Chapter 4 - The Envelope in the Studio
For a long time, neither Reed nor I spoke.
Finally, he said, “Boss…”
“Don’t call me that.”
He stopped.
I pressed my palms to my eyes.
“Did she know she was in danger?”
“She sounded concerned.”
“She sounded afraid.”
“Perhaps she was afraid of losing control of her own life.”
I looked at him sharply.
Reed did not flinch.
He had always been the only person around me willing to say the uncomfortable thing.
“You think she left because of me.”
“I think she was trying to make a choice.”
“She died three months before Emma’s mother supposedly died.”
He glanced at the photograph.
“Then Karen may have been protecting Emma.”
“Or hiding her.”
“That is what we need to determine.”
A soft knock came at the door.
Lily opened it before either of us could answer.
“Daddy?”
I quickly closed the laptop.
“What is it?”
“Emma wants to know if she can sleep in my room.”
I looked past Lily.
Emma stood in the hall, wearing Lily’s pajamas. Her damp hair curled around her face. Mr. Buttons was tucked beneath one arm.
She looked so much like Grace that for one disorienting moment I was back in our old house, watching my wife carry Lily down the stairs.
“Of course,” I said.
Lily smiled.
“Can she have the window bed?”
“You’ll have to share.”
“I know.”
Emma watched me carefully.
“Are you angry?”
The question struck me.
“Why would I be angry?”
“Because of what’s inside Mr. Buttons.”
I stood and crossed the room, stopping several feet away.
“No,” I said. “I’m not angry with you.”
“Were you angry with Mommy?”
I did not know whether she meant Grace or the woman she believed was her mother.
“Which mommy?”
“Grace.”
The name left her lips with quiet certainty.
I felt the floor shift beneath me again.
“How do you know her?”
Emma hugged the rabbit.
“Aunt Karen used to show me pictures. She said Grace was my mother. But she told me never to say that out loud because someone might hear.”
Behind her, Lily’s face had gone pale.
“She’s your sister?” Lily asked.
Emma nodded.
“I think so.”
Lily looked at me.
“Is she?”
There were a thousand questions I wanted answered. How had Grace hidden a pregnancy? Who had raised Emma? Why had Karen left her in the park? Why had the truth been placed inside a stuffed rabbit and carried through seven years of silence?
But Lily was seven.
Emma was exhausted.
They needed certainty only where I could honestly give it.
“I believe she is,” I said.
Lily’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“I believe Emma is your sister. We’ll have doctors confirm what we need to confirm. But nothing about that changes what happens tonight.”
“What happens?”
“Tonight, you sleep. Tomorrow, we find answers.”
Emma looked down.
“Will you send me away?”
“No.”
“What if you don’t like me?”
I knelt in front of her.
“I already care what happens to you. That’s not the same as knowing everything, but it’s real.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a child who needed help. Because your mother was someone I loved. Because Lily loves you already.”
Lily stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Emma.
Emma froze.
Then slowly, uncertainly, she hugged her back.
I turned away, giving them privacy.
Later, after the girls were asleep, I stood alone in Grace’s old studio.
Dust covered the shelves, but her paintings still hung on the walls. Chicago in winter. The lake under a violet sky. Lily as a baby, curled against Grace’s shoulder.
I searched every drawer.
Most were empty.
In the bottom cabinet, beneath old brushes, I found a sealed envelope addressed to me.
The handwriting was Grace’s.
Marcus—if you have found Emma, then Karen kept her promise longer than I expected. But the truth is larger than the girls’ parentage.
My pulse quickened.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper and a second photograph.
The photograph showed Grace, Karen, and a man I recognized immediately.
Thomas Reed.
They stood outside the Federal Savings building.
The date was seven years old.
On the paper, Grace had written:
Trust Reed only if he remembers what happened that night.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I heard a floorboard creak behind me.
Reed stood in the doorway.
His face had lost all color.
“You knew,” I said.
He looked at the photograph.
“I knew part of it.”
“What happened the night Grace died?”
Reed lowered his eyes.
“Grace called me before the accident.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
“What did she say?”
He took a slow breath.
“She said someone had found out about Emma. She said Karen was taking the baby somewhere safe. And she told me that if anything happened to her, I was to make sure you never opened the locker until you were ready to hear the whole truth.”
I stepped toward him.
“Who was following her?”
Reed’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I saw a car behind her. I tried to reach her before she left the road. I was too late.”
“Why keep this from me for seven years?”
“Because Grace believed you would destroy yourself looking for someone to blame.”
I looked again at the photograph.
“Did you help Karen hide Emma?”
“Yes.”
The answer landed quietly, but it changed everything.
“Where?”
Reed hesitated.
Then his phone rang.
He answered, listened, and ended the call.
“What is it?” I asked.
“David found Karen.”
“Where?”
“Not out of state. She’s been living in Chicago under her own name.”
“Where?”
Reed looked toward the hall, where two sleeping girls lay behind a closed door.
“She checked into a hospice center this afternoon.”
My anger gave way to something colder.
“Why?”
“Advanced heart failure. The nurse says she may have only days.”
I held the letter in my hand.
“What did David learn?”
Reed’s eyes met mine.
“Karen left a message for you.”
“What message?”
“She said she didn’t abandon Emma in the park.”
May you like
I waited.
“She said she put her there because someone had found the locker key—and she needed you to discover Emma before they did.”
