Chương 4
“On the dining table.”
“Leah’s identification?”
“In the envelope on the coffee table.”
“Any photographs of Daniel?”
“No.”
“Messages?”
“He used phones she said he threw away.”
“Did she have records?”
“She said she did.”
“Where?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“And you believed her.”
“I believed she was afraid.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Ethan moved to the coffee table and lifted the envelope. Inside were photocopies of hospital forms, a temporary caregiving authorization signed by Leah, and a business card for a family-law attorney named Maya Chen. Nora’s birth record listed Leah Mercer as mother. The space for the father was blank.
He read every page twice.
“You signed as emergency contact.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you caring for her now?”
“Leah had no family listed. The hospital contacted social services. Maya had prepared documents before the birth. Nothing is permanent.”
“Did you tell them about Daniel?”
“I told Maya.”
“And?”
“She told me not to make decisions based on a dead man who might not be dead.”
“That’s helpful.”
“She also said I needed proof.”
Ethan placed the papers down.
“We call Major Bell.”
Claire shook her head immediately.
“We call the police, military investigators, whoever handled Daniel’s case. We tell them he’s alive.”
“He said Voss had contacts.”
“Daniel said many things when consequences caught up to him.”
“You don’t know that he was lying.”
“You don’t know that he was telling the truth.”
“He knew things.”
“He grew up with me.”
“He knew what you wrote inside my wedding ring.”
Ethan’s hand moved toward his own ring.
On the inside of Claire’s band, he had engraved a sentence Daniel had mocked for months because Ethan refused to tell him what it said.
“Did you show him?”
“No.”
“Did Leah know?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“Same road, different weather.”
Ethan looked at Claire’s left hand.
That was the phrase.
It came from a night years earlier when Claire and Ethan had become lost driving through West Virginia. She had been angry, he had been defensive, and Daniel had called during the argument. Ethan answered without realizing the phone was on speaker. Daniel listened to them blame each other for ten minutes before saying, You’re on the same road. You just got different weather.
Claire had laughed so hard she missed the exit.
Only three people had known why the phrase mattered.
One of them was dead.
“Where did Daniel sleep?” Ethan asked.
“On the sofa.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“Upstairs.”
“Leah?”
“With me.”
He nodded, not because he doubted her now but because he needed each fact placed somewhere solid.
The digital clock on the cable box changed to 5:41.
He had expected to be eating Claire’s lasagna by then. She always made it when he returned, though the middle was usually cold because she forgot to thaw the ricotta. The house smelled instead of baby detergent and coffee left too long in a pot.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
Claire stared at him.
He heard the absurdity.
“I don’t know why I asked that.”
“I had toast.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Nora gave a small, restless whimper.
“She is,” Claire said.
She turned toward the sofa, then stopped.
“Her bottle is in the kitchen.”
Ethan watched her carry Nora out of the room. He remained beside the table until he heard the refrigerator open.
Then he knelt and picked up the dog tag.
It was heavier than he remembered.
Daniel had worn it through their twenties even after leaving the Army, not around his neck but on a short chain attached to his key ring. He claimed it opened beer bottles better after the cut. Ethan used to tell him the bent corner would eventually slice his hand.
Daniel had answered, Then I’ll know it’s mine.
The metal smelled faintly of smoke and old pennies.
Ethan closed his fist around it.
His phone had service. Four missed messages waited from soldiers in his unit, two from his mother, one from Claire sent three hours earlier.
Need to talk before you come inside.
He had not seen it. He had been driving.
He found Major Bell’s number.
His thumb hovered above the call button.
From the kitchen came the soft clink of a bottle against the counter. Claire murmured to Nora in a voice Ethan had never heard her use with anyone else.
He put the phone down without calling.
That choice lasted eleven minutes.
Claire fed Nora on the sofa while Ethan sat across from them. Neither spoke. Nora drank slowly, pausing every few swallows. Claire kept the bottle angled, eyes on the baby.
Ethan studied the familiar room for signs of the past six months.
A folded portable crib stood near the stairs. New curtains had been hung in the dining room, uneven by half an inch. Three coffee mugs sat on the side table. One had a cracked handle. The cushion where Daniel supposedly slept held no impression that could have survived half a year, but Ethan looked for one anyway.
When Nora finished, Claire rested her upright and patted her back.
The baby released a quiet burp.
Ethan nearly laughed. The sound rose in him and disappeared before reaching his mouth.
Claire glanced at him.
“I practiced that with a doll,” he said.
“I remember.”
“I was terrible.”
“You held it by one leg.”
“It was plastic.”
“The nurse looked at you like she wanted security.”
They were both silent after that.
The shared memory had opened a door neither trusted.
Ethan placed the dog tag on the table.
“I have to report this.”
Claire’s hand stopped moving on Nora’s back.
“I know.”
“You said not to.”
“I said I was afraid.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”
“Daniel may be watching.”
“Then the longer we wait, the more time he has.”
“What happens to Nora?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
May you like
“I can’t promise she stays here.”
Claire’s eyes sharpened. “She has nowhere else.”
