Chương 4
“For about a year.”
“And then?”
Margaret’s face folded inward, only slightly.
“Thomas found out.”
Daniel’s eyes went cold.
“And?”
“He told me if I continued, he would file for divorce and petition for sole custody.”
Claire said, “Could he have done that?”
Margaret gave her a tired look.
“I didn’t know. That was enough.”
Daniel stared at his mother.
“You were afraid he’d take me.”
“Yes.”
“So you stopped.”
“For a while.”
“For a while?”
Margaret nodded.
“Then I started again without telling him.”
Daniel laughed once, without humor.
“Mom, do you understand how insane this sounds?”
“Yes.”
“I’m thirty-eight years old, and you are telling me that my childhood was apparently a cold case you worked part-time behind Dad’s back.”
“I understand how it sounds.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He folded the letter roughly, stopped himself, opened it again and smoothed the crease.
Claire watched his hands.
“Daniel,” she said quietly.
He looked at her.
She hated the suspicion she saw there, though she understood why it existed.
“I really didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re looking at me like—”
“I’m looking at everybody like that right now.”
Claire stopped.
Fair enough.
Margaret went to the sink and filled a glass with water. Her hand shook enough that the rim clicked against the faucet.
Daniel noticed.
He did not help her.
“When did you find her?” he asked.
Margaret drank.
“2004.”
Daniel frowned.
“I was sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Arizona.”
“How?”
“She had remarried. Her name was Rebecca Hale Mercer.”
Claire felt the air change again.
Daniel’s face went blank.
“You found her when I was sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“And you still told me she was dead.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Daniel grabbed his keys.
Claire stepped toward him.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daniel—”
“I need to get out of this room.”
Margaret set down the water.
“She asked me not to tell you.”
Daniel stopped.
Very slowly, he turned back.
“What?”
“When I found her, she asked me not to tell you where she was.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Good. Then save us both time.”
“She was afraid.”
“Of what? I was sixteen.”
“Of Leonard.”
“Who would have been what, sixty?”
“Of Thomas.”
Daniel stared.
Margaret gripped the counter.
“And of herself.”
He waited.
Margaret said, “She had built another life. She had two daughters. Her husband knew about you, but the girls didn’t. Rebecca believed that if she appeared in your life without proof of what had happened, Thomas would say she had abandoned you. She was ashamed.”
Daniel’s nostrils flared.
“So she chose not to come.”
“She sent me something for you.”
“What?”
Margaret looked at the broken photograph.
“That letter was part of it.”
“What else?”
“A second letter.”
“Where is it?”
Margaret hesitated.
Daniel’s voice rose.
“Where is it?”
“In my safe-deposit box.”
Claire stared at her.
Daniel put the keys down again.
“Of course it is.”
“Daniel.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A cassette tape.”
He gave a disbelieving laugh.
“A cassette tape.”
“She recorded it in 2004.”
“Why did you hide that?”
“Because she asked me to wait.”
“Until when?”
“Until you were twenty-five.”
Daniel stopped.
Claire saw it before he said it.
“I’m thirty-eight.”
Margaret did not answer.
“You were supposed to tell me thirteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Margaret’s face changed.
Not fear this time.
Shame.
Daniel stared at her, and something in him seemed to settle. Not calm. Something worse.
“Oh.”
He nodded.
“Now we’re finally there.”
Margaret whispered his name.
“No. Don’t.”
He picked up the photograph, looked at the fractured glass, and set it back down.
“You had thirteen years.”
“Yes.”
“Dad died nine years ago.”
“Yes.”
“So for four years before he died, you could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“And for nine years after he died, you could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Because by then I was the liar too.”
Nobody spoke.
The sentence had no defense in it.
That made it harder to attack.
Daniel picked up the envelope, the letter, the hospital form, the legal paper, and the small black-and-white photograph. He put everything back inside except Rebecca’s letter.
“I’m taking these.”
“They’re yours.”
“Don’t say that.”
Margaret flinched.
“Don’t suddenly start telling me what’s mine.”
He walked out.
Claire followed him to the garage.
“Daniel.”
He opened his car door.
“Please don’t drive angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You are.”
“I don’t even know what this is.”
He sat behind the wheel but did not start the engine.
Claire stood between the open car door and the workbench where Daniel kept jars of screws labeled by size.
His hands rested on the steering wheel.
She said, “I’m sorry about the photograph.”
He looked straight ahead.
“Why did you smash it?”
“I told you.”
“No. You told me what you thought. I’m asking why you smashed it.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“I lost my temper.”
“You lose your temper, you slam cabinets. You don’t destroy things.”
It was true.
That irritated her.
“Apparently today I do.”
Daniel looked at her.
She lowered her arms.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
She nearly said Margaret.
That would have been easy.
Instead she looked toward the garage floor.
“Of finding out I didn’t know my own husband.”
Daniel’s expression shifted.
Claire rubbed the sore place on her wrist.
“We’ve spent six months doing blood work, family history, genetic screening, every form asking what runs in your family, and every time we wrote down the Dawsons. Your dad’s hypertension. Margaret’s thyroid problem. Your grandfather’s colon cancer. We built an entire medical history around people you may not be related to.”
Daniel looked away.
Claire regretted saying may not be related to the instant it left her mouth.
“Sorry.”
“No. You’re right.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did.”
He leaned back.
May you like
The garage was hot despite the air conditioning leaking through the open door.
Claire said, “When I saw that name, I thought Margaret had lied about everything.”
