Chapter 3 - Claire BellAt 8:17 the next morning, Emma learned that her entire life had begun with a lie.
The moment he entered the pediatric floor, he saw her through a glass partition.
Emma was sitting beside a narrow hospital bed, holding a little girl whose cheeks were flushed with fever.
The child looked seven or eight.
Her dark hair spilled across the pillow while Emma pressed a cool cloth to her forehead.
Arthur stopped.
Something about the girl’s face struck him.
Not because she resembled Claire.
Because she resembled Eleanor.
The same narrow chin.
The same slight arch in the eyebrows.
The same way the left corner of her mouth turned downward when she slept.
Arthur gripped the locket inside his coat.
Caleb whispered, “You okay?”
Arthur didn’t answer.
A nurse approached.
“Can I help you?”
Arthur looked through the glass.
“I need to speak with Emma Carter.”
“Are you family?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
The nurse stared at him.
Caleb quickly stepped in.
“We’re from Bell & Finch. Ms. Carter left something at the store.”
That part, at least, was close enough to the truth.
Minutes later, Emma walked into the hallway.
She saw Arthur.
Her tired expression hardened instantly.
“If you came to tell me the locket is worth less, keep it. I already spent the money.”
Arthur pulled it from his pocket.
“I’m giving it back.”
Emma looked confused.
“I sold it.”
“And I made a mistake.”
“You changed your mind?”
Arthur opened the locket.
Emma froze.
The color drained from her face.
“You opened it.”
“Yes.”
“My mother told me never to.”
Arthur’s heart kicked hard.
“Why?”
Emma’s eyes moved to the photographs.
“I don’t know.”
Arthur pointed toward Eleanor.
“Who did your mother say this woman was?”
Emma’s expression shifted from irritation to suspicion.
“She never did.”
“You knew the photograph was there?”
Emma shook her head.
“My mother wore that locket until she died. She gave it to me three days before she passed.”
Arthur looked toward Lily’s room.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Marjorie Carter.”
“Where was she born?”
“West Virginia.”
“Was she your biological mother?”
Emma stiffened.
“What kind of question is that?”
“Please.”
“No.”
Arthur’s heart stopped.
Emma continued.
“She adopted me.”
Caleb looked sharply at Arthur.
Arthur whispered, “When?”
“When I was about seven.”
Seven.
Arthur felt the hospital hallway tilt beneath him.
“What year?”
Emma frowned.
“Why does this matter?”
Arthur took a photograph from his wallet.
He carried it every day.
It showed Claire sitting on Eleanor’s lap beneath a magnolia tree.
Emma stared at it.
Then she looked at the image inside the locket.
“They’re the same girl.”
Arthur nodded.
“My daughter.”
Emma raised her eyes.
“She disappeared thirty-one years ago.”
Arthur’s voice fractured.
“She was six.”
Emma stepped backward.
“No.”
“I’ve searched for her ever since.”
“No.”
“Emma—”
“My mother wasn’t a kidnapper.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You’re standing here telling me she had a missing child’s necklace.”
“I’m telling you my wife wore that locket the morning Claire disappeared.”
Emma shook her head repeatedly.
“My mother found me through foster care.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“Official adoption?”
Emma opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
She had never seen the paperwork.
Growing up, she had asked Marjorie about it twice.
Both times, her mother said the records had been sealed because Emma’s birth parents were dangerous.
Arthur noticed her expression.
“Do you know where you were before Marjorie took you in?”
Emma looked toward Lily’s room.
“I remember almost nothing before West Virginia.”
A cold pressure formed behind Arthur’s ribs.
“What do you remember?”
Emma closed her eyes.
“Lights.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“A house?”
“I said I don’t know.”
Arthur waited.
Emma’s voice softened.
“A red swing.”
Arthur stopped breathing.
Caleb looked between them.
Arthur whispered, “Claire had a red swing.”
Emma stared at him.
“No.”
“In our backyard.”
“No.”
“She also had a scar behind her right knee from falling off a bicycle.”
Emma’s hand went automatically toward her leg.
Arthur saw it.
His face collapsed.
Emma backed away from him.
“What are you doing?”
Arthur’s eyes filled.
“Do you have one?”
Emma said nothing.
“Emma.”
She turned.
There, just above the back of her right knee, a thin pale line showed beneath the hem of her skirt.
Arthur covered his mouth.
“Oh God.”
Emma’s fear became anger.
“That proves nothing.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Arthur wiped his eyes quickly.
“We do a DNA test.”
“I’m not doing anything until I know what’s happening.”
“That’s fair.”
“Stop agreeing with me!”
A nurse opened Lily’s door.
“Ms. Carter?”
Emma turned instantly.
The nurse’s expression was serious.
“The doctor is ready to speak with you.”
Emma rushed inside.
Arthur remained in the hall.
Through the glass, he saw a physician sit across from Emma.
The doctor spoke.
Emma listened.
Then her face changed.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Arthur moved closer before catching himself.
Minutes later, Emma came out.
She looked stunned.
“What happened?” Arthur asked.
She stared at the floor.
“They found something in Lily’s bloodwork.”
“What?”
“She has a rare inherited blood disorder.”
Arthur’s stomach tightened.
“Is she in danger?”
“They think it can be treated. But they need family medical history.”
Emma laughed once.
It sounded almost hysterical.
“Family medical history.”
Arthur understood.
Emma had none.
Or at least, she had believed she had none until today.
The doctor stepped into the hallway.
“Ms. Carter, the sooner we understand Lily’s genetic background, the better.”
Arthur looked at Emma.
“You don’t have to believe me.”
She met his eyes.
“But?”
“But if there’s even a chance I’m your biological father, my medical records could help her.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
For the first time, anger disappeared.
Fear replaced it.
“My daughter comes first.”
Arthur nodded.
“Always.”
Emma agreed to the test.
The hospital drew both their blood.
They were told expedited results could be available the following morning.
Arthur sat beside Emma’s daughter for thirty minutes while Emma went downstairs to fill out insurance forms.
Lily woke briefly.
She saw the old man sitting nearby.
“Who are you?”
Arthur’s throat tightened.
“Nobody yet.”
Lily blinked.
“That’s a weird name.”
Arthur smiled through tears.
“Yes.”
Lily closed her eyes again.
Arthur looked at the little girl.
If Emma was Claire, then Lily was his granddaughter.
A granddaughter he had never known existed.
Arthur reached for the locket.
That was when he noticed something scratched into the inside rim.
Tiny numbers.
Too small to have seen without a jeweler’s loupe.
He took the lens from his pocket.
There were six digits.
101895.
October 18, 1995.
The day Claire disappeared.
Below it was another marking.
Two letters.
R.M.
Arthur’s blood ran cold.
He knew those initials.
They belonged to a man who had worked for Arthur’s family thirty-one years ago.
A man who disappeared from Charleston three days after Claire did.
And a man Arthur had been told died in Mexico in 1997.
Raymond Mercer.
Arthur stood.
He reached for his phone.
Before he could dial, it rang.
Unknown number.
Arthur answered.
A distorted voice said only one sentence.
May you like
“You should have let the woman keep walking.”
Then the line went dead.
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