The hospital records flash behind my eyes. The claim that Kamden had fallen down the stairs, and the mention of Sherry having a video of it.

I had wondered about that—had planned to ask about it eventually once Kamden was ready to talk about it without shaking apart in my arms…

Now my attention narrows in on it, like a scope settling on target.

“You had a video.” It isn’t a question.