Chapter 4: The Place Where the Children Hid
“Please don't let him find it.””
Vanessa's whisper followed me down the hallway.
I kept my hand on the linen closet's doorknob and turned to face her.
“Who are you talking about?””
She shook her head too quickly.
“I didn't say anything.””
“I heard you.””
“You heard what you wanted to hear, Andre.””
She reached for my arm, but I stepped away.
“Then you won't mind if I open this door.””
Her mouth tightened.
“It's a closet. Towels, sheets, cleaning supplies. Are you seriously going to search every inch of this house because an eight-year-old gave you a key?””
“No,” I said.
“I'm going to look because my son told me he was afraid, my daughter is hiding from you, and you keep telling me not to look wherever Claire left something.””
Vanessa glanced toward the stairs.
“Your children are confused. They've been through a lot.””
“So have I. That doesn't explain why you look terrified every time I mention my wife's belongings.””
I turned the knob.
The door opened with a dry creak.
The closet was narrow, barely wide enough for two adults. Shelves held folded towels, spare blankets, and a plastic basket filled with mismatched socks. A bottle of lavender detergent sat beside a stack of paper towels.
Nothing looked unusual.
Then I noticed the bottom shelf.
The blankets were stacked too neatly, their edges aligned with the wall. Behind them, a small patch of paint looked newer than the rest.
I crouched and moved the blankets aside.
A rectangular section of the wall had been covered with a thin piece of white paneling. One corner had lifted slightly, exposing a dark gap.
I pulled it away.
Behind it was a shallow recess.
Inside lay a photograph, a small envelope, and a child's drawing folded into quarters.
My heart began pounding.
The drawing showed four stick figures standing in front of our house. One was tall, with black hair and a blue dress. Another was taller still, wearing a brown shirt. Two smaller figures stood between them.
Above the first figure, Elijah had written MOMMY in uneven blue crayon.
Above the second, DADDY.
The third was labeled ME.
The fourth was NYLA.
Someone had drawn a thick black line through the word MOMMY.
I stared at it.
On the back, in Elijah's handwriting, were six words.
Vanessa said Mommy can't live here.
A sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.
Vanessa stood behind me.
“That's not what it looks like.””
I rose slowly, holding the drawing.
“Then tell me what it looks like.””
“He drew that after we had a conversation about the family.””
“What conversation?””
“I told him that people who die don't come back.””
“He knows that.””
“I was trying to help him understand that this is our home now.””
“Our home has room for his mother.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You're making me sound cruel.””
“You told my son to cross out his mother's name.””
“I didn't tell him to do anything!””
“Then why did he write this?””
She looked at the drawing and then away.
For a moment, I thought she might cry. Instead, she reached for the paper.
I held it out of reach.
“Don't.””
“Give it to me.””
“No.””
“You have no idea how many times I've had to deal with his tantrums over Claire.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“His mother died. He's allowed to miss her.””
“And what about me?”” Vanessa demanded.
“What am I supposed to be? A permanent guest in a house where every wall reminds everyone that I came second?””
I looked at her.
“You married a widower with two children. You didn't marry a blank page.””
She flinched.
Then she laughed bitterly.
“You always know how to make me the villain.””
“I didn't draw this.””
I turned back to the recess.
The photograph showed Claire standing beside a woman I recognized as her older sister, Denise. They were in the hospital garden, holding paper cups of coffee. Claire looked tired, but she was smiling.
On the back, she had written a date.
Three weeks before she died.
Underneath it were the words:
Denise knows what happened. If anything goes missing, ask her.
I stared at the sentence.
What happened?
I heard the children approaching from the kitchen.
“Dad?””
Elijah appeared at the end of the hallway with Nyla beside him. Both held plastic cups of water.
His eyes immediately went to the drawing in my hand.
“You found it.””
I crouched.
“Buddy, did you put this in here?””
He nodded.
“Why?””
“Because Vanessa said she was going to throw it away.””
Vanessa made an exasperated noise.
“I was clearing out rubbish. That's all.””
Elijah's voice trembled.
“It wasn't rubbish.””
“No one said it was, sweetheart,” I told him.
Vanessa's face hardened at the tenderness in my voice.
Elijah pointed toward the recess.
“There's another thing.””
I moved aside so he could show me.
He reached into the dark space and pulled out the small envelope.
His hands were shaking.
“I didn't open it because Mommy said the letter was for you.””
