Chương 8
The plan, according to Eleanor, had been simple. Lydia would take cash, temporary identification, and train tickets. Once she reached Chicago, an apartment would be available.
The car never reached the station.
Curtis called Leland shortly after midnight. He said Lydia had changed her mind during the drive. She demanded to return and threatened to go to Thomas. An argument followed. Curtis pulled onto a rural road. Lydia left the car with Rose.
“What did he do to her?” Julian asked.
“He said nothing.”
“What did he do?”
Eleanor’s voice dropped. “Lydia was found three days later near the river.”
Mara stopped breathing.
“Alive?”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“No.”
Julian gripped the back of a chair.
Mara heard herself ask, “How?”
“The medical examiner concluded that she died from exposure and injuries consistent with a fall.”
“Was it a fall?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do not know.”
“Did Curtis hurt her?”
“He denied it.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No.”
The answer was so quiet that Mara almost missed it.
Julian moved around the chair. “You knew a woman was dead and you said nothing?”
“I learned about her death later.”
“How much later?”
“Six weeks.”
“And Rose?” Mara asked. “What did he say happened to me?”
“Curtis claimed Lydia took you when she left the car. When her body was found alone, Leland searched hospitals and shelters privately.”
“Privately,” Mara said again.
“There was no record of you.”
“There was a record. St. Agnes.”
“In another county, under no name.”
“Why didn’t you report me missing?”
Eleanor looked directly at her.
“Because then I would have had to explain why you were in that car.”
The sentence remained between them.
There it was. Not confusion. Not a mistake. A choice.
Eleanor had allowed a three-year-old to remain missing because discovery would expose what she had done.
Mara rose so quickly that the chair struck the wall.
Julian stepped toward her.
“Don’t,” she said.
He stopped.
She crossed the room and opened the door, but Eleanor spoke before she left.
“I kept looking.”
Mara turned.
Eleanor’s face had finally lost its careful arrangement.
“I hired investigators. For years. I checked adoption records, hospitals, church shelters. Leland continued searching.”
“Did you tell them I was your husband’s daughter?”
“No.”
“Then you didn’t look for me. You looked for a problem.”
Eleanor’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Mara left the house without her coat.
Julian caught up to her near the front gate, carrying it.
Snow had begun—not enough to cover the ground, only loose flakes turning dark in her hair.
“Mara.”
She kept walking.
“You need your coat.”
“I don’t need anything from that house.”
“It’s your coat.”
That stopped her.
He held it out.
The absurdity of the exchange broke something in her. She laughed once, then covered her mouth. The laugh became a sob before she could prevent it. She turned away, furious at her body.
Julian stood several feet behind her while she tried to breathe.
He did not touch her.
When she held out a hand, he gave her the coat.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Stop apologizing for things you didn’t do.”
“I believed them.”
“You were a kid.”
“I stopped being one.”
Mara pulled on the coat. Her fingers missed the first button.
“She let me vanish because the truth was inconvenient.”
“Yes.”
“She had nineteen years.”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer was becoming a language between them.
Mara wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Did she know I contacted the family office?”
“I think so.”
“She sent Leland to my apartment.”
“I think he sent himself to protect her.”
“That isn’t better.”
“No.”
At the road, Julian offered to drive her home. She refused. He did not insist.
The DNA result arrived the next morning.
Probability of a half-sibling relationship: greater than 99.9 percent.
Mara read the report at the laundromat because her building’s machines were broken. Around her, dryers turned with the heavy rhythm of shoes and towels. A child sat in a plastic chair eating crackers from a paper cup. An elderly man folded undershirts with careful precision.
The result did not transform the room.
No music began. No missing memories returned.
Mara remained Mara Bell, twenty-two, unemployed for the week, behind on one credit-card payment, and angry that someone had left a tissue in the pocket of her black pants before washing them.
She called Julian.
He answered immediately.
“It came,” she said.
“I know.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
“So,” he said.
“So.”
“You’re my sister.”
The word entered her differently from Rose.
Mara watched the child drop a cracker and pick it up before his mother noticed.
“Half sister,” she said.
Julian let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.
“Apparently precision makes things smaller.”
She closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re allowed one family trait.”
The joke was awkward, but it helped.
The next question did not.
“What do we do about our mother?” he asked.
“Your mother.”
He did not correct her.
Mara hired an attorney named Simone Price, recommended by Denise. Simone worked from an office above a bakery and wore red glasses that slid down her nose when she read. She listened without interrupting while Mara explained the locket, the photograph, the foster records, Eleanor’s admission, and Peter Leland’s visit.
When Mara finished, Simone said, “Do you want money, information, accountability, privacy, or punishment?”
“All of them.”
“Good. That’s honest. Now put them in order.”
Mara could not.
Simone gave her a legal pad.
“People with resources will try to define what you want before you do. Don’t let them.”
Mara wrote four words.
Truth.
Name.
Lydia.
Choice.
She stared at the last one.
“What does choice mean?” Simone asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Keep it.”
May you like
Julian’s relationship with Celeste deteriorated in private while newspapers treated the wedding like a sporting event.
Celeste wanted him to issue a joint statement separating the assault from the family matter. Her attorneys argued that the two events had become unfairly combined. Julian refused.
