Chapter 6 - THE GIRL WHO STOPPED SPEAKING
“Then we're going to Milwaukee.”
Evan stood in front of me, holding Lily's photograph.
“Emily, you can't just walk into a treatment center and ask to see someone else's child.”
“I can ask questions.”
“Peter is listed as her financial sponsor.”
“That doesn't make him her father.”
“No,” Evan said quietly. “It doesn't.”
I took the photograph.
The little girl looked frightened even though she was smiling.
There was something familiar about her eyes.
I couldn't place it.
“Who has custody of her?” I asked.
“Her grandmother.”
“Caroline's mother?”
Evan nodded.
“Margaret Mercer.”
“And where is Margaret?”
“Milwaukee.”
I looked at him.
“You knew all this?”
“Peter told me six months ago.”
“Six months.”
My voice shook.
“Six months of dinners in my kitchen. Six months of helping Sophie with her puzzles. Six months of telling me I could trust you.”
Evan lowered his head.
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
I held up Lily's picture.
“Somewhere there's a little girl who lost her mother. My daughter lost her father. And you and Peter have been keeping secrets about both families.”
Evan looked genuinely devastated.
But I had learned something at my wedding.
Regret wasn't the same as honesty.
And love wasn't the same as trust.
I stepped around him.
“I'm going alone.”
Thomas stopped me near the door.
“Emily, before you go, there's something else.”
He reached into his work jacket.
Then handed me a folded employee newsletter from three years earlier.
On the front page was a photograph of my father presenting a service award to Daniel.
Beside them stood Caroline Mercer.
And in the background was Peter.
Thomas pointed to a paragraph.
“Read what your father said about Caroline.”
I scanned the article.
Dad had praised her for discovering accounting errors that saved the company nearly six hundred thousand dollars.
She had been named employee of the year.
I looked up.
“Peter told me Caroline was dishonest.”
Thomas nodded.
“That story started after the fire.”
I folded the newsletter.
Suddenly, I wasn't certain who had been lying to whom.
An hour later, I picked up Sophie from Rachel's house.
My daughter ran into my arms.
“Mommy! I found my shoe!”
She held it up proudly.
Rachel smiled.
“It was in the flower basket.”
For one brief moment, the world felt normal.
I kissed Sophie's cheek.
“That's wonderful, baby.”
Then I asked Rachel to watch her while I drove to Milwaukee.
Rachel's expression changed.
“You're going after the little girl?”
I nodded.
She hesitated.
“Emily, there is something you should know about Peter.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Rachel looked toward Sophie, who was playing with her shoe.
“Your brother came to see me two weeks ago.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“He wanted to know whether you still had Daniel's old notebooks.”
I felt cold.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn't know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Rachel looked ashamed.
“Because he said he was planning a memorial gift for the wedding. I believed him.”
I closed my eyes.
Another secret.
Another person who thought protecting me meant deciding what I deserved to know.
Rachel touched my arm.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked at my friend.
She had told me the truth without being forced.
That mattered.
“I know.”
I drove north beneath a gray October sky.
By the time I reached Milwaukee, rain had begun falling.
The center was a low brick building surrounded by trees.
It didn't look frightening.
There were children's drawings in the windows and bright yellow flowers near the entrance.
A woman at the front desk greeted me.
“Can I help you?”
“I'm trying to contact Margaret Mercer. Her granddaughter Lily receives care here.”
The woman became cautious.
“Are you family?”
“No.”
“Then I'm afraid I can't discuss a patient.”
“I understand.”
I took out Daniel's photograph.
“Please. My husband died the same night Lily's mother disappeared. I believe the families may be connected.”
The woman looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
She didn't answer.
But she picked up the phone.
Twenty minutes later, an elderly woman entered the waiting room.
She wore a dark blue coat and carried a canvas shopping bag.
Her silver hair was tucked beneath a knitted hat.
“Are you Emily Bennett?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
Margaret Mercer looked at my face for a long time.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
“You look exactly like the wedding picture Caroline kept.”
I froze.
“What wedding picture?”
“Yours. With Daniel.”
My throat tightened.
“Caroline knew me?”
Margaret nodded.
“She wanted to meet you.”
I sat beside her.
“Why?”
The older woman gripped her bag.
“Because your husband was trying to help her.”
“Help her with what?”
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
“Peter Harrington.”
I held my breath.
“He was moving money through false vendor accounts. Caroline found the transfers. Daniel helped her gather records.”
“Then why didn't they tell me?”
“Because they didn't know how far Peter would go to protect himself.”
I swallowed.
“Did Peter start the fire?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Did Caroline survive it?”
Tears filled the older woman's eyes.
“Caroline came home that night.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She arrived after midnight. Her coat was gone. Her hands were burned. She was terrified.”
My heart pounded.
“Then why did everyone say she disappeared?”
“Because the next morning she left Lily with me and went to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
I went completely still.
“Dad?”
Margaret nodded.
“He promised he could protect her.”
I stared at her.
“My father died seven months ago. He never said a word.”
Margaret reached into her shopping bag.
She removed a small red mitten.
A child's mitten.
There was a white rabbit embroidered near the wrist.
“Caroline brought this home that night,” she said.
I recognized it immediately.
It matched Sophie's missing pink jacket.
I felt tears gather in my eyes.
“Where did she get that?”
Margaret looked at me.
“That's what Lily has been trying to tell us.”
She led me down a quiet hallway.
Through a glass window, I saw a little girl sitting at a table.
Lily was eight now.
Her dark hair fell around her shoulders.
She was drawing with blue crayons.
Margaret gently opened the door.
“Sweetheart, someone is here.”
Lily looked up.
Her eyes fell on the photograph in my hand.
Daniel.
Peter.
Evan.
Her pencil stopped moving.
I knelt beside the table.
“Hi, Lily. My name is Emily.”
She said nothing.
I placed the photograph in front of her.
“Did you know my husband?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She touched Daniel's face.
Then she picked up a red crayon.
On a fresh piece of paper, she drew a warehouse.
Black smoke.
A pink jacket.
And a man standing beside a car.
I leaned closer.
“Is that Peter?”
Lily shook her head violently.
Then she pointed to the man's wrist.
She drew a round silver watch.
And beneath it, in careful letters, she wrote:
UNCLE DAN WASN'T THE MAN WHO LEFT ME THERE.
My breath caught.
Margaret gripped my shoulder.
Lily turned the paper over.
On the back she wrote three more words.
ASK GRANDPA HARRINGTON.
My father's name.
I stared at Margaret.
May you like
She began to cry.
And then she whispered, “Emily, there's something your father made me promise never to tell you while he was alive.”
