Chapter 1 - The Woman Between the Cereal Boxes
Emily Hart had been awake for twenty-six hours when Leo asked for the cereal with the astronaut on the box. She had finished a double shift at St. Catherine’s, changed a dressing in the parking lot for a frightened intern who had sliced his palm on a broken ampule, and driven through afternoon traffic with the windows cracked to keep herself alert. Julian had promised to shop. Julian had also promised to repair the leaking faucet, attend Leo’s preschool meeting, and transfer money into the emergency account. The cart was still empty when Emily realized promises had become the most common unfinished objects in her marriage.
Leo sat in the child seat, kicking his sneakers against the metal frame. “The moon cereal, Mommy.”
“It has enough sugar to wake the moon.”
“Daddy lets me.”
That sentence had acquired dangerous power. Emily smiled, reached for the healthier box, and nearly missed the young woman standing at the far end of the aisle.
She was twenty-three at most, blonde hair pinned neatly at the nape, cream coat fitted at the waist. She did not look like someone who would shop in their neighborhood store at four on a Tuesday. Her basket held mineral water, lemons, and a single bottle of expensive wine. Around her throat gleamed a sapphire surrounded by twelve tiny diamonds.
Leo pointed. “Mommy, that lady comes to our house when you’re at work.”
Emily’s fingers stopped around the cereal box.
The woman turned. For half a second, recognition crossed her face. Then fear replaced it.
“What did you say, sweetheart?” Emily asked.
Leo leaned toward the stranger as if sharing a cheerful secret. “She plays in your bedroom.”
The supermarket continued around them. A freezer hummed. A clerk announced a discount on oranges. Somewhere a jar shattered and a child laughed. Emily heard every sound with unbearable clarity.
The young woman lowered her basket. Her hand rose to the necklace.
Emily knew that stone. Her mother, Caroline, had worn it in every photograph from Emily’s childhood. She had called it the Winter Star and claimed it belonged to women who survived. Before dying eight years earlier, she had given it to Emily with one instruction: never sell it, never loan it, and never let anyone photograph the inscription behind the setting.
Emily kept it in a locked box in the bedroom closet.
She pushed the cart toward the woman. “Where did you get that necklace?”
The stranger stepped backward. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“I am not.”
Leo waved. “Hi, Chloe.”
The woman’s face emptied.
Emily looked from her son to the sapphire. “He knows your name.”
Chloe abandoned her basket and walked quickly toward the exit. Emily followed, but Leo began to cry when the cart jolted. By the time Emily lifted him out and reached the automatic doors, Chloe was climbing into a black sedan. The license plate was hidden behind mud. The car pulled away before Emily could photograph it.
“Why does Chloe come to our house?” Emily asked as they stood beneath the gray sky.
Leo shrugged. “Daddy says she gets sad. They look at your pictures. Sometimes Daddy locks the door.”
The exhaustion vanished from Emily. In its place came a cold precision she usually felt only during emergencies.
At home she carried Leo inside, turned on his favorite cartoon, and went upstairs. The closet smelled of cedar and Julian’s cologne. Her jewelry box sat beneath folded blankets exactly where she had left it. The brass key remained taped behind the lowest drawer of her dresser.
Emily opened the box.
The velvet hollow where the necklace belonged was empty.
Under it lay something that had never been there before: a recent photograph of Caroline standing beside a blonde little girl.
On the back, in Julian’s handwriting, were six words.
May you like
Emily must never know who she is.
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