Chapter 14 - The Woman Who Knew My Mother's Face
Lucy Cole contacted me before Sarah found her.
At 9:06 the following morning, I received an email from an address I didn't recognize.
The subject line contained only two words.
Paper Bridge.
I stared at it.
My father's letter had mentioned the bridge we built together when I was seven.
I had never told anyone outside my family about that night.
I opened the message.
Emily,
I know you have questions.
I know you have every reason not to trust strangers.
But if you still have the wooden jewelry box, look beneath the velvet lining.
What you find there will tell you why Catherine asked me to stay away until now.
I am sorry.
Lucy.
I sat perfectly still.
Then reached for the jewelry box.
Sarah had arranged for it to be kept in a secure evidence cabinet.
I called her.
She answered immediately.
"Emily?"
"I got a message from Lucy."
Her tone sharpened.
"Forward it to me."
I did.
Then told her what it said.
She was silent for a moment.
"Don't alter the box yourself."
"I know."
"We'll document the condition first."
I closed my eyes.
I was beginning to hate how frequently patience had become necessary.
But Sarah was right.
Every piece of evidence we handled carelessly created another opportunity for Mercer or Victoria to challenge it.
An hour later, we met at her office.
David Lin photographed the jewelry box.
Then carefully lifted the velvet lining.
Beneath it was a thin compartment.
Inside lay a folded document.
And a photograph.
The document was a copy of a private guardianship order.
The name at the top made my hands shake.
Rebecca Eleanor Vale.
The appointed guardians were Robert Bennett and Catherine Bennett.
I stared at the signatures.
My father.
My mother.
Their names together.
The date was almost twenty-nine years earlier.
Sarah read carefully.
"This establishes that Robert and Catherine were appointed guardians of Rebecca."
I looked at her.
"Not adoptive parents?"
"Not under this document."
I swallowed.
"Then I was never adopted?"
"We don't know what happened later."
She pointed to a reference number.
"This order indicates related proceedings."
I closed my eyes.
Again, the truth was hidden just beyond the page.
I looked at the photograph.
Two small girls sat on a porch.
Both wore yellow dresses.
Both had brown hair.
One smiled at the camera.
The other looked away.
I recognized myself immediately.
The crooked front tooth.
The familiar dimple.
I couldn't have been more than three.
But the other girl looked astonishingly similar.
I stared.
"Who is she?"
Sarah looked at the back.
There were two names.
Rebecca and Lucy.
My heart began pounding.
Lucy Cole.
The girl I remembered playing with at my father's office.
The child whose wrist I had seen bleeding.
The girl with the birthmark.
She was in a family photograph with me before either of us should have known each other.
I looked at Sarah.
"Could we be sisters?"
She nodded slowly.
"It's possible."
I thought about Mercer.
His missing daughter.
Eleanor.
The guardianship order.
The fact that two girls had been hidden under different names.
"Twins?" I whispered.
Sarah studied the photograph.
"We can't establish that from an image."
"But it's possible."
"Yes."
I looked down again.
We weren't identical.
Not quite.
But we were close enough to be mistaken for sisters.
That possibility hit me with a force I hadn't expected.
All my life, I had wanted a sibling.
Someone who remembered my mother.
Someone who knew what my father sounded like when he laughed.
Someone who could tell me whether our childhood had really been as happy as I remembered.
And now I might have had a sister all along.
A sister people had worked very hard to keep away from me.
My phone rang.
Lucy.
This time, she used her name.
I looked at Sarah.
She nodded.
"Put it on speaker."
I answered.
"Hello?"
A woman inhaled sharply.
"Emily."
Her voice was familiar in the unsettling way childhood memories sometimes were.
"Lucy?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere safe."
I almost laughed.
"Everybody keeps saying that."
"I know."
"Then tell me something different."
A pause.
"What do you want to know?"
I looked at the photograph.
"Are you my sister?"
Lucy didn't answer immediately.
Then she said:
"I believe so."
My throat tightened.
"Do you know for certain?"
"We have records."
"DNA?"
"Not yet."
I swallowed.
"Then why have you stayed away?"
Her voice trembled.
"Because Catherine asked me to."
I closed my eyes.
"Catherine."
"Yes."
"My mother."
Lucy's breathing changed.
"Emily, I know this is difficult."
"Is she alive?"
Silence.
I gripped the phone.
"Lucy."
"Yes."
