Chapter 19 - One Year Later
On the anniversary of Leo’s return, nobody used the word anniversary.
Sarah made pancakes.
Maya burned one and blamed the pan.
Leo opened a new baseball glove.
David pretended the gift had nothing to do with the date.
Everybody knew it did.
The family had stopped measuring life by the disappearance.
But certain dates carried their own gravity.
Leo had grown almost four inches.
His hair was short again because he chose it.
He had joined a recreational baseball team.
The first time the coach yelled from across the field, Leo froze.
The second time, he flinched.
The third time, he yelled back, “I heard you!”
David laughed from the bleachers.
Progress.
Not clean.
Not linear.
Real.
Sarah had returned to work three days a week.
She still woke sometimes at 3:00 a.m. and checked both children.
David stopped pretending he didn’t do the same.
They no longer apologized for it.
Maya became seven.
She remained convinced her role in Leo’s rescue made her qualified to investigate every mystery.
Missing socks.
Broken lamps.
Who ate the last brownie.
She usually accused David.
She was usually correct.
The legal cases slowly disappeared from daily life.
Mark lost appeals.
Thomas remained incarcerated.
Elena did too.
Adrian Cole accepted a lengthy sentence.
Dean Harrow testified, entered his own plea for his role, and eventually disappeared from public attention.
Vance Development reorganized under new ownership.
The Vance name came off buildings.
David found that he did not care.
One Saturday, a package arrived.
No return name.
David’s body reacted before his mind did.
Pulse racing.
Hands cold.
He called Quinn.
She checked the tracking information.
The package came from Rachel Monroe’s sister.
Inside was a small wooden box.
A note rested on top.
DAVID,
WE FOUND THIS WHILE CLEANING RACHEL’S STORAGE UNIT.
I THINK IT BELONGS TO LEO.
—AMANDA
Inside was a blue toy car.
Leo recognized it instantly.
“Rachel gave me this.”
David stared.
“When?”
“Before everything.”
“At Grandpa’s office.”
Rachel used to keep small toys on her desk for employees’ children.
Leo had forgotten.
Underneath the car was a folded receipt.
On the back Rachel had written:
LEO — YOU ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS.
NEVER STOP.
Leo smiled.
“Can I keep it?”
“Of course.”
He placed it on his bedroom shelf.
That night David stood in the doorway.
Leo was asleep.
The toy car sat beside the lamp.
For the first time, Rachel existed in his mind as something other than a body in a well.
She had laughed.
Worked.
Bought coffee.
Kept toys for children.
Made sarcastic notes.
Loved her sister.
She had been alive before his family turned her into a secret.
That distinction mattered.
The next morning David called Amanda.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Leo loves the car.”
“Rachel would like that.”
David hesitated.
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“What was she like?”
Amanda laughed softly.
“How much time do you have?”
David smiled.
“A lot.”
They spoke for nearly an hour.
Rachel hated olives.
Loved old detective novels.
Sang terribly.
Once returned an expensive company gift because she believed it looked like a bribe.
She had wanted to open her own accounting practice.
David wrote things down.
Later he told Leo.
Not because Leo needed another lesson about tragedy.
Because Rachel deserved to be remembered for more than how she died.
That afternoon Leo had baseball practice.
He hit his first ball over the outfielder’s head.
Not a home run.
But close enough that he ran around the bases grinning.
David cheered.
Sarah yelled louder.
Maya screamed, “THAT’S MY BROTHER!”
Everyone nearby turned.
Maya waved.
“What?”
After practice, Leo climbed into the car.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think about the floor every day?”
David considered lying.
“No.”
Leo looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Not every day anymore.”
Leo nodded.
“Me neither.”
David glanced at him in the mirror.
“When do you think about it?”
“Sometimes when it’s dark.”
“Sometimes when somebody locks a door.”
“Sometimes when I smell vanilla.”
David waited.
Leo added, “But sometimes I remember other stuff.”
“Like what?”
“You breaking the floor.”
David looked back at the road.
Leo continued.
“I remember your hand.”
“What about it?”
“When I grabbed you.”
“I knew it was you.”
David’s throat tightened.
“How?”
Leo shrugged.
“Your watch.”
David almost laughed.
The same watch Mark later used to track him.
The watch Sarah had bought for their tenth anniversary.
The watch Leo had recognized in the dark.
Objects could change meaning.
Again.
That evening David took the watch from his drawer.
He had stopped wearing it after investigators removed Mark’s tracker.
He cleaned it.
Replaced the band.
Put it back on.
Sarah noticed.
“You sure?”
David looked at the face.
“Yes.”
Later, while tucking Maya into bed, she pointed at it.
“You’re wearing the bad watch.”
“No.”
David smiled.
“It’s the watch Leo saw.”
Maya considered that.
“Better name.”
She yawned.
Then asked, “Daddy?”
“What?”
“If I hear somebody under our floor again, should I tell you?”
David laughed.
“Yes.”
“Even if it’s a ghost?”
“Especially if it’s a ghost.”
“Okay.”
He kissed her forehead.
As he reached the door, Maya called after him.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“I knew Leo was alive.”
David turned.
She was almost asleep.
“How?”
Maya shrugged beneath the blanket.
“He sounded mad.”
David smiled.
“That does sound like your brother.”
He shut off the light.
Not all the way.
A small night-light glowed near the floor.
Down the hall, Leo’s door remained slightly open.
David stood between their rooms.
For fourteen months, he had believed the worst thing that could happen to a family was not knowing.
He had been wrong.
Knowing could be devastating too.
But knowledge gave you something uncertainty never could.
A direction.
A choice.
May you like
A door you could finally open.
And when David went downstairs, he did not check beneath the floor.
