Chương 14
“Your mother thinks he isn’t yours.”
“No.”
The word came out too fast.
Maya looked at me.
“No,” I repeated, slower this time.
“She may think that.”
“Same difference.”
“It is not the same difference.”
“To me it is.”
I put the phone down.
“She has no reason.”
“That has not stopped her yet.”
There was no anger in Maya’s voice.
That frightened me more.
She looked tired beyond sleep.
“She has been taking pictures of me, telling people I’m unstable, hiding things, taking our documents, and now she has our son’s birth certificate because she thinks I lied about who his father is.”
“Maya.”
“What?”
“I do not believe that.”
She stared at me.
“I know.”
That answer hurt in another way.
Not because she doubted me.
Because she had already separated my belief from my mother’s behavior.
One no longer repaired the other.
My phone vibrated again.
Mark.
There was more.
I opened it.
She wanted to compare dates.
I typed, Dates of what?
Pregnancy.
The room became very quiet.
Maya closed her eyes.
I remembered the first positive test sitting beside our bathroom sink.
I remembered Maya laughing because I had read the instructions backward.
I remembered the appointment eight weeks later when the ultrasound technician turned the screen toward us and said, “There.”
None of those memories required defense.
Still, my mother had somehow managed to contaminate even them.
“Don’t ask me,” Maya said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
She opened her eyes.
“Because if you ask me when Liam was conceived, I will hit you with this IV pole.”
“That seems medically irresponsible.”
Her mouth twitched despite herself.
Then the humor vanished.
“What did she do with the certificate?”
I asked Mark.
He responded with a photograph.
My mother’s purse sat open on the hotel desk.
The corner of a document envelope was visible inside.
Still with her.
I called Officer Patel.
She told me to send the new messages through the evidence link the detective had created.
I did.
Ten minutes later, the detective called me for the first time.
His name was Daniel Ruiz.
His voice was calm enough to be irritating.
That turned out to be useful.
He asked me to describe the birth certificate issue from the beginning without interpretation.
I told him only what Mark had written.
“Do you know whether your mother altered the certificate?”
“No.”
“Copied it?”
“No.”
“Submitted it anywhere?”
“No.”
“Used the information on it?”
“No.”
“So right now we know she removed it and still has it.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
“It feels like more than that.”
“I understand.”
I almost snapped at him.
Then he added, “But what you feel and what I can establish have to remain two separate things until they meet.”
That sentence stayed with me.
He asked permission to contact Mark directly.
I said yes.
Then he asked whether Maya was willing to speak later that afternoon.
She nodded when I looked at her.
“We can.”
Ruiz heard her.
“Mrs. Mercer, only if you’re medically up to it.”
“I’m up to it.”
Her voice was sharper than mine.
“I’ve been medically up to too much lately.”
Ruiz paused.
“Understood.”
After the call, Maya handed Liam to me and tried to get out of bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Bathroom.”
“I’ll help.”
“I can walk ten feet.”
“You almost fell yesterday.”
“Yesterday I had a fever over one hundred two.”
“I’m still helping.”
She glared at me.
Then she let me take her elbow.
Halfway across the room, she said, “You’re hovering.”
“Yes.”
“I hate it.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Right.”
She stopped beside the bathroom door and looked at me.
“For the next month, I’m probably going to hate being helped and need help at the same time.”
“I can work with that.”
“You say that now.”
“I design machinery around conflicting requirements.”
She stared at me.
“That is the least romantic thing you have ever said.”
“Top five.”
She smiled despite herself and closed the door.
When she came out, she looked exhausted.
I helped her back to bed without commenting.
That seemed to be the correct decision.
At four fifteen, Mark sent another message.
Detective called me.
I replied, Good.
Then nothing for twenty minutes.
Finally:
I told him everything.
I stared at the words.
Everything can mean very little when someone is afraid.
What does everything mean?
His answer came in pieces.
The cameras.
The resale account.
The folder.
Miami.
The medicine.
I stopped.
How do you know about the medicine?
A long pause.
Then:
I took the trash out.
My body went cold.
Did you know the pills were in it?
Yes.
Maya watched my face.
“What?”
I showed her.
She read the message and said nothing.
I typed, Why didn’t you stop her?
Mark answered:
Because your mom said you told her to do it.
I wrote:
Did you believe her?
He replied:
At first.
Then another:
Not after I saw Maya crying.
Then:
I should have gotten the pills back.
Maya handed me the phone.
“I don’t want to read any more apologies.”
I put it away.
At five, Detective Ruiz arrived in person.
He wore plain clothes and carried a thin black folder.
He was younger than I expected, maybe early forties, with tired eyes and the manner of someone who had learned not to rush silence.
He spoke to Maya first.
I offered to leave.
She said, “Stay.”
Ruiz pulled a chair over.
He began with simple things.
Names.
Dates.
Who had keys.
Who had permission to be in the apartment.
Then the questions became harder.
“Did Eleanor ever physically prevent you from leaving?”
“No.”
“Did she ever threaten to harm you?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you David wanted you to stay home?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Did you believe her?”
“At first.”
Maya looked at me.
“Then I started thinking David was avoiding me.”
May you like
Ruiz wrote that down.
“Did Eleanor ever tell you your husband had concerns about your ability to care for Liam?”