I covered my mouth.
It was one word.
One ordinary word.
And it changed the shape of my entire life.
"Where is she?"
"She's receiving medical care."
"What kind?"
"Complications from injuries and a chronic condition."
I stared at Sarah.
She leaned closer.
"Lucy, can you tell us the name of the treating facility?"
Lucy hesitated.
"Not over an unsecured call."
I felt anger rise.
"Stop."
"Emily—"
"No."
My voice broke.
"You don't get to tell me my mother is alive and then hide her from me."
Lucy began crying.
"I know."
"You don't know."
"I do."
"No."
I stood.
"My father is dead."
"My home is gone."
"My husband has spent years lying to me."
"And every person who claims to love me keeps deciding what I'm allowed to know."
Lucy was silent.
I wiped my face.
"Are you going to be another one of them?"
Her answer came quietly.
"No."
I took a breath.
"Then tell me where she is."
Lucy hesitated.
Then gave me an address.
A private care facility outside Providence.
Sarah wrote it down.
"Does Catherine want to see Emily?" she asked.
Lucy answered immediately.
"More than anything."
I closed my eyes.
"Then why hasn't she called?"
Lucy's voice cracked.
"Because she believes seeing Emily could expose both of us."
I looked at the photographs.
The documents.
The names.
The twenty years of silence.
"Expose us to whom?"
"Mercer."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
There was a long pause.
Then Lucy said something that made me sit down.
"Because Mercer has spent decades searching for his daughter."
"I know."
"He thinks Rebecca is the only surviving child Eleanor left behind."
I stared at the phone.
"And?"
Lucy's voice dropped.
"He doesn't know there were two babies."
I felt cold.
"Twins?"
"Yes."
My eyes filled.
"Rebecca and Lucy."
"Yes."
I pressed my hand against my chest.
"And he's our father?"
Lucy's answer was barely audible.
"That's what the records say."
I stared at the photograph of the two little girls.
For years, Mercer had searched for Rebecca.
For years, Catherine had protected two children.
And for years, Lucy and I had lived separate lives without knowing why.
"Why did Catherine separate us?" I whispered.
Lucy cried softly.
"She didn't want to."
"Then who made her?"
There was a pause.
"Someone threatened to take both of us."
I closed my eyes.
"Mercer?"
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"And the Whitmores?"
Lucy's breathing changed.
"They helped him."
I stared at the phone.
Then she continued:
"Emily, before you come here, there's something you need to understand about Alexander."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What?"
"Three months ago, he came to Catherine."
I went still.
"He knew she was alive?"
"Yes."
"Did he speak to her?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"What did she tell him?"
Lucy's voice broke.
"She told him to stop using you."
I stared at the table.
"And?"
"He promised he would."
A wave of anger rolled through me.
Three months ago.
While I was still lifting him into bed.
While I was still paying medical bills.
While I was still believing he couldn't survive without me.
My mother had confronted him.
And he had promised to stop.
I whispered:
"He didn't."
Lucy said nothing.
Then I heard a faint sound on her end of the call.
A door opening.
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Familiar.
"Lucy?"
My heart stopped.
Lucy inhaled sharply.
"Aunt Catherine."
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
"Mom?"
Silence.
I could hear breathing.
Then a quiet sound.
Almost a sob.
"Emily?"
I covered my mouth.
The voice was older.
Weak.
But I remembered it.
I remembered that voice singing while she folded laundry.
Reading bedtime stories.
Telling me I could be brave even when I was frightened.
"Mom?"
A long, trembling breath.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I began crying.
For twenty years, I had imagined hearing those words again.
I had dreamed about it.
Prayed for it.
Woken from sleep with the sound of her voice still echoing in my head.
"Where have you been?" I whispered.
She cried.
"I'm sorry."
"Mom, where have you been?"
"I wanted to come home."
My knees weakened.
"Then why didn't you?"
Her voice broke.
"Because the last time I tried, your father nearly died protecting us."
I closed my eyes.
"He's dead now."
Silence.
Then a broken sob.
"I know."
I couldn't breathe.
"Did you know?"
"Yes."
"Did you come to his funeral?"
A pause.
"Yes."
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
She had been there.
Somewhere.
Watching me bury the man who raised me.
Watching me stand alone beside his grave.
And she hadn't come forward.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
May you like
Her answer was barely a whisper.
"Because I believed the people who killed him would come for you next."
