Chapter 2 - The Necklace She Was Never Supposed to See)
Claire did not remember leaving the store.
She remembered Daniel taking the keys from her hand.
She remembered rain beginning somewhere between the parking lot and the highway.
She remembered staring through the windshield as traffic lights passed like red wounds through the glass.
She did not remember asking Daniel to explain.
Perhaps she asked once.
Perhaps a hundred times.
He said nothing until they were home.
Their house stood at the end of a quiet street lined with maple trees. Claire had chosen it because the upstairs bedroom faced the morning sun.
That room had once been painted pale yellow.
A crib had stood against the wall.
A mobile of silver stars had hung over it.
After Emma died, Claire had kept the nursery untouched for eleven months.
Then one morning she had walked inside with a paint roller and covered every yellow wall with gray.
Daniel followed Claire into the kitchen.
She turned before he could close the door.
Tell me.
He removed his wet jacket.
Claire.
Tell me everything.
Daniel looked older than he had that morning.
At thirty nine he was still handsome, but fear had carved shadows beneath his eyes.
Three months after Emma died, he began, I was leaving work. Margaret Hale was waiting beside my car.
Why?
She said she worked in records at St. Catherine. She said there had been irregularities with Emma's chart.
Claire's pulse accelerated.
What irregularities?
She wouldn't say.
What did she want?
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
Money.
Claire stared at him.
She told me that if I paid her twenty thousand dollars, she would give me copies of documents proving the hospital had mishandled Emma's treatment.
And you paid her?
No.
Claire searched his face.
Not then.
The words struck harder than a confession.
What does that mean?
Daniel walked to the sink.
Claire followed.
What does that mean, Daniel?
He placed both hands on the counter.
She contacted me again a week later. She said the documents were more serious than malpractice. She said if they became public, people could go to prison.
Did she say Emma was alive?
No.
Did she say our daughter was alive?
No.
Then what did she say?
Daniel closed his eyes.
She said I should stop asking questions about the night Emma died.
Claire went still.
You told me you never spoke to anyone from the hospital after the funeral.
I know.
You lied.
I was trying to protect you.
Don't.
Claire's voice cracked.
Do not tell me this was protection.
Daniel turned.
You couldn't sleep. You weren't eating. You would sit in the nursery for hours holding her blanket. When Margaret showed up talking about irregularities, I thought if I told you, you would tear yourself apart trying to find answers.
So you met her secretly.
Yes.
How many times?
Three.
Claire laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
Three times.
The last meeting was at a diner near the interstate. She brought an envelope.
What's inside it?
I don't know.
You didn't open it?
She never gave it to me.
Claire waited.
Daniel looked toward the darkened window.
She said she wanted fifty thousand dollars.
And?
I told her I was going to the police.
What happened?
She smiled.
Claire felt a chill.
She told me the police would only make things worse. She said some mistakes were made for good reasons.
What good reason could possibly justify hiding what happened to our baby?
I don't know.
Then why didn't you go to the police?
Daniel's face changed.
Because the next morning someone left photographs on our porch.
Photographs of what?
You.
Claire stopped breathing.
You were leaving the therapist's office. Grocery shopping. Sitting outside your mother's house. Someone had been following you.
Claire stared.
Daniel continued.
There was a note.
What did it say?
Ask one more question and your wife loses more than a child.
Claire stepped backward.
For six years she had believed Daniel simply grieved differently.
She had thought his silence came from pain.
Now she understood that some of his silence had come from fear.
Where is the note?
I burned it.
Of course you did.
Claire.
Did you pay Margaret?
Daniel did not answer quickly enough.
How much?
Twenty five thousand.
Claire covered her mouth.
When?
Four years ago.
Why?
Margaret contacted me again after your mother died. She said she had fallen on hard times. She reminded me of the photographs.
Claire's eyes filled.
And you gave her money.
I wanted her gone.
Instead you taught her that threatening us worked.
Daniel looked ashamed.
I know.
Claire walked away before she said something she could not take back.
She climbed the stairs.
At the end of the hallway was the room that had once been Emma's nursery.
Claire opened the door.
The room was now an office.
Bookcases covered one wall. A desk stood where the crib had been.
But inside the closet, behind winter coats and old luggage, remained one object Daniel never touched.
A wooden memory box.
Claire carried it to the floor.
Inside were hospital bracelets.
Ultrasound photographs.
A tiny knitted cap.
Condolence cards.
A copy of Emma's birth certificate marked deceased.
And the photograph.
Claire lifted it carefully.
A nurse had taken it less than two minutes after Emma's birth.
Claire looked exhausted and radiant.
Daniel stood beside her.
Between them was a newborn wrapped in a white blanket.
Blue gray eyes.
Light brown hair.
Claire stared at the baby's face.
Then she opened the security image on her phone.
The girl in the store.
Claire enlarged both photographs.
Her hands began shaking again.
The resemblance was impossible.
Not proof.
But impossible.
Claire searched the memory box until she found a small white envelope.
Inside was the receipt for the necklaces.
Custom twin heart pendants.
One adult chain.
One child chain.
Engraving on interior seam.
Claire had forgotten about the engraving.
She removed her necklace and pressed the small clasp hidden along the heart.
The pendant opened.
Inside, almost too tiny to read, were three characters.
E W 10.
Emma Whitmore.
October.
Claire's breath stopped.
If the girl's necklace was the matching pendant, it would carry the same engraving.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Claire answered immediately.
Hello?
No response.
Hello?
A faint sound came through.
Breathing.
Then a child's whisper.
Is this Claire?
Claire stood.
Yes.
The voice trembled.
It's me.
The girl from the store.
Claire's heart slammed against her ribs.
Where are you?
I can't say.
Are you safe?
A pause.
I don't know.
Claire turned toward the doorway.
Daniel appeared.
She raised one hand, warning him to remain silent.
What is your name? Claire asked.
Lily.
Lily what?
Hale.
Claire closed her eyes.
Margaret's surname.
Lily continued whispering.
Grandma says you are bad.
I'm not going to hurt you.
I know.
How do you know?
Because Rebecca said you wouldn't.
Who is Rebecca?
Another pause.
Lily's voice became even quieter.
My mom.
Claire's chest tightened.
Where is she?
Dead.
I'm sorry.
She got sick last year.
Claire sat on the edge of the desk.
Lily, why did you call me Mommy?
Because of the picture.
What picture?
The one Rebecca hid.
Claire felt Daniel move closer.
What was in the picture?
You were holding a baby.
Claire looked at the photograph in her hand.
Rebecca told me if I ever saw the lady in the picture, I should run to her.
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
Why?
The next words came through in a whisper.
Because she said the lady was my real mother.
A sharp noise sounded on Lily's end.
A door opening.
Lily gasped.
Grandma's coming.
Lily, wait. Where are you?
The child rushed her words.
Room 314. Ask about Room 314.
The connection died.
Claire stared at the phone.
Daniel whispered.
What did she say?
Claire slowly raised her eyes.
She said I'm her real mother.
Daniel's face went pale.
And she gave me a room number.
What room?
Claire looked down at the photograph of the newborn who had supposedly died six years earlier.
Room 314.
Daniel stopped moving.
Claire saw recognition again.
This time she did not let it pass.
You know that number.
Daniel's mouth opened.
Claire stood.
What was in Room 314?
His answer was barely audible.
May you like
Not what.
Who.
