Page 17 of Before the Bond
His response should have reassured me, but it didn’t.
“So you’re not mad,” I said.
Caleb nodded.
“While we’re on the subject of transparency,” he set his mug down, “yes, it was me at your cottage.”
“What?”
“I’m sure you remember,” Caleb said casually. “It wasn’t… controlled.”
I wanted to say something. I had a million questions, but nothing came out.
Caleb continued, his gaze steady on mine as if waiting for me to catch up.
“It’s not just Jake with a hereditary condition,” he explained. “I lose time. I get disoriented. Feverish.”
He looked at my wrists.
“Reactive.”
I tightened my grip on my coffee.
“It can look worse than this.”
It was almost word for word what I’d half-theorized. But something was off.
It was too smooth. The hedging was calibrated. I’d worked with enough people who were managing a story to know the difference between someone searching for words and someone who had already found them.
“I appreciate you telling me,” I said carefully.
Caleb turned another page. He shot a brief glance at me. “I hope it clears the air,” he said. “You don’t need to avoid me.”
“Jake,” I remembered.
Caleb waited.
“There’s got to be a better medical history than the one you guys gave me. Who else had it? Is there a documented family history? Has Jake been seen by a specialist, or has the family always managed it in-house?”
Caleb set down his newspaper.
“It runs in the family,” Caleb said. “From my father’s side.”
I’m surprised he gave in that easily.
“As for specialists,” he continued. “We had someone, but he’s gone. And yes, it was always managed in-house. We keep it contained.”
He paused.
“The town doesn’t need to know.”
Given the superstitions floating around The Blackwater Tap, I didn’t blame him.
“It starts young,” Caleb added. “When one reaches adulthood, it becomes more… manageable. Not before it gets worse. That’s why you’re here.”
I nodded, making sure to mentally note everything Caleb was telling me.
“And by manageable,” I said. “You mean…”
