A problem he'd never told her about.
Her voice changed.
"He knew?"
The social worker explained what had been disclosed.
The mother closed her eyes.
Then whispered, "He knew something was wrong, and he left it there?"
The social worker didn't speculate beyond what she'd been told.
She encouraged the mother to speak directly with the investigator and offered assistance arranging that conversation.
But the mother barely heard the rest.
She was remembering the evening.
The old biker laughing in her kitchen.
Her son hugging him.
The black motorcycle sitting in the attached garage.
And the moment she'd smelled something strange.
Her hands began shaking.
Then anger surged through her.
"Why didn't he tell me?"
The social worker remained quiet.
The mother raised her voice.
"Why did he let me think I burned my own child?"
Her sister appeared in the doorway.
She'd heard the shouting.
The mother looked toward her.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then she began sobbing.
Her sister hurried forward.
"What happened?"
The mother lowered the phone.
Her voice was almost unrecognizable.
"It wasn't me."
The sister stared.
"What?"
The mother looked toward her.
"It was the motorcycle."
Her sister froze.
Then the mother said something that frightened them both.
"I left my son alone for eleven days because I thought he would be better off without me."
Her sister sat beside her.
The mother covered her face.
"I thought he hated me."
The sister reached for her.
The mother pulled away.
"No."
She stood abruptly.
"I have to go."
Her sister looked up.
"Where?"
"To the hospital."
The sister rose.
"I'll drive."
The mother shook her head.
"I need to see him."
"I know."
The sister reached for the car keys.
"And I'm driving you."
The mother looked toward the phone.
The social worker was still waiting.
For the first time in eleven days, the mother asked to speak with her son.
But when the social worker offered to arrange a supported conversation, the mother hesitated.
Her anger had broken through the guilt.
Yet fear remained.
She was terrified that the boy would look at her and ask why she hadn't come sooner.
She didn't know how to answer.
Her sister placed one hand against her shoulder.
"You don't need a perfect answer."