Chương 5
Teresa closed her eyes.
Elaine remained still.
“What happened?”
“He came home drunk.”
“And you hit him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“One slap.”
“Any injuries?”
“No.”
“Did it happen again?”
“No.”
Elaine looked toward sleeping Lily.
“Did you apologize?”
Vincent’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Twenty-one years was a long time to discover an answer you should have known.
“No,” he said.
Elaine typed something into her phone.
The sound of her thumbs against the screen seemed louder than it should have.
Vincent stared at Lily.
For the first time that night, he wondered whether Daniel’s failures as a father had been built partly from old materials Vincent himself had supplied.
The thought angered him.
Then embarrassed him.
Then stayed anyway.
Elaine put the phone down.
“One more question before I speak with your son.”
Vincent looked up.
“Why did you go to the house tonight?”
He frowned.
“To see Lily.”
“At nearly ten in a snowstorm?”
Vincent said nothing.
Teresa slowly turned toward him.
Elaine waited.
Vincent looked at the hospital floor.
There it was.
The first thing he had not yet told anyone.
“I got a message.”
Teresa’s voice sharpened.
“What message?”
Vincent reached into his trouser pocket and took out his second phone.
Not the one he used publicly.
The other one.
He unlocked it and opened a text received at 9:07 p.m.
No name.
No saved number.
Only one sentence.
IF YOU STILL CARE ABOUT LILY, COME TONIGHT.
Teresa stared at the second phone as if Vincent had just placed a weapon on the hospital bed.
Elaine held out her hand.
“May I?”
Vincent gave it to her.
She read the message twice.
“Was this the only one?”
“Yes.”
“No earlier contact from this number?”
“None.”
“You called it?”
“Three times.”
“Answer?”
“No.”
“Voicemail?”
“Generic.”
Elaine handed the phone to Teresa instead of Vincent.
“Do not delete anything.”
“I’m an attorney,” Teresa said.
“I say obvious things for a living.”
“That makes two of us.”
Vincent looked between them.
“Can the number be traced?”
Teresa was already taking screenshots.
“Eventually, maybe.”
“I need something better than maybe.”
“You have spent the last hour discovering how much life dislikes your preferences.”
Vincent ignored that.
Elaine watched him.
“What did you think the message meant?”
“That Lily was in trouble.”
“Why?”
“Because of the wording.”
“That’s all?”
Vincent hesitated.
“No.”
Elaine waited.
“Three weeks ago, someone left a stuffed rabbit outside my gate.”
Teresa stopped typing.
“You never told me that.”
“It was a toy.”
“Apparently not.”
Vincent looked irritated with himself now.
“The rabbit belonged to Lily.”
“How do you know?” Elaine asked.
“I bought it.”
“When?”
“Her second birthday.”
“Could another child have the same one?”
“It had her initials stitched inside one ear.”
Elaine’s expression sharpened.
“What happened to it?”
“It’s at my house.”
“You kept it?”
“Yes.”
“Any note?”
“No.”
“Packaging?”
“A grocery bag.”
“Who found it?”
“House staff.”
“Camera footage?”
Vincent glanced at Marco.
Marco answered from the corner.
“We checked.”
“And?”
“Vehicle stopped beyond the east camera.”
“What kind?”
“Dark crossover.”
“Plate?”
“No.”
“Driver?”
“Couldn’t see.”
Teresa lowered the phone.
“And none of this seemed worth mentioning?”
Vincent looked at her.
“At the time, I assumed Daniel had sent it.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Vincent’s silence gave the answer.
Because asking would have required calling.
Because calling would have required risking rejection.
Because a seventy-two-year-old man who could negotiate hostile acquisitions without blinking had been afraid his son might hang up on him.
Elaine shifted in her chair.
“Did Lily take the rabbit to Daniel’s house?”
“She did after Caroline died.”
“Was it important to her?”
“Yes.”
“How important?”
Vincent looked down at the sleeping child.
“She couldn’t sleep without it.”
Elaine wrote that down.
“What was its name?”
“Benny.”
Lily stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered but did not open.
“Benny,” she murmured.
Everyone in the room went still.
Vincent looked at her.
“Sweetheart?”
Lily’s eyes opened halfway.
She stared at his shirt as if she had forgotten where she was.
“Benny gone.”
Vincent felt Teresa’s attention move toward him.
“When did Benny go?”
Lily rubbed one eye with the back of her hand.
“Rebecca took him.”
Vincent did not react outwardly.
Elaine leaned closer but kept her voice gentle.
“Why did Rebecca take Benny?”
Lily’s face changed.
The sleepy softness disappeared.
“She said babies need baby things.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Elaine did not look at him.
“What happened after she took him?”
Lily pressed her lips together.
“Did she throw him away?” Elaine asked.
Lily shook her head.
“Did she give him to someone?”
Another shake.
“Do you know?”
Lily whispered, “Bad box.”
Elaine glanced at Vincent.
“What’s the bad box?”
Vincent looked at Lily.
“I don’t know.”
Teresa crouched so she was closer to the child’s height.
“Is the bad box at your house, Lily?”
Lily looked at her suspiciously.
Teresa did not push.
Vincent said, “You know Miss Teresa.”
“No.”
“I’ve known you since you were born.”
Lily frowned.
Teresa sighed.
“Story of my career.”
A tiny smile appeared at the corner of Lily’s mouth.
It disappeared quickly.
Elaine spoke again.
“Is the bad box inside the house?”
Lily nodded.
“Where?”
The child looked toward the hospital curtain.
Then toward the door beyond it.
Her small shoulders pulled inward.
“No.”
“That’s okay.”
Elaine stopped immediately.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Vincent felt something uncomfortable loosen in his chest.
He had been ready to ask again.
Elaine had not.
Lily leaned against him.
“Grandpa house?”
“Soon.”
“Benny there?”
Vincent looked at Teresa.
She gave him the smallest warning shake of her head.
He could not promise what would happen.
“I have Benny,” he said.
Lily lifted her head sharply.
“At your house?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him.
“Why?”
The question hurt more than he expected.
Because she had assumed the rabbit had been taken from her permanently.
May you like
Because she had no reason to understand how it had traveled from her father’s house to a grocery bag outside Vincent’s gate.
Because some adult had made that happen.
