Chương 2
“And you’re doing that thing where you tell me what I’m feeling instead of answering.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“You knew the church.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You looked at the certificate before I showed it to you.”
“I looked at a piece of paper you were acting strange about.”
She watched his face and hated that she could no longer tell whether she was reading him or punishing him.
Marriage had given her an enormous archive of Daniel’s expressions, but archives could mislead.
A familiar gesture could mean exhaustion instead of guilt.
Silence could be caution.
Or concealment.
He turned the certificate over.
The back was blank.
“Where did this come from?”
Claire handed him the envelope.
He read the nickname and went quiet.
“That’s your mom’s handwriting?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“My mother wrote like a doctor having a seizure.”
That almost drew a smile from him, but it disappeared.
“Who else called you that?”
“Nathan.”
“Call him.”
Claire already had.
Nathan had not answered.
She picked up her phone and showed Daniel the unanswered call.
His gaze shifted to the erased line.
“Why erase the sponsor?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Maybe it’s fake.”
“It is fake.”
“I mean completely fake.”
“The birth date is right.”
“That isn’t private information.”
“My middle name is right.”
“Also not exactly classified.”
“And whoever made it knew enough about us to put you down as Lucy’s father.”
Daniel set the certificate carefully on the counter.
“Then somebody’s trying to upset you.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.”
Upstairs, Lucy began singing loudly to herself, improvising lyrics about a horse attending kindergarten.
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“Did you call the church?”
Claire nodded.
The parish office had closed at four.
She had listened twice to the recorded message, hoping on the second pass it might offer some emergency category for fraudulent sacraments.
“I left a voicemail.”
“We should wait until they call back.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what normal people do when they get a weird document in the mail.”
“Normal people don’t get forged baptism certificates for their children.”
“You know what I mean.”
Claire picked up the certificate again.
The paper had a faint indentation beneath the erased sponsor line.
She had noticed it earlier but assumed it came from the abrasion.
Now she carried the document to the junk drawer and pulled out a mechanical pencil.
Daniel frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“My father taught me this.”
“Your father also taught you to siphon gasoline.”
“He believed in a broad education.”
She laid a sheet of printer paper over the certificate and rubbed the side of the graphite lightly across the area.
Daniel reached for her wrist.
“Claire, you could damage it.”
She jerked away.
“It’s already forged.”
“If somebody sent it for a reason, maybe stop handling it like a craft project.”
She stared at him.
There was fear in his voice now.
Not irritation.
Not confusion.
Fear.
“Why are you scared of this?”
“I’m scared because someone knows things about our daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You said that very carefully.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
“Did my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever meet somebody from St. Gabriel’s?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Claire felt something inside her become very quiet.
Daniel seemed to hear it too.
He looked away first.
She set the pencil down.
“Try again.”
“I said no.”
“You answered before I finished asking.”
“Because I knew the question.”
“Then look at me.”
He did.
For several seconds neither spoke.
The refrigerator compressor clicked on, and upstairs Lucy shouted something triumphantly about glitter socks.
Daniel’s phone buzzed on the counter.
He glanced at the screen and turned it facedown.
Claire noticed.
“So now we’re doing that too?”
“It’s work.”
“Show me.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“No.”
That single word frightened her more than the certificate.
Daniel had never guarded his phone.
Not because they had some rule about access, but because their marriage had grown around a thousand boring transparencies: grocery lists, school emails, pictures of Lucy missing a front tooth, reminders to buy furnace filters.
Claire held out her hand.
“Show me.”
“I’m not handing you my phone because you got an anonymous piece of paper.”
“Then tell me who texted.”
“A parent.”
“Which parent?”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Claire, stop.”
She picked up the certificate and the envelope.
“I’m going to St. Gabriel’s.”
“It’s closed.”
“Churches have doors.”
“And what are you planning to do, interrogate the bricks?”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve had wine.”
“One glass.”
“You’re not driving.”
“I had half a glass two hours ago.”
“You said one.”
“Because apparently we’re doing depositions now.”
He moved between her and the doorway.
Not aggressively.
That was almost worse.
Daniel was trying to keep her home.
Claire looked past him toward the front hall.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Lucy is upstairs and because you’re upset and because this can wait until morning.”
“Can it?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Claire’s phone rang.
Both of them flinched.
The number was local but unfamiliar.
She answered without taking her eyes off Daniel.
“Hello?”
A woman said, “Is this Claire Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Margaret Vale from St. Gabriel’s parish office.”
Claire straightened.
“I thought the office was closed.”
“It is.”
The woman sounded older, and badly out of breath.
“I came back after I heard your voicemail.”
Daniel’s face lost color.
Claire turned slightly away from him.
“I received a baptism certificate with my daughter’s name on it.”
“I know.”
The kitchen seemed to narrow around her.
“How could you know?”
There was a pause long enough for Claire to hear paper moving on the other end.
“Mrs. Mercer, I need you to tell me exactly what you received.”
“A certificate dated six years ago.”
“Original or photocopy?”
“Original, I think.”
“Seal at the bottom left?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Is Father Bell’s signature on it?”
May you like
“Yes.”
Margaret made a sound that was almost a whisper.
