“Evan.”
He turned at Anne’s voice, sinking back to sit on his own heels. She was as red and sweaty and overheated as he’d been a few minutes ago, and she was crying again.
“You knew about this?” he whispered, looking back into his mother’s eyes.
“I saw…I saw this. Right now. I remembered seeing you beside her. I didn’t know what to do.”
“When?” Evan wondered at the blood on his palms, still not feeling the cuts. “When did you see it?”
“When I told you.” Anne knelt beside him, avoiding the broken cup. “Not until then.”
Evan looked up at her, into her lovely green eyes. She was shaking her head and crying harder.
“I couldn’t stop it, it was too late, your mom, I mean, but I thought if I could stop you from coming home, it wouldn’t hurt you so bad. I couldn’t let this be even worse.”
