Chapter 3 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO CALLED HER MOM
I slept at a motel outside Pine Hollow.
Calling it sleep was generous.
At two in the morning, I was still staring at the ceiling.
Samuel Crowe.
My father’s former accountant.
Not a bookkeeper.
An accountant in our world meant something else.
He knew where money moved.
Which companies were real.
Which politicians were paid.
Which men had disappeared.
Crowe vanished three days after Clara left New York.
At the time, my father said Crowe had stolen from us.
My brother Adrian claimed he had gone overseas.
I never questioned either story.
I had been too busy being furious with Clara.
By morning, I understood that might have been the point.
At exactly ten, I returned to the cabin.
No suit.
Dark jeans.
Sweater.
I felt ridiculous trying to look less like myself.
Owen opened the door.
“You're early.”
I looked at my watch.
“It's 9:58.”
“That's early.”
Fair.
He stepped aside.
Then remembered something.
“Mom said wait.”
He closed the door in my face.
I laughed.
An actual laugh.
The door opened thirty seconds later.
Clara stood there.
“You find that funny?”
“A little.”
“Come in.”
Those two words did more to me than they should have.
The cabin smelled like coffee and cinnamon.
No designer furniture.
No marble.
Books everywhere.
Children’s drawings covered part of one wall.
A secondhand piano stood near the window.
Maya sat on the floor arranging plastic animals.
She looked up.
“Mom says you might be Owen’s dad.”
“Maya.”
“What?”
Clara rubbed her forehead.
I crouched.
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
Maya studied me.
“Can you be two people’s dad?”
“Yes.”
Her expression became alarmed.
“Are you my dad too?”
“No.”
She relaxed instantly.
“Okay.”
I glanced at Clara.
She covered a smile with her coffee mug.
“Why is that good?” I asked.
Maya pointed at me.
“You look expensive.”
I had no response.
Clara laughed.
The sound hit me like memory.
I had loved that laugh.
Once.
Before I taught her not to use it around me.
Owen came downstairs carrying a science kit.
“DNA test.”
Clara sighed.
“The clinic opens at eleven.”
“I know.”
Owen had apparently researched everything.
He explained buccal swabs to me like I was eight.
I listened.
Then Maya climbed onto the couch beside me.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Maya.”
“What?”
Clara looked mortified.
I answered anyway.
“I was married once.”
“To Mom?”
“Yes.”
Maya considered that.
“Did she dump you?”
Owen snorted.
Clara nearly choked on coffee.
I looked at her.
“No.”
Maya waited.
I swallowed.
“I made her leave.”
The room changed.
Owen stopped smiling.
“Why?”
Clara set down her mug.
“We're not doing this now.”
I nodded.
She was right.
But Owen looked at me differently.
That mattered.
At the clinic, a nurse named Heather knew Clara.
Everyone in town seemed to.
Heather looked at me.
Then at Clara.
Then at Owen.
Understanding crossed her face.
She said nothing.
Montana manners.
The DNA kit was simple.
Swabs.
Forms.
Signatures.
Three to five business days.
Owen watched the sample envelope disappear.
“That's it?”
“That’s it,” Heather said.
He seemed disappointed.
“Science looks cooler on YouTube.”
On the drive back, Clara asked me to follow in my own truck.
I did.
At the cabin, Owen and Maya ran toward the creek.
Clara stayed on the porch.
“Samuel Crowe.”
Her face changed instantly.
“You know the name.”
She looked toward the children.
“Inside.”
We went into the kitchen.
She closed the door.
“How do you know Samuel?”
“He worked for my father.”
“I know.”
“Clara.”
She sat.
For the first time since I arrived, she looked frightened enough to shake.
“After you told me to leave, I went to a hotel.”
“I looked for you at your sister’s.”
“I didn't go there.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel came to the hotel.”
My blood turned cold.
“He knew where you were?”
“He said I couldn't stay in New York.”
“What did he say?”
Clara looked directly at me.
“That if I came back to you, I would get you killed.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He said your father thought I knew too much.”
“About what?”
“I didn’t know.”
She folded her hands.
“Then he gave me cash, a new phone and a train ticket.”
“And you trusted him?”
“No.”
“Then why go?”
She laughed without humor.
“Because he showed me photographs.”
My stomach tightened.
“What photographs?”
“You.”
She looked at me.
“Leaving your office. Entering your car. At your mother’s grave.”
My jaw locked.
“Surveillance.”
“He said whoever was watching you would use me.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't say.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
“I did.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“When?”
“Four times.”
“I never got those calls.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because the fifth time I called, Adrian answered.”
My brother.
My older brother.
The man who had stood beside me when Clara left.
The man who told me she had probably found someone else.
“What did he say?”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“He told me you didn't want to hear my voice again.”
I felt physically sick.
“He lied.”
“I know that now.”
“Clara—”
“I was pregnant.”
Silence.
The world narrowed.
“How far?”
“Six weeks.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“You knew?”
“Not the night you threw me out.”
“After?”
“Three days later.”
“And Adrian knew?”
“Yes.”
My chair scraped backward.
“He knew you were carrying my child?”
“Yes.”
I started toward the door.
Clara stood.
“Vincent.”
“I’m calling him.”
“No.”
“He knew.”
“I know.”
“For nine years.”
“I know.”
“He let me believe—”
“Vincent.”
Her voice cut through me.
I turned.
She was crying now.
Not loudly.
Clara had always cried quietly.
That somehow made it worse.
“You do not get to turn this into what Adrian did before you understand what you did.”
I stopped.
The truth was brutal because it was fair.
I had thrown her out.
I had refused to listen.
Adrian exploited the damage.
But I had created the opening.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes closed.
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
I walked back.
“I spent nine years telling myself you abandoned me because it was easier than admitting I made it impossible for you to stay.”
She looked at me.
“I hated you.”
“You should have.”
“I loved you too.”
That was worse.
Before either of us could say more, Maya screamed outside.
We both ran.
Owen was standing near the creek.
Maya pointed toward the tree line.
“What?”
“There was a man.”
My entire body changed.
“Where?”
She pointed.
“By the fence.”
Owen looked pale.
“He was taking pictures.”
I moved toward the porch.
Clara grabbed my arm.
“Vincent.”
I looked at her.
There was fear in her face now.
The kind she had lived with before.
“What?”
“He had a scar.”
My blood went cold.
“Where?”
“Across his mouth.”
I knew that scar.
So did every man who had worked for my father.
Samuel Crowe had one.
And if Samuel had been watching the cabin—
May you like
he hadn't disappeared.
He had been waiting.
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