“Because I gave it to her first.”
I stared at him. “When?”
“When she was ten, I think. Maybe younger,” he said. “She had a bad day. I told her if she wore it, she could pretend I was walking beside her.”
Mrs. Bell lowered her eyes.
“I gave it to her first.”
Victor opened the locket.
Inside was a faded picture of two kids on porch steps, his arm around her shoulders.
On the back, scratched in childish handwriting, were three words.
“My safe place.”
My throat went dry. “That’s Mom?”
Victor nodded.
“And the boy is you?”
“My safe place.”
“Yes.”
I stepped back. “No. Mom only had one brother.”
“Mark was the youngest.”
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