Chương 7
Claire agreed to the DNA test that afternoon.
Not because she wanted Eleanor.
Because she wanted one fact that did not depend on a dead man’s letter.
The laboratory required identification and separate sample collection.
Results took twelve days.
During those twelve days, Eleanor did not call.
She sent no flowers.
She sent no gifts.
Claire noticed.
She did not know whether she was relieved or offended.
Daniel noticed that too.
“You want her to call.”
“No.”
“You check your phone every time it vibrates.”
“That’s because strangers keep sending me screenshots of my own face.”
“Fair.”
The ballroom video had accumulated millions of views.
The Harrow Foundation released a four-sentence statement asking for privacy and describing Claire as “a private individual with no prior relationship to the organization.”
Claire hated the phrase no prior relationship.
Eleanor called an hour after the statement appeared.
“I did not approve that wording.”
Claire sat on the floor beside a pile of laundry.
“Who did?”
“The communications director.”
“You employ the communications director.”
“Yes.”
“So congratulations.”
Eleanor was silent.
Claire folded a towel.
“That sounded like your daughter,” Eleanor said.
Claire stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
A pause.
“Evelyn used to congratulate me when she was furious.”
Claire stared at the towel.
Her mother had done that constantly.
Congratulations on buying the only tomatoes in the store with no smell.
Congratulations on learning absolutely nothing from your first parking ticket.
Congratulations, Claire, you have discovered men can text back when threatened.
Claire swallowed.
“Don’t.”
“All right.”
“Don’t collect pieces of her from me.”
Eleanor inhaled.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire ended the call.
Then she cried over a towel for twenty minutes and became angry about that too.
The DNA result arrived on a Thursday morning.
Claire opened the email at Daniel’s apartment.
The laboratory report described the relationship probability in clinical language.
Grandparent-grandchild relationship strongly supported.
Claire read the sentence once.
Daniel read it over her shoulder.
Neither spoke.
Her phone rang.
Eleanor.
Claire answered.
“You got it?”
“Yes.”
On the other end, Eleanor was breathing slowly.
Claire said, “Mrs. Harrow.”
“Claire.”
“My mother was your daughter.”
“Yes.”
The word broke.
Not loudly.
Claire closed her eyes.
Eleanor tried again.
“Yes.”
Claire sat down.
For several seconds, the only sound was Daniel running water into the coffee pot.
“What happens now?” Claire asked.
Eleanor did not answer immediately.
“I don’t know.”
Claire believed her.
That frightened her more than another plan would have.
The next discovery came from Leah Mercer’s surviving brother.
Not Benjamin.
Another brother, Thomas.
Daniel found him through public records and an obituary for Ben.
Claire refused to call at first.
“What am I supposed to say? Hello, your sister died twenty-three years ago and my mother borrowed your last name?”
Daniel nodded.
“Needs work.”
She glared at him.
He handed her coffee.
Thomas Mercer lived in Portsmouth.
He was sixty-seven and answered the phone as if every caller wanted to sell him roofing.
When Claire said Evelyn’s name, he went silent.
Not surprised.
Silent.
Claire gripped the phone.
“You knew her.”
Thomas exhaled.
“Who is this?”
“Claire Mercer.”
Another silence.
“Ben’s girl?”
Claire’s eyes closed.
“Yes.”
Thomas muttered something under his breath.
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Claire looked at Daniel.
Thomas said, “I’ve wondered when somebody would come looking.”
Two days later, Claire and Daniel drove to New Hampshire.
Eleanor asked to come.
Claire said no.
Thomas lived in a gray house near the river with a sagging porch and a plastic snow shovel still leaning beside the door despite it being April.
He opened the door before they knocked.
He looked at Claire for a long time.
Then he said, “You have Ben’s ears.”
Claire laughed unexpectedly.
“My mother always said that.”
Thomas smiled.
“Your mother hated his ears.”
He let them in.
The house smelled like coffee and sawdust.
A baseball game played quietly on television with the sound off.
Thomas made more coffee despite Claire saying she did not want any.
“People say that and then drink it.”
He was right.
They sat around a scratched dining table.
Thomas rubbed his hands together.
“Evelyn told me never to contact you.”
Claire stared.
“When?”
“After Ben died.”
“She called you?”
“She came here.”
Claire felt Daniel’s hand rest near hers on the table.
Not touching.
Close.
“How old was I?”
“Four. Almost five.”
“Was I with her?”
“No.”
Claire tried to remember a trip.
Nothing came.
Thomas looked toward the window.
“She was scared.”
“Of my grandmother?”
“Of Charles.”
Claire asked, “Did she know Eleanor thought she was dead?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever try to tell her?”
Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“That’s where it gets ugly.”
Claire waited.
Thomas rubbed his jaw.
“Ben wanted her to. For years.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“First because Charles scared the hell out of them.”
“And later?”
Thomas looked at Claire.
“Later because being angry had become easier.”
The sentence hurt because it sounded true before Claire wanted it to.
Thomas continued.
“Charles found them after the crash. Ben had taken Evelyn to a clinic under Leah’s name because Evelyn was terrified police would send her back home. Stupid decision. They were twenty-one. People do stupid things at twenty-one.”
“How did Leah die?”
Thomas looked down.
“She was driving.”
“So Charles lied.”
“About that, yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep Evelyn afraid.”
Claire felt nausea rise.
Thomas said, “He sent a private investigator. Told Ben he could be charged with fraud, obstruction, kidnapping. Told Evelyn he’d petition for custody when the baby came and bury them in court. I don’t know how much he could actually have done. Neither did they.”
Daniel nodded.
“That uncertainty can be enough.”
Thomas looked at him.
“You a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
Daniel smiled.
“Common reaction.”
Thomas almost smiled back.
Then his face changed.
“Evelyn called Eleanor once.”
Claire stopped.
“When?”
“About three years after the crash.”
Claire leaned forward.
“What happened?”
“Charles answered.”
May you like
“Of course.”
“He told her Eleanor had remarried emotionally before the funeral flowers died. That Eleanor knew she was alive and wanted no contact.”