I took it carefully.
My name was written across the front.
Beneath it, Claire had added a second sentence.
If Denise isn't available, call the number inside.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a business card belonging to a woman named Patricia Morgan, an attorney whose name I vaguely remembered from the paperwork Claire had completed before her final hospital stay.
On the back, Claire had written a phone number and one sentence.
She has the original documents.
I turned the card over again.
Before I could say anything, Vanessa grabbed her phone.
“I'm calling Denise,” she announced.
I looked up.
“Why?””
“Because this has gone too far, and someone needs to explain to you that Claire wasn't perfect.””
“I'm not asking for perfection.””
I held up the photograph.
“I'm asking what happened three weeks before she died.””
Vanessa's fingers tightened around her phone.
“Nothing happened.””
“Then you won't mind if I call Denise myself.””
I took out my phone.
Vanessa stepped toward me.
“Don't drag her into this.””
“Claire specifically told me to ask her.””
“Claire was sick!””
The words rang through the hallway.
Nyla began crying.
Vanessa turned toward her, frustrated.
“Stop that. Nobody is hurting you.””
Nyla pressed Bunny against her chest and hid behind Elijah.
I put my phone down.
“Vanessa, go to the living room.””
She stared at me.
“Excuse me?””
“Now.””
For a second, I thought she would refuse. Then she snatched her phone and walked away, muttering under her breath.
I waited until she was out of sight.
Then I sat on the hallway floor and pulled both children close.
“I'm sorry,” I said.
Elijah frowned.
“For what?””
“For not noticing how frightened you've been.””
He looked at the drawing.
“Are you going to make Vanessa leave?””
I didn't give him a promise I couldn't yet keep.
“I'm going to find out what's happening, and I'm going to make sure you're safe.””
Nyla rested her head on my arm.
“Can we sleep in your room tonight?””
“Yes.””
“Both of us?””
“Both of you.””
She nodded, apparently satisfied.
Elijah leaned closer.
“Dad, there's something else.””
I turned toward him.
“What is it?””
He looked at Nyla, then back at me.
“Vanessa wasn't the only person who came to the house when you were at work.””
A cold sensation moved down my spine.
“Who else came?””
“A man.””
“Do you know his name?””
Elijah shook his head.
“He wears a silver watch. He came twice. Vanessa let him into the study, and they talked with the door locked.””
I glanced toward the staircase.
“Did you hear what they said?””
“Some of it.””
“What did you hear?””
Elijah swallowed.
“The man said, ‘If Andre finds the papers, we're finished.’”
My fingers went cold around the business card.
“Did you see his face?””
“Once. He told me to go back to my room.””
“What did he look like?””
Elijah considered the question.
“Tall. He had a beard, and he smelled like the cologne Uncle Marcus wears.””
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Marcus.
My younger brother.
The man who had stood beside me at Claire's funeral. The man who had helped me arrange the children's school schedules when I returned to work. The man who had offered to look after the house whenever I traveled for business.
I forced myself to remain calm.
“Are you sure, buddy?””
“No. But he had a watch like Uncle Marcus's.””
A watch wasn't proof.
A familiar smell wasn't proof.
But Claire's note, the missing box, Vanessa's fear, and a stranger discussing papers in my locked study were too many unanswered questions to ignore.
I took the children downstairs and settled them on the sofa. Then I stepped into the kitchen and called Denise.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Andre?””
Her voice sounded strained.
“Denise, I need to ask you something about Claire.””
Silence.
Then she said, “Did you find the blue key?””
I gripped the phone.
“How do you know about the key?””
“Because Claire told me what to do if you ever called about her keepsake box.””
My heart pounded.
“What happened before she died?””
Denise exhaled shakily.
“I hoped she'd told you herself.””
“She left me a letter, but it doesn't explain everything.””
“Then listen carefully. I can't explain this over the phone.””
“Why not?””
“Because the man who helped Vanessa remove Claire's things is still trying to get his hands on those documents.””
I stared at the kitchen doorway.
“Who is he?””
Denise paused.
Then she said a name that made my knees weaken.
“Marcus.””
Before I could respond, I heard the front door open.
Vanessa's voice floated through the hallway.
“Marcus? You're early.””
And a man's voice answered.
“Did he find the box?””
I stood motionless, the phone pressed against my ear.
May you like
Denise whispered, “Andre, don't let him know you have the key.””
Then the call disconnected.
