The ledge was narrow,” Barry said. “Loose gravel everywhere. One wrong step and you could fall straight into the quarry lake. I panicked.” Barry closed his eyes. “I took one look at that drop, and I ran. I didn’t even think. I just ran all the way home.”
“And my son?” I asked.
Barry’s voice cracked. “He stayed.”
Karen sobbed harder.
“He probably thought he had to prove something,” Barry said, sadly.
“I just ran all the way home.”
My hands began to tremble. “What happened to him?”
“I didn’t know for years. The search started the next day,” Barry continued. “Police everywhere. Helicopters. People asking questions.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Karen cried.
Barry looked at her with guilt written all over his face. “I was scared. I thought they’d blame me. I kept telling myself maybe he’d make it home. But deep down, I knew something had gone wrong.”
“What happened to him?”
“When I turned 19, I ran into one of the older boys, now a man, at a gas station. He tried pretending he didn’t remember anything. But I shoved him against a wall and told him I wanted the truth. That’s when he finally admitted it.”
My heart pounded.
“He said your son slipped. The rocks gave out under his feet.”
Karen let out a broken cry.
“They panicked and ran,” Barry finished.
My chest felt hollow.
“That’s when he finally admitted it.”
