A cold wind stirred the dry sycamore leaves against the chain-link fence.

Evelyn held her car keys tight in her fist, the metal teeth clicking against her palm.

“You were always the quiet one, Mara.

We let you go.

We did not complain when you changed your name and moved sixty miles away.”

“You did not call me for three years,” I said.

“We gave you your space,” she said, her voice hardening as she looked at me.

“But this is your brother.