Part 7
Tears gathered in her eyes.
Daniel’s anger returned, but it no longer knew where to land.
“How long did you know?”
“I did not know everything.”
“What did you know?”
“She was strict.”
“Strict.”
“She did not like them making noise in the morning. She did not like Sophie coming into your room. She said Mara was manipulative.”
“Mara is seven.”
“I know.”
“Did you see her hit them?”
Rosa’s mouth trembled. “Once.”
Daniel stared at her.
“With what?”
“Her hand. Mara’s face.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I told Mrs. Mercer it was not right.”
“You told her.”
“She said I misunderstood. She said Mara cursed at her.”
“Mara doesn’t curse.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Rosa lowered her face. “My husband has not worked since his surgery. My daughter is in college. Mrs. Mercer said if I went behind her back, she would fire me and tell the agency I stole jewelry.”
Daniel took a step away.
Rosa wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist. “I thought I could watch. I thought if I stayed, they would not be alone.”
“Were they alone?”
“Yes.”
The answer was barely audible.
“How often?”
“When you traveled, Mrs. Mercer would send everyone home early. Sometimes she kept only me. Sometimes no one.”
Daniel looked toward the lake. Sunlight had reached the water, turning it silver between the trees. Boats moved in the distance, small and ordinary.
He had chosen the house because the view made him feel as if he had escaped the city.
Inside it, his daughters had counted windows to keep from crying.
“Did Mara ask you for help?”
Rosa’s face crumpled.
“Once,” she said. “She asked whether she and Sophie could sleep in my room.”
Daniel sat on the bench where Celeste had fallen.
“What did you say?”
“That Mrs. Mercer would be angry.”
He bent forward, elbows on his knees.
Rosa began crying silently.
He did not comfort her. He could not. But he also could not pretend her cowardice was a different species from his own. She had protected her job. He had protected a company. They had both found language to make absence sound responsible.
Through the library doors, Mara watched him.
He straightened at once.
She looked away.
That afternoon, a child-protection investigator named Denise Warren arrived. She was in her late forties, with tired eyes and a canvas bag full of forms. She interviewed Daniel in the dining room, the girls separately in the library, and three staff members in the kitchen.
She asked practical questions.
Who prepared meals?
Who handled bedtime?
Who had access to the home?
How often did Daniel travel?
How much time had Celeste spent alone with the girls?
Had Daniel ever observed bruises?
Had the children ever made statements about being afraid?
Each answer stripped away another excuse.
He traveled approximately twelve days a month.
Sometimes more.
Celeste handled most weekday routines.
He had seen bruises but accepted explanations involving playgrounds, furniture, and normal childhood accidents.
Mara had once asked whether she could come on a business trip with him. He had laughed and said hotels were boring.
Sophie had started wetting the bed again six months earlier. Celeste called it attention-seeking.
Mara had complained of stomachaches on Sunday nights before Daniel left.
He had believed they were sad.
He had not asked whether they were afraid.
Denise took notes without reacting. “You understand that this investigation will include your supervision decisions.”
“Yes.”
“Some parents become defensive at this point.”
“I’m not going to.”
“You might. Try not to let that surprise you.”
He looked at her.
She capped her pen. “Guilt often dresses itself as cooperation at first. Then people realize there may be consequences for them too.”
“What consequences?”
“I’m not making predictions. I’m telling you the assessment concerns the whole household.”
Daniel heard Naomi’s warning: Do not promise outcomes you cannot guarantee.
“Will they be removed?”
“There is no current plan to remove them if Celeste remains away and you comply with the safety agreement.”
“If.”
“We’ll put it in writing.”
“I’ll sign anything.”
Denise’s expression sharpened. “Read it first.”
He almost laughed. It was the first advice anyone had given him all day that sounded like the world he knew.
The emergency court hearing was scheduled for the next morning.
Naomi advised Daniel to take the girls somewhere else for the night.
“Why?” he asked. “Celeste is gone.”
“The house is full of today.”
He looked toward the stairs.
Mara had refused to go upstairs alone. Sophie would not enter the pantry. The broken cup had been placed in an evidence bag, but both girls watched every person who crossed the entrance hall.
“Where?”
“Your sister?”
Daniel shook his head. “She’s in Vermont.”
“A hotel?”
“No.”
“Then stay in the guest cottage.”
The property had a small cottage near the water, used mostly for visiting executives and Daniel’s college friends. It had two bedrooms, a narrow kitchen, and furniture that had been selected before Celeste moved in.
The girls agreed to go because it was still close to the house.
Rosa packed their clothes. Mara supervised, checking Sophie’s bag twice.
Daniel went upstairs to change.
The bedroom he had shared with Celeste looked untouched. Her perfume remained on the dresser. A glass of water stood on her nightstand, half full. One closet door was open, revealing a clean gap among her dresses where she had removed clothes.
His side of the room held almost nothing personal. Suits. Shoes. Chargers. A photograph of Claire with the girls, taken six weeks before she died, sat inside the top drawer rather than on display.
Celeste had not asked him to hide it. He had done that himself.
He took the photograph out.
May you like
Claire was sitting on a hospital garden bench with Sophie asleep against her chest and Mara leaning against her shoulder. Her face was thin. A scarf covered her hair. She was smiling at something outside the frame.
Daniel could not remember what.
