Zach didn’t cry. He wanted to, but he willed his eyes to hold back the tears. His mom, however, let them go. She had been crying daily for almost a year it seemed, and today was no exception. Zach’s dad even managed to shed a tear or two. This was only the second time in his life Zach had seen him cry. The other was when the policemen called Zach’s house to tell his family that the search had been suspended.
The church was packed. Friends, relatives, and even some of Zach’s teachers had come. He sat in the front pew next to his parents, staring at the photograph of his little brother, Chris, above the pile of flowers. Chris’s pale, green eyes seemed even bigger through his thick glasses a year after his disappearance.
The pastor spoke of Chris’s kind heart and intelligence. But Zach didn’t listen. He just sat, staring into his brother’s eyes, his mother sobbing in his ear.