Chapter 4 - THE WATCH WITH THE SILVER BIRD
"The watch wasn't valuable," Rachel said.
Marcus stared at the photograph.
"Then why would Clara hide something inside it?"
Rachel turned the picture closer to the camera.
"Because it belonged to her grandfather. And because nobody would think to search it."
Vivian leaned forward.
"Did Clara tell you what was inside?"
"No."
"Then how do you know anything was there?"
Rachel's face tightened.
"Because three days before she died, she asked me to find someone who could open the back without damaging it."
Marcus felt an ache beneath his ribs.
Clara had been planning something.
Something he had never known about.
"What happened to the watch?"
Rachel hesitated.
"Whitcomb took it."
Marcus gripped the edge of his desk.
"Why?"
"He said it belonged in Lily's medical file."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know that now."
Rachel looked ashamed.
"At the time, I was grieving, Marcus. Clara was dead. You weren't speaking to me. Vivian said the doctors knew what they were doing."
Vivian looked down.
Marcus wanted to blame someone.
Instead, he heard his own voice.
"Where did Whitcomb take it?"
"I don't know."
The call ended with an agreement.
Rachel would travel to the estate the following day.
Marcus would obtain the physician's records through formal legal channels.
And Lily would not be questioned about the watch unless she volunteered something.
Nora approved of the last condition.
She approved of considerably less when Marcus asked her to sign a confidentiality agreement.
She read the document in his office.
Then placed it on the desk.
"I'm not signing this version."
Marcus looked up.
"Why?"
"It says I can't discuss anything that happens in this house with anyone outside it."
"That's standard."
"Not for childcare."
He frowned.
Nora pointed toward a paragraph.
"If Lily tells me she's uncomfortable with something, or if I see something that needs reporting, this agreement could be read as stopping me."
Marcus took the document.
"I wouldn't use it that way."
"Then the document shouldn't allow it."
Marcus studied her.
Most people accepted his paperwork without reading it.
Most people also accepted his money without asking questions.
Nora did neither.
"I'll have it rewritten," he said.
"Thank you."
"And your salary?"
"Fair, but not dependent on anything besides my work."
"Agreed."
She stood.
Marcus stopped her.
"Miss Bellamy."
"Yes?"
"I don't know how to do this."
She waited.
"Be the father Lily needs."
Nora looked toward the garden, where Elena was helping Lily decorate paper snowflakes.
"You don't have to know everything."
"That hasn't worked out well so far."
"No," Nora admitted.
"Then what?"
"Ask her what she needs. Believe her answers. Keep showing up."
Marcus looked out the window.
Lily held up a crooked paper star.
Elena applauded.
Nora added:
"And make mistakes where she can see you repair them."
That afternoon, Lily's pediatric audiologist called.
The full evaluation confirmed severe hearing loss in both ears.
Further medical testing would help determine the cause and whether treatment or hearing technology could improve access to sound.
But the specialist emphasized something Marcus hadn't expected.
Lily did not need to wait for another test to have language.
She needed immediate, consistent communication.
A Deaf education specialist.
Accessible schooling.
Family sign-language instruction.
And people who understood her hearing loss did not make her less intelligent.
Marcus wrote everything down.
For once, he didn't delegate a single word.
Later, Nora found Lily sitting on the nursery carpet.
The girl had opened a wooden jewelry box.
Inside lay old hair ribbons, a tiny pearl bracelet, and a broken music-box ballerina.
Lily held up the bracelet.
MAMA.
Nora smiled.
"Your mama wore that?"
Lily shook her head.
ME BABY.
Then she lifted the empty jewelry box.
WATCH GONE.
Nora sat beside her.
"Do you know where the watch went?"
Lily looked troubled.
She signed:
MAN WHITE COAT.
Nora's chest tightened.
Dr. Whitcomb.
But she did not say the name.
Instead, she asked:
"Did Mama give it to him?"
Lily shook her head fiercely.
NO.
Then she signed something Nora didn't expect.
MAMA HID.
Lily crawled toward the bookcase.
Pulled out a children's atlas.
Opened it to a page showing a lighthouse.
A pale blue envelope slipped onto the carpet.
Nora stared.
The envelope was addressed in Clara's handwriting.
For the day Lily needs someone to believe her.
Inside was a small brass key.
And a photograph of Clara with Nora's father.
Nora stopped breathing.
She recognized him immediately.
The same kind eyes.
The same gentle smile.
Standing beside Clara Ellery outside a community center.
On the back, Clara had written:
Raymond Bellamy. The only person who understood why I was afraid.
Nora's hands began to tremble.
Her father.
Dead four years.
And somehow connected to the Ellery family.
Then Lily touched the photograph.
Signed:
RAY GOOD.
May you like
And pointed toward the brass key.
RAY SAVE MAMA.
