Chương 5
Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He stopped smiling.
Claire saw it.
So did Lucy.
“Your butt rang,” Lucy said.
Daniel pulled out the phone.
The message preview flashed before he angled the screen away.
Claire caught only three words.
Did she call?
“Who is it?” she asked.
Daniel locked the screen.
“Work.”
“Show me.”
“Not here.”
Lucy looked between them again.
Claire walked into the hallway.
“Then come out here.”
Daniel remained beside Lucy.
“Claire.”
“Now.”
He stood slowly.
“Stay here, Luce.”
“Where would I go?”
Daniel followed Claire into the hall and pulled Lucy’s door nearly closed.
Claire held out her hand.
He stared at it.
“Who asked if I called?”
His face told her enough.
“Give me the phone.”
“I can explain.”
“Great.”
“Not with Lucy listening.”
“Then whisper.”
Daniel glanced toward the stairs.
“Your brother.”
Claire lowered her hand.
“Nathan?”
“Yes.”
“He ignored my call.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because he called me.”
“When?”
“While you were talking to Margaret.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“How does Nathan know about Margaret?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then what did he ask?”
Daniel unlocked the phone.
For the first time that evening, he handed it over.
The message thread was short.
Nathan’s name sat at the top.
The newest message read, Did she call?
Below it, sent eight minutes earlier, Daniel had written, Not yet.
Claire scrolled.
The previous message was from Nathan.
If anything arrives with St. Gabriel’s on it, call me before Claire sees it.
Claire read the sentence twice.
Then she looked at Daniel.
“You knew something was coming.”
“No.”
“This says you did.”
“It says Nathan did.”
“And you knew enough to hide it from me.”
“He called me this afternoon.”
“What did he say?”
“Only that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he sounded panicked, and when I asked what was happening, he hung up.”
“That made you less interested?”
“It made me think I should figure out what he was talking about before dropping another grenade into the house.”
Claire scrolled farther back.
There were no earlier messages about St. Gabriel’s.
She handed the phone back.
“I’m calling him.”
“He won’t answer you.”
“Then I’ll go there.”
“Claire, no.”
“Nathan lives fifteen minutes away.”
“He has his kids tonight.”
“Then he should have considered that before conspiring with my husband.”
“Don’t call it conspiring.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Being scared.”
Claire paused.
Daniel’s voice had changed.
“He sounded scared,” Daniel said.
“Not guilty.”
“You can tell the difference now?”
“Usually.”
“Congratulations.”
She went downstairs.
The certificate was still on the kitchen counter.
Claire slipped it into the envelope and reached for her purse.
Daniel followed.
“You’re not leaving Lucy.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Claire took out her keys.
“I’m taking her with me.”
“No.”
She turned.
“You don’t get to say no tonight.”
“I’m her father.”
The word stopped both of them.
Claire felt the certificate inside the envelope against her palm.
“You are,” she said.
Daniel’s face softened a fraction.
“Then don’t drag her into this.”
“She’s already in it.”
“That doesn’t mean she needs to sit in Nathan’s living room while you tear him apart.”
“I’m not leaving her here.”
Daniel stared at her.
The meaning reached him slowly.
“You don’t trust me with her?”
Claire wished he had shouted.
She wished he had given her something easy to fight.
Instead he looked wounded in a way she had never seen, and she discovered that fear could make cruelty feel almost practical.
“I don’t know what I trust right now.”
Daniel stepped away.
Upstairs, Lucy called, “Can somebody help with the drawer?”
Neither answered.
Then Claire’s phone vibrated.
A text had arrived from Nathan.
For one irrational second relief moved through her.
She opened it.
There was no greeting.
There was no explanation.
There was only a photograph.
It showed an old snapshot lying on a dark wooden table, the colors faded toward yellow.
Evelyn stood outside St. Gabriel’s beneath the stone archway, younger by decades, holding a bundled infant against her chest.
Beside her stood a woman Claire had never seen.
On the back of the photograph, visible because Nathan had included a second image, Evelyn had written a date.
May 18.
Four days after Lucy’s birth.
Under the date were six words.
Marianne says we still have time.
Nathan’s next message appeared while Claire was reading.
Don’t call the church again.
Then another.
Mom didn’t take Lucy there.
Claire’s fingers went numb.
A third message arrived.
The baby in that picture is you.
Claire read the message until the words stopped behaving like language.
Daniel took the phone from her hand before she dropped it.
He looked at the photograph, enlarged it with his thumb, then looked at Claire as though checking her face against the infant wrapped in Evelyn’s arms could prove anything.
“No,” Claire said.
Daniel did not answer.
“No.”
This time the word came out louder.
From upstairs Lucy called, “Mom?”
Claire pressed both hands over her mouth.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Go help her.”
“What?”
“Lucy.”
Claire stared at him.
“Go help Lucy with the drawer.”
It was such an ordinary instruction that for several seconds she hated him for giving it.
Then she understood.
Whatever Nathan had just detonated inside their family, Lucy was still upstairs in mismatched pajamas waiting for somebody to put her dresser back together.
Claire climbed the stairs on legs that felt detached from her.
Lucy had emptied half the drawer onto the floor and arranged her pajamas into three piles whose organizing principle was not apparent.
“You took forever.”
“Sorry.”
“Dad could fix it faster.”
“He probably could.”
Claire crouched and examined the wooden runners.
Her hands were shaking.
Lucy noticed.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“It’s not cold.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Lucy knelt beside her and attempted to lift the drawer.
Claire caught it before it tipped.
“Let me.”
“I can help.”
May you like
“I know you can.”
Together they fitted the drawer onto the runners.
