Chapter 3 - THE GIRL IN THE BLUE COAT
“Then whose child did we bury?”
Vincent stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
Beatrice gripped the back of the sofa.
“Please, Vincent. Sit down.”
“No.”
His voice broke.
“I carried that coffin. I visited that grave every Christmas. I spent twenty-eight years believing I couldn't save my little sister.”
Nora had never seen him look so helpless.
“Tell me who was in that coffin.”
Beatrice stared at the custody agreement.
“Her name was Charlotte Ward.”
Vincent shook his head.
“I don't know that name.”
“Her mother worked in our summer house. Charlotte and Lillian were friends.”
Nora remembered something.
“Did Charlotte have red hair?”
Beatrice turned toward her.
“Yes.”
“My mother once told me about a little girl named Charlotte. She said some children never get the chance to grow up.”
Beatrice began crying.
Vincent looked sick.
“What happened to Charlotte's mother?”
“Helen Ward left Boston after the fire.”
“Did she know?”
Beatrice couldn't answer.
Vincent understood.
“You let another mother believe her daughter had disappeared.”
“I was trying to protect Lillian.”
“And Charlotte?”
Beatrice covered her face.
Nora felt anger rising through her own confusion.
She understood desperate parents.
Every month, she sat at the kitchen table wondering how to afford another appointment for her seven-year-old son.
But protecting one child by burying the truth about another was something she could barely comprehend.
“Mrs. Caruso,” Nora said quietly, “my mother taught me that a child doesn't become less important because she belongs to someone else.”
Beatrice lowered her hands.
For the first time, she seemed unable to defend herself.
Vincent turned toward Marco.
“I want everything we have on that fire. Old security records, insurance files, photographs. All of it.”
Marco nodded.
“And Arthur Whitmore?” he asked.
“Keep him off this property.”
Celeste stepped forward.
“You can't shut my father out.”
Vincent faced her.
“He was involved, wasn't he?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Then stop protecting him.”
Celeste's eyes filled with angry tears.
“You think everything is simple because people are afraid of you.”
“No. I think you've mistaken fear for loyalty.”
She looked away.
Vincent instructed Marco to escort her to a guest suite until she could arrange transportation.
She walked past Nora without speaking.
At the doorway, however, she stopped.
“Your father wasn't the saint you remember, Vincent.”
He didn't answer.
Celeste continued.
“And if you keep looking, you're going to understand why your mother stayed silent.”
Then she left.
Two hours later, Nora sat beside her son in their small apartment outside Boston.
Seven-year-old Micah Ellis was building a crooked tower from plastic blocks on the living-room rug.
His cheeks were pale, and he tired easily.
He had been born with a congenital heart condition that required regular monitoring and another expensive procedure.
Nora's insurance covered some of his care.
Not enough.
“Mom?”
She looked up.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Why are you wearing a wedding dress?”
Nora glanced down.
She had forgotten to change.
The ivory gown suddenly felt ridiculous in their cramped apartment.
“It was for something at work.”
Micah examined the lace.
“Are you getting married?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Good.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Good?”
He grinned.
“You'd have to buy cake for everybody.”
For the first time all day, Nora laughed.
She kissed his forehead.
“Very expensive cake.”
Her phone vibrated.
It was Vincent.
“Miss Ellis, I'm outside. I brought the storage box you mentioned.”
Nora had told him about a carton containing her mother's belongings.
She had been unable to lift it from the closet because of its weight.
Vincent had offered to help.
Now Boston's most feared Mafia boss stood outside her apartment holding an old cardboard box.
He wore a dark sweater instead of his wedding suit.
His expression softened when Micah appeared behind Nora.
“Who's that?”
“This is Mr. Caruso, honey.”
Micah looked up at him.
“Are you Mom's boss?”
“Yes.”
“Did she get fired?”
Vincent crouched slightly.
“No. Your mom did something very brave today.”
Micah considered that.
“She's brave when I get shots.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“I believe it.”
Nora led him to the kitchen.
They opened Ruth Ellis's storage box beneath the yellow light above the table.
Inside were nursing certificates, old birthday cards, knitting needles, and faded photographs.
Nora found a small album wrapped in tissue paper.
The first few pages showed her childhood.
A backyard swing.
A birthday cake with seven candles.
Her mother standing outside a church.
Then she turned another page.
Two little girls stood beside a white porch.
One was Nora, smiling with missing front teeth.
The other wore a blue wool coat.
Her dark hair was tied with yellow ribbons.
Vincent took the photograph.
His fingers trembled.
“That's her.”
Nora watched his face.
“Are you sure?”
He turned the picture over.
On the back, Ruth had written:
Nora and Lily. First snow together.
Vincent sat down slowly.
He stared at his sister's face.
“She loved snow,” he whispered.
Nora found another photograph.
Lily was sitting on a kitchen stool, holding a small wooden bird.
A brass charm hung from its neck.
Vincent recognized it immediately.
“I made that for her.”
He pointed to the bird.
“It was supposed to be a hummingbird. I was eleven and terrible with tools.”
Nora examined the photograph.
“Your sister kept it?”
“She slept with it.”
He looked toward the window.
“I thought it burned.”
Nora continued searching.
At the bottom of the box lay a thick envelope addressed in Ruth's handwriting.
For Nora, when the truth becomes necessary.
Nora's heart began pounding.
She opened it carefully.
Inside were three sheets of paper and a child's drawing.
The first letter began:
My darling Nora,
There are things I couldn't tell you while I was alive. I made promises to people who were frightened, and some of those promises were wrong.
Nora read aloud.
The little girl you knew as Lily was born Lillian Caruso.
Vincent gripped the table.
She survived a terrible fire. I agreed to keep her because her mother feared the person responsible would come looking for her.
Nora swallowed.
Lily stayed with us until she was ten. After someone discovered our address, I moved her again. I remained her legal guardian, but she lived under another name.
There was no address.
Only a reference to a school in coastal Maine.
Then came another sentence.
If you ever meet her brother, tell him Lily never stopped asking about him.
Vincent lowered his head.
Nora reached for his hand.
He held it tightly.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Then Micah wandered into the kitchen.
“What's that?”
“A picture,” Nora answered.
Micah studied the drawing.
It showed a large house, orange flames, two little girls, and a man standing beside a door.
The man's face had been covered with heavy black pencil marks.
Micah pointed.
“Why's that guy got a square on his wrist?”
Vincent leaned closer.
It wasn't a square.
It was a wristwatch.
Black face.
Silver band.
A deep scratch across the glass.
Vincent knew that watch.
His father had worn it for years before passing it down to him.
He looked at the drawing's bottom corner.
In careful childish handwriting were five words.
He locked the door first.
Nora felt the room grow cold.
Vincent took the watch from his own wrist.
The scratched glass matched the drawing.
He stared at it.
May you like
Then whispered something Nora would never forget.
“My father wore this watch the night my sister burned.”
