Chương 2
Marcus met his eyes in the mirror.
“Call ahead. Tell her we’re coming through the garage.”
The SUV pulled away from the curb.
Lily leaned toward Emma but stopped before touching her.
“Do you like macaroni?” she asked.
Emma stared at her.
“We have the yellow kind,” Lily continued. “Not the fancy white kind. The white kind tastes like somebody forgot the cheese.”
Marcus looked out the window.
Grace had said almost the same thing at a restaurant on their third date. She had taken one bite of truffle macaroni, set down her fork, and told him rich people had found a way to make comfort food uncomfortable.
He pressed his thumb against the edge of his watch until the metal dug into his skin.
Emma gave a tiny nod.
“I like yellow.”
“I told you,” Lily said, turning to Marcus. “She’s my sister.”
“No one has told you anything yet.”
“She has my face.”
“Faces are not proof.”
“She knows Mommy’s name.”
“So do thousands of people.”
Lily frowned. Grace’s funeral had filled a cathedral. Newspapers had printed photographs. Men who had never met her had sent flowers large enough to block hallways.
Emma watched Marcus with growing alarm.
He softened his tone.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her fingers tightened around the bear.
“Aunt Karen said you might be mad.”
“At you?”
Emma shrugged inside the oversized jacket.
“She said you’re mad at everybody.”
Leon’s mouth moved, almost a smile, before he turned toward the window.
Marcus said, “Who is Karen?”
“My aunt.”
“What’s her last name?”
Emma’s eyes flicked toward Lily.
Lily said, “You can tell him.”
“Vale.”
Marcus stopped breathing.
Leon turned around.
The name entered the SUV like a weapon.
Karen Vale had been Grace’s older half sister. She had attended the wedding in a dark blue dress, refused to dance, and told Marcus during dessert that if Grace ever disappeared, she would assume he had buried her. Marcus had admired the directness until he realized she meant it.
Three months after the wedding, Karen vanished from Chicago. Grace said they had argued. She never explained why. Marcus had asked twice, then stopped asking because marriage taught him there were doors that opened only when the person behind them was ready.
He had not heard Karen’s name in six years.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
Emma studied the passing buildings as if the answer might be written outside.
“In a house.”
“What street?”
“I don’t know.”
“What town?”
“Aunt Karen says not to tell people.”
“Did she tell you not to tell me?”
Emma nodded.
Lily’s expression sharpened.
“That’s lying.”
“It’s not lying if you’re scared,” Emma said.
The sentence came out with sudden force, then seemed to frighten her. She lowered her eyes.
Marcus looked at Leon.
The bodyguard understood. He took out his phone and began typing without speaking.
Dr. Amrita Shah owned a private pediatric practice on the second floor of a brick medical building west of the park. She had delivered Lily’s annual flu shots, treated a fractured wrist after a playground fall, and once told Marcus that having armed men in a waiting room made sick toddlers more nervous. She was one of the few people in Chicago who spoke to him as though he were an ordinary father with an extraordinary talent for making rooms uncomfortable.
They entered through the underground garage. Dominic blocked the elevator while Leon checked the stairwell. Marcus carried Emma upstairs. Lily walked beside him, gripping two fingers of the hand that supported Emma’s back.
Dr. Shah was waiting in the corridor wearing navy scrubs and running shoes. Her gray-streaked hair had been pulled into a careless knot.
“What happened?”
“I found her in the park.”
The doctor looked from Emma to Lily. Her face changed, but only for a moment.
“Bring her in.”
The examination room smelled of disinfectant and grape-flavored tongue depressors. Emma refused to release the teddy bear. Dr. Shah worked around it, speaking before every touch.
“I’m going to listen to your heart now.”
Emma glanced at Marcus.
He nodded.
The stethoscope was cold. Emma flinched, then held still.
Lily climbed onto a chair and narrated the process.
“She doesn’t like doctors.”
“You met her twenty minutes ago,” Marcus said.
“I can tell.”
Dr. Shah looked at him over Emma’s head.
“She can tell because Emma is shaking.”
Lily folded her arms, vindicated.
The examination took nearly forty minutes. Emma was dehydrated and underweight. She had healing bruises along one shin, a rash at the back of her neck, and a blister beneath the duct tape on her right shoe. None of the injuries suggested immediate violence, Dr. Shah said, but neglect had many forms and not all of them left clean evidence.
“When did you last eat?” she asked.
Emma considered the question.
“Yesterday.”
“What did you have?”
“Crackers.”
“How many?”
Emma held up three fingers.
Marcus turned away.
On the wall, a cartoon giraffe wore a stethoscope and smiled down at him. Grace had chosen Dr. Shah because of that giraffe. She had said any woman willing to decorate a medical office with something so stupid could not be entirely cruel.
He found himself staring at the giraffe’s purple shoes.
Dr. Shah gave Emma an electrolyte drink in small measured sips, then applesauce, then half a banana. Emma ate too fast. The doctor took the spoon from her and waited through the first flash of panic.
“There’s more,” Dr. Shah said. “No one is taking it away.”
Emma looked unconvinced.
Lily slid off the chair.
“I’ll eat slowly too.”
“You already ate,” Marcus said.
“I can still demonstrate.”
She accepted a second spoon and took a ceremonial bite of applesauce, chewing with exaggerated patience. Emma watched her, then matched the pace.
Marcus stood by the door, one hand in his trouser pocket. Leon waited outside. Through the narrow window, Marcus could see him speaking into his phone.
May you like
Dr. Shah finished wrapping the blister.
“I need to report this,” she said.
