Chương 5
“At the funeral.”
Emily’s breathing became uneven.
“He had my son at home.”
“Emily—”
“He hugged me while his girlfriend was at home with my son.”
Linda cried openly now.
Emily pointed toward the ceiling.
“Did he know?”
“Not then.”
Noah.
“Does he know anything?”
“No.”
“Who does he think his mother is?”
“Marissa.”
“Where is she?”
“Arizona.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“Does she have contact with him?”
“Christmas cards. Birthday calls sometimes.”
Emily stared.
“You let a woman who knew speak to him.”
“She loved him.”
Emily crossed the room.
Linda backed up.
Robert moved instinctively between them.
Emily stopped.
For one strange second, they looked at one another.
Father protecting mother from daughter.
The old arrangement.
Robert saw it too.
He stepped aside.
Emily did not move closer.
“I’m not going to hit her.”
“I know.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Robert’s face tightened.
“You thought I might.”
He said nothing.
Emily turned away.
The storm had begun to move east. The thunder came farther apart.
Noah’s music thudded faintly overhead.
Robert looked toward the suitcase.
“Open it.”
Emily stared at him.
He spoke carefully.
“If Arthur kept records, we need to know what’s actually there.”
“We?”
He flinched.
“You.”
Emily pulled the suitcase closer.
The broken latch made opening it easy.
Inside were two neatly folded shirts that smelled of cedar, a leather shaving kit, three bundles of documents tied with cotton string, and a small metal cash box.
Emily touched one of the shirts.
“Why are his clothes still in here?”
Linda answered.
“I couldn’t throw them away.”
“You could throw me away.”
Linda looked down.
Emily regretted the sentence as soon as she said it.
Not because it was false.
Because it was too easy.
Pain had made her sound like Robert.
She untied the first bundle.
Bank statements.
Copies of checks.
Receipts.
Arthur’s handwriting filled the margins.
Dates.
Names.
Questions.
He had approached the problem like a retired salesman auditing a dishonest distributor.
Emily read in silence.
Robert moved beside her but did not reach for anything.
The first pages documented the money.
Arthur had withdrawn eighty-four thousand dollars from an investment account.
Forty thousand went to a law firm.
Twenty-six thousand went to medical bills connected to Noah’s neonatal care.
Eighteen thousand went directly to Daniel.
That contradicted Linda’s memory.
Emily looked up.
“You said Daniel misused twenty thousand.”
“I thought he did.”
“It was eighteen.”
“I didn’t remember exactly.”
Emily kept reading.
There were copies of letters from an attorney advising that Noah’s legal status was dangerously unresolved.
There was a draft petition.
Emily stopped.
Her name appeared repeatedly.
She read one paragraph twice.
“What?”
Robert asked.
Emily handed him the page.
He read.
His face changed.
“What is it?” Linda asked.
Robert looked at her.
“Arthur tried to contact Ethan.”
Linda’s hands went still.
Emily stared.
“You knew?”
Linda said nothing.
“You knew Grandpa contacted Ethan?”
“Yes.”
Emily stood so fast the papers slid.
“Where is Ethan?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told me he never answered.”
“He did.”
Emily made a sound that was almost a laugh.
“What did he say?”
Linda rubbed at her forehead.
“He wanted Noah.”
Emily stared at her.
“He wanted his son?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And he was angry. He threatened Daniel. He threatened me. He said he’d go public.”
Robert whispered, “Did he know Emily thought the baby died?”
“Yes.”
Emily’s voice disappeared.
“What did he do?”
“He came to the cabin.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before Dad died.”
Emily looked around the room.
Here.
The same fireplace.
The same narrow windows.
The same wooden floor.
“What happened?”
“Dad met him here. Daniel came too. They argued.”
“And you?”
“I was here.”
“Of course you were.”
“Ethan wanted to take Noah immediately. Dad’s lawyer said he couldn’t just do that. There were medical issues, custody issues, no proper birth certificate naming him, and Ethan hadn’t established paternity.”
Emily breathed through her nose.
“What happened after Grandpa died?”
Linda looked away.
“Ethan gave up.”
Emily stared.
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“It happened.”
“Why?”
Linda said nothing.
Emily returned to the papers.
The second bundle contained correspondence.
Arthur’s letters.
Copies of certified-mail receipts.
Notes from attorney meetings.
One envelope bore Emily’s old Chicago address.
It had never been mailed.
Her name was written across the front.
She opened it.
Inside was a letter from Arthur.
Sweetheart,
If you are reading this, I have failed to do something I should have done immediately.
Emily stopped.
Robert looked at her.
She continued silently.
Arthur did not dramatize.
He described dates.
He described Noah’s birth.
He described what Linda had admitted.
He described Daniel’s fear that the baby would be removed.
He described Ethan’s arrival.
Then one sentence changed everything again.
Ethan did not abandon the child. Your mother paid him to stay away.
Emily lowered the letter.
“Mom.”
Linda’s face told her she had reached the center.
“How much?”
Robert asked.
Linda whispered, “Fifty thousand.”
Robert looked stunned.
“Where did you get fifty thousand dollars?”
“Home equity line.”
He stared.
“You borrowed against our house?”
“I paid it back.”
“That is not the point.”
“I know.”
“You forged my signature?”
“No. The line already existed. Both our names were on it.”
Robert rubbed both hands over his face.
Emily’s voice remained strangely calm.
“You bought Ethan out.”
“He took the money.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Yes.”
Emily folded Arthur’s letter carefully.
“What did you tell him?”
“That if he came back, I would tell Emily he had known Noah was alive from the beginning and had chosen Daniel over her.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed.
“Would that have been true?”
“No.”
“So you threatened to tell me another lie.”
“Yes.”
“Why did he agree?”
Linda looked toward the floor.
“He was twenty-four. Angry. Broke. Scared. He said he didn’t trust himself to raise a premature baby. He said he wanted you to have Noah, not him.”
Emily sat slowly.
That sounded like Ethan.
Not noble.
Not monstrous.
Confused.
Young.
May you like
Capable of cowardice.
Capable of love in forms that did not help anybody.
