Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE THAT KEPT ITS SECRETS
I stared at Vincent.
“Your mother died in a car accident.”
He nodded.
“That's what I've believed since I was fifteen.”
“And now?”
He slid the photograph back into the envelope.
“Six months ago, I found payments Richard Vale had arranged twenty-five years earlier. They went to a private investigator, two police officers, and a company that no longer exists.”
“What company?”
“North Shore Memorial Services.”
I frowned.
“A funeral home?”
“Officially.”
“And unofficially?”
“It handled insurance settlements and property transfers for my father.”
I sat very still.
“You think your mother was murdered?”
“I think her accident was investigated by people my father had been paying.”
The coffee shop seemed suddenly too warm.
Vincent's mother, Catherine Marlowe, had died long before I met him.
He rarely spoke about her.
But I knew he kept her wedding photograph in his study.
She had dark hair, kind eyes, and a gentle smile.
“She knew something,” Vincent said.
“What?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
I thought about Eleanor.
About Camille.
About the butterfly.
Then about Owen.
“Why would Owen help you investigate if he was hiding Daniel?”
Vincent looked exhausted.
“That's the question.”
I stood.
“I'm going home.”
“Nora.”
“I need to think.”
He rose.
“May I see Daniel again?”
I hesitated.
“Not today.”
Vincent nodded.
“Tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
He accepted that.
Then he did something I had never seen him do before.
He handed me a card.
It had his private number written on the back.
“If you want to speak, call. If you don't, I won't come to your house.”
I looked at him.
“You'll respect that?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I tell you to leave Wisconsin?”
His answer came slowly.
“I'll leave.”
I took the card.
That evening, Thomas was waiting on my porch.
He had a small paper bag from the bakery.
Daniel was sitting on the steps wearing his yellow raincoat.
“Mommy!”
He ran to me.
I picked him up.
He smelled like soap and cinnamon.
Thomas watched my face.
“What happened?”
I looked at him.
“Vincent found us.”
Thomas didn't react immediately.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
“That's all?”
He glanced at Daniel.
“Let's get him inside before we talk.”
After dinner, Daniel fell asleep with Rex tucked beneath his arm.
Thomas sat across from me at the kitchen table.
I told him everything.
The cemetery.
The fake letters.
The photograph.
The missing years.
Thomas listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he looked down at his hands.
“So Daniel's father believed he was dead.”
“Yes.”
“That changes things.”
I swallowed.
“Does it?”
“It changes what we knew.”
I studied his face.
“Are you angry?”
Thomas looked up.
“At Vincent? Yes.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid?”
He smiled sadly.
“Of course.”
My eyes filled.
“Thomas—”
“I love that little boy, Nora. And I love you.”
I looked away.
“But loving someone doesn't mean I get to decide their whole future.”
His words reminded me painfully of Vincent.
Or rather, of everything Vincent had failed to understand.
Thomas reached across the table.
“Whatever happens, Daniel shouldn't have to choose which adults deserve him.”
I began to cry.
He held my hand until I stopped.
The next morning, I called Vincent.
“You can see Daniel.”
There was silence.
Then, “Thank you.”
“One hour. Public park. Thomas will be there.”
Another pause.
“Of course.”
“And no guards standing beside the playground.”
“Agreed.”
Daniel was feeding crackers to imaginary dinosaurs when Vincent arrived.
He wore jeans and a navy sweater.
No expensive suit.
No bodyguards in sight.
He carried nothing.
That surprised me.
Vincent always brought gifts when he didn't know what to say.
Daniel looked up.
“Sad man!”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“Hello, Daniel.”
“I'm not sad today.”
Daniel considered that.
“Okay.”
Then he returned to his dinosaurs.
For twenty minutes, Vincent sat on a bench and listened.
Daniel told him which dinosaurs ate plants.
Which ones had big teeth.
Which ones were “very, very fast.”
Vincent listened as though receiving the most important briefing of his life.
Then Daniel handed him Rex.
“Hold.”
Vincent took the dinosaur.
His hand trembled.
I looked away.
Thomas stood beside me.
“He's trying,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
That was the hardest part.
Vincent really was trying.
Near the end of the hour, Daniel climbed onto the bench beside him.
“Do you have a daddy?”
Vincent looked surprised.
“I did.”
“Where?”
Vincent swallowed.
“He died a long time ago.”
Daniel nodded solemnly.
“My daddy Tom fixes tractors.”
Vincent glanced toward Thomas.
Then back at our son.
“That sounds like an important job.”
“It is.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“Can you fix tractors?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Vincent smiled sadly.
“I never learned.”
Daniel considered him.
“Daddy Tom can teach you.”
I pressed my fingers against my lips.
Vincent looked toward me.
For one moment, the years between us seemed unbearably small.
Then Daniel jumped down and ran toward the slide.
Vincent approached.
“Thank you,” he said.
I nodded.
His gaze moved to my wrist.
I was wearing the sapphire bracelet.
Not because I had forgiven him.
Because I had found something unusual inside the clasp.
A small engraved number.
2741\.
Vincent noticed me touching it.
“What's wrong?”
I showed him.
“Did your grandmother ever explain this?”
He leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“That's not a jewelry number.”
“What is it?”
He looked toward Daniel.
Then toward Thomas.
“It's a safe-deposit box number.”
My heart began to pound.
“How do you know?”
“Because my mother had a box at Lakeshore Trust.”
“And?”
Vincent looked back at the bracelet.
“Box 2741 was supposed to have been emptied the week she died.”
He swallowed.
“But that bracelet wasn't in the box.”
A sudden wind moved through the trees.
Daniel laughed as Thomas caught him at the bottom of the slide.
Vincent stared at the sapphire.
“My mother was wearing it the day she died.”
I looked down.
May you like
He continued quietly.
“And Eleanor told me the bracelet had been destroyed in the accident.”
