Chương 8
"Tell me about my father," he said.
Marcus looked down at the table.
"I barely knew him."
"But you listened to him."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Marcus rubbed his thumb against a scratch in the wood.
"Because your father was the kind of man people listened to."
Daniel almost laughed.
"That doesn't sound like him."
"Maybe you knew a different version."
The sentence bothered him.
Not because it was insulting.
Because it was possible.
Daniel pulled out the chair across from Marcus and sat down.
"What did he ask you to do?"
Marcus looked toward the hallway.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"He asked me to leave something alone."
"What?"
"The floor."
Daniel stared.
"You knew."
"I suspected."
"You removed it anyway."
Marcus nodded.
"Years later."
"Why?"
"Because the company told me to."
"Thomas Reed."
"Yes."
Daniel leaned back.
The pieces refused to fit.
"Why would someone send a contractor to remove a floorboard that my father told you not to touch?"
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
"Maybe he didn't know."
"That isn't convincing."
"No."
Marcus admitted it without hesitation.
That bothered Daniel more than a lie would have.
People who lied tried to control the conversation.
People who told the truth usually made it worse.
"What was under the floor before?"
Marcus looked at him.
"You mean when I saw it?"
"Yes."
"Nothing."
Daniel frowned.
"Nothing?"
"Not the envelope."
The room became still.
Marcus looked at the window.
"I mean the space was empty when I first helped my uncle."
Daniel felt his chest tighten.
"Then the letter was put there later."
"I assume."
"By who?"
Marcus did not answer.
The silence was enough.
Daniel stood and walked toward the counter.
He opened a cabinet without thinking.
Inside were old mugs.
A cracked blue one Emily had used when she was fourteen.
A white one with faded lettering from a hardware store that no longer existed.
A coffee cup Claire had bought him because she said his old one looked like something found near a construction site.
He touched the handle.
For a second, the kitchen was different.
Not younger.
Not happier.
Just occupied by more voices.
Then the feeling disappeared.
"Did my father know about the letter?" Daniel asked.
Marcus hesitated.
"I don't know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"Did he know someone put it there?"
Marcus looked at him.
"Yes."
The answer arrived quietly.
Daniel turned around.
"How?"
"Because he found it."
The room seemed to lose air.
"You said you didn't know what he found."
"I didn't."
"But you knew he found something."
"Yes."
Marcus looked miserable.
"I should have told you years ago."
"Why didn't you?"
The contractor stared at his hands.
"Because your father made me promise."
Daniel shook his head.
"That was enough?"
"At the time."
"And now?"
Marcus looked older again.
"Now I don't know if keeping that promise was the right thing."
A notification sound came from Daniel's phone.
Neither of them moved.
It was a reminder.
The kind of ordinary thing that felt offensive in the middle of something impossible.
Daniel picked up the phone.
A message from Emily.
Are you home?
He stared at it.
A simple question.
But he knew what she meant.
Are you safe?
Are you alone?
Are you falling apart again?
He typed back.
Yes.
Then deleted it.
He typed:
I'm okay.
Then deleted that too.
Finally, he wrote:
I found something else.
He sent it before he could reconsider.
Marcus watched him.
"Your daughter?"
"Yes."
"She knows?"
"More than she used to."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"That's good."
Daniel looked at him.
"Is it?"
Marcus gave a tired smile.
"No."
The honesty surprised him.
"It's just less lonely."
Daniel looked away.
For years, he had believed protecting Emily meant keeping the ugly parts of life away from her.
He had mistaken silence for safety.
The phone vibrated again.
Emily.
What does that mean?
Daniel did not answer immediately.
He looked at Marcus.
"Who is Thomas Reed?"
Marcus sighed.
"I don't know much."
"Start with what you do know."
"He owns a property company."
"Here?"
"Several states."
"Why would he care about this house?"
Marcus looked toward the floor.
"Because he cared about your father."
Daniel felt a strange anger rise.
Not because someone cared.
Because someone else had known a side of his father that he had never seen.
"What kind of care?"
Marcus hesitated.
"The kind where people owe each other things."
"What things?"
"I don't know."
Daniel stood.
"You're not helping."
"I know."
"Then why are you still here?"
Marcus looked at him.
That question seemed to hurt more than the others.
"Because I think I made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"Thinking silence would keep people safe."
The words landed differently.
Daniel looked at the floorboard.
The repaired section was almost invisible now.
That was the strange thing about damage.
People always imagined broken things would look broken.
Sometimes they looked normal.
Sometimes the worst parts were the places nobody noticed.
"Did my father ever mention Claire?" Daniel asked.
Marcus looked down.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Near the end."
Daniel froze.
"My father talked about Claire?"
"Not much."
"What did he say?"
Marcus stood slowly.
"He said he spent too many years trying to decide whether the truth would help anyone."
Daniel swallowed.
"And?"
"He never decided."
A cold feeling moved through Daniel.
Not fear exactly.
Something heavier.
The understanding that the people he had lost were not silent because they had nothing to say.
They were silent because they had too much.
Marcus picked up his toolbox.
"I should go."
Daniel did not stop him this time.
At the doorway, Marcus paused.
"There is one thing."
Daniel waited.
"When I came here this morning, I wasn't sent to fix the floor."
The sentence made Daniel look up.
"What?"
Marcus held the door handle.
"The company told me the renovation was delayed."
"Then why were you here?"
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
"Because Thomas Reed asked me to check something."
"What?"
May you like
Marcus's eyes moved briefly toward the kitchen floor.
"Whether the board was still there."
