Chapter 8 - The Woman in the Yellow Sweater
Dana immediately separated the adoption issue from the emergency neglect investigation.
Two different timelines.
Potentially two different forms of wrongdoing.
Harlan understood why.
He also hated it.
Because to him both timelines ended with the same child sleeping upstairs in his guest room.
Dana left shortly before nine with copies of the emails and the anonymous messages.
Officer Ortega arranged extra patrols near Harlan’s house.
Wesley was instructed not to contact Maren except through necessary legal communication and not to interfere with the investigation.
He stood at Harlan’s front door before leaving.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I should have known?”
“Known what?”
“That something was wrong with the adoption.”
“I don’t know enough yet.”
“I mean Maren.”
Harlan studied his son.
“You want me to tell you she hid everything so you don’t have to examine what you ignored.”
Wesley flinched.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Wesley stared at the floor.
Harlan softened, but not enough to lie.
“You may not have known about these emails. That matters. But you knew what happened in your house.”
Wesley nodded.
“I know.”
“You saw Sadie getting smaller around Maren.”
Another nod.
“And you told yourself peace was the same thing as safety.”
Wesley’s eyes filled again.
“Yes.”
Harlan opened the door.
“Then decide what kind of father you’re going to be now.”
Wesley left.
Upstairs, Sadie was awake.
She had found an old photograph album on the shelf.
Harlan sat on the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at Daddy when he was little.”
She pointed.
“Why did he have that haircut?”
Harlan laughed despite everything.
“Because your grandmother made terrible decisions with scissors.”
Sadie smiled.
It was the first time all day.
Then she turned the page.
A photograph showed Harlan in his forties standing beside a group of teenagers at a community center.
Sadie pointed to a girl near the back.
“Who’s that?”
Harlan’s breath stopped.
Evelyn Cross.
Seventeen years old.
Yellow sweater.
Same eyes.
He had forgotten the photograph existed.
“That’s Evelyn.”
“The aunt?”
“I think so.”
“You knew her?”
“A long time ago.”
Sadie studied the picture.
“Was she nice?”
“She was brave.”
“What did she do?”
Harlan chose a safe version.
“She told the truth when telling the truth was very difficult.”
Sadie considered this.
“Like me?”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
A long silence.
Then Sadie said, “Maybe that’s why I like her.”
Harlan smiled sadly.
“Maybe.”
She touched the image.
“Can we find her?”
“I hope so.”
After Sadie fell asleep, Harlan carried the album downstairs.
He photographed the picture and sent it to Dana.
Then he searched his own memory.
Evelyn Cross had been fifteen when Harlan first met her.
Her younger half-siblings were removed from their home after allegations against their stepfather.
Evelyn initially denied everything.
Then, during a second interview, she disclosed enough to protect all three children.
Harlan remembered her asking one question afterward.
Will my little sister know I did this?
He had answered that someday she might understand.
Evelyn aged out of foster care several years later.
Harlan lost track of her.
Could Sadie’s biological mother have been one of those younger siblings?
The timeline was possible.
His phone rang at 10:42.
Dana.
“I found Evelyn Cross.”
Harlan sat up.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“About ninety miles north.”
“Have you contacted her?”
“We’re trying.”
“Any criminal history?”
“Minor traffic matters. Nothing relevant.”
“Family connection?”
Dana hesitated.
“Harlan, this is preliminary.”
“I understand.”
“Evelyn is the biological sister of Sadie’s mother, Cora Cross.”
The name unlocked everything.
Cora had been six years old in the case.
Tiny.
Curly brown hair.
She used to hide behind Evelyn whenever Harlan visited.
Harlan stood and walked to the window.
“My God.”
“You remember Cora?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know she had a daughter?”
“No.”
“The case file shows Cora died approximately six months before Sadie’s adoption was finalized.”
Harlan closed his eyes.
“How?”
“Vehicle collision.”
“And Evelyn?”
“Petitioned for kinship placement.”
His grip tightened on the phone.
“What happened?”
“The petition was denied.”
“Reason?”
“That’s what’s strange.”
Harlan waited.
Dana continued.
“The file says Evelyn failed to appear for two scheduled assessments.”
“Maybe she did.”
“Maybe.”
“But?”
“But another record indicates she was hospitalized during one of those appointments.”
Harlan went still.
“And the other?”
“No documentation yet.”
“Who closed the kinship request?”
A pause.
“Lena Foster signed the recommendation.”
Harlan walked to the kitchen table and opened the photo album again.
The teenage Evelyn smiled nervously from the old picture.
“Dana.”
“Yes?”
“If Evelyn was ruled out improperly…”
“I know.”
“She may have had grounds to challenge placement.”
“I know.”
“And Maren knew there was an aunt.”
“Yes.”
Harlan stared into the darkness outside.
“Where is Maren?”
“We still don’t know.”
“Do you believe she has the notebook?”
“The school footage makes her a person of interest in its disappearance.”
“She took adoption records and the security backup.”
“We’re working on it.”
Harlan hated those words, even though he had said them to families countless times.
“We’re working on it.”
Translation:
There are things we do not know.
There are risks we cannot yet measure.
There are doors we cannot legally open until someone brings us the right key.
“Harlan,” Dana said, “I need you to hear me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do not go looking for Evelyn yourself.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not contact Lena Foster.”
“I won’t.”
“And if Maren contacts you…”
“I call you.”
“Immediately.”
They ended the call.
Harlan remained at the table.
At 11:07, the doorbell camera alerted.
Someone was standing on his porch.
A woman.
Hood up.
Face partially hidden.
Harlan did not open the door.
He checked the camera.
The woman looked directly into it.
Then she slowly lowered her hood.
Brown hair streaked with gray.
Older now.
But unmistakable.
Evelyn Cross.
Harlan’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
The woman on the porch lifted her own phone to her ear.
“Harlan Mercer?”
“Yes.”
Her voice trembled.
“You probably don’t remember me.”
“I do.”
Evelyn looked toward the upstairs window.
“Is Sadie safe?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
When she opened them, tears were running down her face.
“Then please don’t call the police yet.”
Harlan said nothing.
“I didn’t take her notebook to hurt her.”
His entire body went still.
“You have it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves what they did.”
“What did who do?”
Evelyn looked over her shoulder toward the street.
Then back at the camera.
“Not through the phone.”
Harlan’s voice hardened.
“The police are already involved.”
“I know.”
“Then surrender the notebook.”
“I will.”
May you like
“When?”
“When you understand why Maren is more afraid of what happened three years ago than what happened last night.”
