Chapter 2 - The First Letter
Patricia’s car was gone.
So was her phone.
So was the cedar box where Henry kept decades of family paperwork.
Claire insisted that meant nothing.
Daniel disagreed.
People do not vanish on Christmas night with legal documents because nothing is happening.
He drove back to the house alone.
Rachel stayed with Lily.
Claire sat at the kitchen island.
The dining room had been partially cleaned.
A faint red stain remained on the tablecloth.
Daniel noticed Claire had not thrown it away.
“What did your father hide?”
Claire looked exhausted.
“I don’t know.”
“Try again.”
“I knew there were letters.”
“How?”
“Dad wrote constantly.”
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
“Then why did Mom panic when I mentioned them?”
Claire did not answer.
Daniel placed the first opened letter on the counter.
Henry had written it eleven years earlier.
Christmas Eve, 2012.
Daniel had read it twice.
Now he slid it toward Claire.
She stared.
It was addressed to Patricia.
Patricia,
I am not asking permission.
If something happens to me, Lily must never be punished for what we did.
Claire frowned.
“Lily wasn’t born in 2012.”
Exactly.
Lily was six.
Born in 2020.
Yet Henry had written her name eight years earlier.
Claire looked at Daniel.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
The letter continued.
You keep insisting Claire never needs to know. I disagree. One day the child will exist, and when she does, our silence will become her burden.
Daniel pointed.
“What child?”
Claire shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Your father apparently did.”
Another line:
I should never have agreed to the arrangement with Evelyn.
Claire stopped breathing.
“Evelyn?”
Daniel knew the name.
His mother.
Evelyn Carter.
Seventy-three.
Widowed.
Living in Vermont.
Claire whispered:
“What does your mother have to do with this?”
Daniel felt the same question crawling through him.
Henry Whitmore.
Patricia Whitmore.
Evelyn Carter.
Three older adults.
One arrangement.
A child not yet born.
Then the back door opened.
Daniel spun.
Claire screamed.
But it was only Claire’s older brother Michael.
Forty-one.
Divorced.
Arriving late from Boston after his flight had been delayed.
He stared at them.
“Where is everyone?”
Claire burst out laughing.
It sounded almost hysterical.
“Christmas went well.”
Michael noticed the letter.
His expression changed.
Daniel caught it immediately.
“You know.”
Michael shook his head.
“Know what?”
“You recognized Dad’s handwriting and got scared.”
“Dad wrote thousands of things.”
Daniel handed him the page.
Michael read it.
His face went white.
Claire stood.
“Michael.”
He backed away.
“No.”
“What is Evelyn?”
Michael folded the letter.
Too carefully.
Daniel grabbed it back.
“What do you know?”
Michael looked toward the hallway.
Then:
“Dad made me promise.”
Claire slammed both hands on the counter.
“He’s dead!”
Michael flinched.
“Exactly.”
Then he admitted something.
Henry visited him in Boston three months before his death.
He carried a folder.
Said if Patricia ever started treating Lily differently, Michael had to contact Daniel.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because she hadn’t.”
Daniel stared.
“She’s been getting worse for months.”
“I thought grief.”
Same mistake.
Then Michael said:
“Dad told me one sentence.”
“What?”
Michael looked directly at Claire.
“Lily belongs to a promise Patricia never intended to keep.”
Claire whispered:
“What promise?”
Michael shook his head.
“He wouldn’t explain.”
Then Daniel’s phone rang again.
Rachel.
He answered.
Her first words froze him.
“Daniel, your mother is here.”
“Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
“At midnight?”
“She says she drove straight from Vermont.”
Impossible.
That was nearly five hours.
Unless she had already been nearby.
Then Rachel added:
“She says Patricia called her before disappearing.”
Daniel stood.
“What did she say?”
Rachel looked toward someone off-screen.
Then:
“Your mother says Patricia is going to the cemetery.”
“Why?”
May you like
A pause.
“To dig up Henry’s grave.”
