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let their folks off the hook…or Daniel, for that matter. This was too huge to ignore. And it could explain so many things, little things and big ones, that had never made any sense. “You said it yourself, the folks have never once mentioned any other relatives.”
    Even as he spoke, he searched his memory, trying to find the faintest recollection of having big brothers, but nothing came to him. Shouldn’t he have remembered on some subconscious level at least? He scanned the pictures again, hoping to trigger something. On his third try, he noticed the background.
    “Daniel, where do you think these were taken?” he asked, puzzled by what he saw.
    “Around here, I guess. It’s where we’ve always lived.”
    “Is it?” Patrick asked, studying the buildings in the photos. “Have you ever noticed a skyscraper in Widow’s Cove?”
    Daniel reached for the photo. “Let me see that.” He studied it intently. “Boston? Could it be Boston?”
    Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never been to Boston. You went there with some friends last Christmas. Does it look familiar to you?”
    “I honestly don’t know, but if it is Boston, why haven’t Mom and Dad ever mentioned that we took a trip there?”
    “Or lived there?” Patrick added. “We have to ask, Daniel. If you won’t, then I will.”
    Patrick remembered the inevitable confrontation with their parents as if it had taken place only yesterday. He’d been the one to put the photos on the kitchen table in front of their mother. He’d tried to remain immune to her shocked gasp of recognition, but it had cut rightthrough him. That gasp was as much of an admission as any words would have been, and it had stripped away every shred of respect he’d ever felt for her. In a heartbeat, she went from beloved mother to complete stranger.
    “What the hell have you two been doing digging around in the attic?” his father had shouted, making a grab for the pictures. “There are things up there that are none of your business.”
    But all of Connor Devaney’s blustery anger and Kathleen’s silent tears hadn’t cut through Patrick’s determination to get at the truth. He’d finally gotten them to admit that those three boys were their sons, sons they had abandoned years before when they’d brought Patrick and Daniel to Maine.
    “And you’ve never seen them again?” he’d asked, shocked at the confirmation of something he’d suspected but hadn’t wanted to believe. “You have no idea what happened to them?”
    “We made sure someone would look after them, then we made a clean break,” his father said defensively. He looked at his wife as if daring her to contradict him. “It was for the best.”
    “What do you mean, you made sure someone would look after them? Did you arrange an adoption?”
    “We made a call to Social Services,” his father said.
    “They said someone would go right out, that the boys would be taken care of,” his mother said, as if that made everything all right.
    Even as he’d heard the words, Patrick hadn’t wanted to believe them. How could these two people he’d loved, people who’d loved him, have been so cold, so irresponsible? What kind of person thought that making a phone call to the authorities made up for taking careof their own children? What parents walked away from their children without making any attempt to assure beyond any doubt that they were in good hands? What kind of people chose one child over another and then pretended for years that their family of four was complete? My God, his whole life had been one lie after another.
    Patrick had been overwhelmed with guilt over having been chosen, while three little boys—his own brothers—had been abandoned.
    “How old were they?” he asked, nearly choking on the question.
    “What difference does it make?” his father asked.
    “How old?” Patrick repeated.
    “Nine, seven and four,” his mother confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. Tears tracked