Chương 9
That it sounded like the kind of thing people said in movies.
But my daughter was in a photograph taken by someone who should not have been watching her.
Impossible had become less convincing lately.
We drove to Mrs. Holloway's apartment together.
Neither of us spoke much.
The city moved around us.
People walked home carrying groceries.
Restaurants filled with people laughing.
A couple argued quietly outside a train station.
Ordinary life continued.
I wondered how many people were living through something terrible while everyone around them had no idea.
When we reached the apartment, Maisie ran toward me.
"Mommy."
I dropped down and hugged her.
She hugged me back immediately.
Then she pulled away.
"Why are you scared?"
I froze.
"I am not."
She gave me the same look she gave Nathaniel when he made excuses.
The look of someone who had already decided the truth.
"Your voice is different."
I looked at Nathaniel.
He looked away.
Even he knew better than to argue with a six-year-old.
"I had a difficult day."
"Did the bakery break again?"
"No."
"Did someone break it?"
I hesitated.
That was enough.
Maisie's expression changed.
Not panic.
Confusion.
Children understood more than adults thought, but they still did not understand everything.
"Did I do something?"
The question hit harder than anything else.
"No."
I held her face gently.
"You did nothing."
"Then why is everyone acting weird?"
I had no answer.
Because the truth was too complicated.
Because telling a child that adults sometimes bring danger with them was not something a mother wanted to explain.
Nathaniel stepped closer.
"Maisie."
She looked at him.
"I am sorry."
She frowned.
"For what?"
He swallowed.
"That my problems reached you."
She studied him.
Then she looked at me.
"Is this because you didn't have a chair?"
The question was so unexpected that none of us spoke.
Then, somehow, I laughed.
Nathaniel did too.
A quiet laugh.
A tired laugh.
But real.
Maisie smiled.
"See?"
She pointed between us.
"People need chairs."
Mrs. Holloway watched from the kitchen doorway.
She shook her head.
"That child is going to run the world someday."
"Hopefully a kinder one," I said.
Later that night, after Maisie fell asleep, Nathaniel stayed in the living room.
He sat in a chair near the window.
Not the couch.
Not comfortable.
Always ready to leave.
"You should sleep," I said.
"So should you."
"I am not the one who looks like he has been awake for ten years."
He almost smiled.
"I probably have."
I sat across from him.
"Why did you really give her your number?"
He looked surprised.
"The night at the restaurant."
"Yes."
He looked toward the hallway where Maisie slept.
"Because I thought I would never see her again."
"That is sad."
"It is true."
"Why?"
"Because people usually want something from me."
I looked down.
"And she didn't."
"No."
He leaned back.
"She wanted me to color a dragon."
I smiled.
"Your dragon was terrible."
"I know."
"She still liked it."
"Yes."
The room became quiet.
Then his phone rang.
Nathaniel looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Who is it?"
He did not answer.
He stood.
"Emma."
The way he said my name made me nervous.
"What?"
"Take Maisie."
"What?"
"Take her and go to the bedroom."
My heart started racing.
"Nathaniel."
"Please."
It was the first time he had ever said that word to me.
Not as a request.
As a need.
I stood.
"What happened?"
He looked at the phone.
Then back at me.
"Daniel Mercer just sent me a message."
"What did he say?"
Nathaniel's face went pale.
"He said he was not the one who took the picture."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Then who was?"
Nathaniel looked toward the hallway.
Toward my daughter's room.
And whispered,
"The person who killed my sister."
"The person who killed my sister."
The words stayed in the room long after Nathaniel stopped speaking.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then I heard something I would remember for the rest of my life.
Maisie's bedroom door opening.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
"Mommy?"
I turned around.
She stood there holding her stuffed rabbit against her chest, her hair messy from sleep.
I hated that she had heard any of it.
I hated that this world had reached her.
Nathaniel moved immediately.
"Maisie, go back to bed."
She looked at him.
Not afraid.
Just confused.
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"Are you scared?"
Nathaniel opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Because lying to her would have been impossible.
"Yes."
The honesty surprised all of us.
Maisie hugged her rabbit tighter.
"Why?"
Nathaniel looked at her for several seconds.
Then he crouched down so they were at the same height.
"Because sometimes people do bad things, and I wish they didn't."
She thought about that.
Children did not rush through emotions the way adults did.
They examined them.
"Are you going to fix it?"
Nathaniel looked at me.
I saw something pass between them.
A question.
A warning.
A promise.
"I am going to try."
Maisie nodded.
"Okay."
Then she looked at me.
"Can we still have pancakes tomorrow?"
The normal question almost broke me.
"Yes."
"Good."
She yawned.
"Because bad things are less bad with pancakes."
Nathaniel looked down.
I saw his hand close into a fist.
Not anger.
Something else.
Pain.
After she went back to bed, I locked the doors.
Not because I thought a lock could stop someone determined.
Because doing something felt better than doing nothing.
Nathaniel stood near the window.
"You need to leave."
I looked at him.
"You already said that."
"This time I mean it."
"No."
His eyes narrowed.
"Emma."
"No."
He stared at me.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
"I cannot."
"That is becoming your favorite answer."
He looked away.
For the first time, he seemed exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
"I spent years trying to make sure this never touched anyone else."
"And now it has."
"Yes."
May you like
"Because you kept secrets."
The words landed.
