Chương 8
Claire stared at the stiffness in her left hand.
Evelyn noticed again.
“You can ask.”
“What happened?”
“A guard broke two fingers.”
The simplicity of the answer stopped Claire.
Evelyn picked up her fork with her right hand.
“The repair was delayed. They healed badly. Surgery improved it.”
Claire looked down at her plate.
“Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
“When?”
“Cold weather.”
Daniel said softly, “Chicago was a strong choice.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“I had forgotten.”
Another ordinary cruelty of time.
The city they had built a life in had become unfamiliar to her body.
At twelve-thirty Claire’s phone rang.
Melanie.
This time Claire answered.
“You should see this.”
“What?”
“Captain Bell’s family contacted the foundation.”
Claire stood so fast the stool scraped backward.
Evelyn looked up.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. They sent an email to the public address. They saw the video.”
Claire’s heart hammered.
“Forward it.”
A second later her phone chimed.
She opened the message.
My name is Laura Bell. Mara Bell was my sister. Commander Hart’s statement tonight may be connected to our family. We need to speak with her immediately. We have been waiting ten years for someone to tell us where Mara is.
Claire read it twice.
Then she handed the phone to Evelyn.
Evelyn’s face tightened as she read.
Daniel watched her.
“You knew this would happen.”
“Yes.”
“Did you contact them?”
“Not yet.”
Claire stared at her.
“Why not?”
“The identification was formally reopened three weeks ago. I was told next-of-kin notification was being coordinated.”
“Coordinated.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Claire said, “Call her.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“She emailed twelve seconds ago.”
Evelyn looked at the screen.
Then at Claire.
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to disclose.”
Claire almost laughed.
“You came to a ballroom and announced you were alive.”
“That was personal information.”
“And this woman’s dead sister is in your grave.”
Evelyn’s expression hardened.
“That is why I will not tell her something inaccurate.”
Claire stopped.
The anger remained.
But the point was valid.
Daniel said, “We can contact the investigator handling the identification.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“How do you know there is one?”
“Because this doesn’t happen through magic.”
Evelyn’s mouth moved slightly.
Claire watched them and suddenly understood something unpleasant.
Her parents still knew how to work together.
Even after ten years.
Even after betrayal.
That did not mean they trusted each other.
It meant some habits survived death.
Evelyn used Claire’s phone to call a number from memory.
A man answered on the fourth ring.
She identified herself.
Then listened.
Claire heard only fragments.
“Yes.”
“No, I have not.”
“She contacted my daughter.”
“I understand.”
A long pause.
“No. I will not ask her to wait three days.”
Another pause.
Evelyn’s voice cooled.
“That is not acceptable.”
Claire looked at Daniel.
Daniel almost smiled.
He remembered that tone too.
Twenty minutes later they had an answer.
A federal casualty affairs representative and an investigator would contact the Bell family that morning. Evelyn could not disclose forensic details beyond what had been formally confirmed, but she could speak to Laura Bell personally if Laura still wanted.
Claire sent the email herself.
Commander Hart received your message. She will speak with you tomorrow morning. Officials connected to the identification review are also being asked to contact your family as soon as possible. I am sorry you learned any part of this through a video online.
She stared at the last sentence.
Then added:
You deserved better than that.
Evelyn read it.
“Yes.”
Claire looked at her.
“Yes what?”
“They did.”
At one-thirty Daniel stood.
“I should go.”
Claire looked at him.
“No.”
He paused.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Yes.”
“You need space.”
“I need you not to disappear because I’m angry.”
Daniel looked at Evelyn.
The irony was obvious enough that no one needed to say it.
He sat back down.
Claire slept for forty-three minutes on the sofa.
When she woke, Evelyn was sitting by the window in the dark.
The uniform jacket remained on the kitchen chair.
Her mother wore only the white shirt and dark trousers now. Without the ceremonial structure, she looked smaller.
Claire sat up.
“What time is it?”
“Three forty-seven.”
“Do you sleep?”
“Eventually.”
Claire rubbed her face.
“Are you staying?”
“Tonight?”
“In Chicago.”
Evelyn looked out at the wet street.
“I don’t know.”
Claire’s anger returned instantly.
“You have got to stop saying things like that.”
“I’m trying not to promise something before I know.”
“Where else would you go?”
“Virginia.”
“Why?”
“I have a room there.”
“A room.”
“Yes.”
“Apartment?”
“Not exactly.”
Claire stared.
Evelyn looked faintly embarrassed.
“It’s a long-term residence hotel.”
“You live in a hotel?”
“For now.”
“How long is for now?”
“Eleven months.”
Claire leaned back.
“That is depressing.”
“It has a kitchenette.”
“That made it worse.”
Evelyn almost smiled.
Claire watched her.
“What do you do all day?”
The question surprised both of them.
Evelyn thought.
“Physical therapy twice a week. Consult work occasionally. I read.”
“What?”
“History. Bad crime novels.”
“You hate crime novels.”
“I changed.”
Claire looked toward the window.
“What else?”
“I walk.”
“Where?”
“Usually along the river.”
“Friends?”
Evelyn’s answer took too long.
“A few.”
Claire nodded.
There it was.
The life beyond the mystery.
Not a secret bunker.
Not constant danger.
A residence hotel.
Physical therapy.
Bad novels.
Walks.
Loneliness.
Claire folded the blanket over her knees.
“I thought if you came back, everything would make sense.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mean tonight. I mean when I was younger. I used to think there would be an explanation so good that it would erase everything.”
“There isn’t.”
“No.”
Claire looked down.
“Did you think about me?”
“Every day.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I know.”
They sat in silence.
After a while Claire asked, “Do you still take coffee black?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
“I can see that.”
May you like
Claire looked toward the kitchen counter, where her mug from earlier contained more cream than coffee.
“You used to say cream was dessert pretending to be breakfast.”
