Chapter 2 - THE NIGHT CLAIRE DISAPPEARED
We left the hospital through a side entrance because Claire refused to walk through the main lobby with me.
She kept the twins between us.
Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder.
I noticed.
“Who's following you?”
“No one.”
“You just checked behind us three times.”
She didn't answer.
I opened the passenger door of my SUV.
“Let me drive.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I said no.”
Noah climbed into the back seat.
Eli followed.
Claire stood beside the open door.
“This doesn't mean I forgive you.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
She looked at me.
“I don't trust you.”
“I don't blame you.”
That surprised her.
For the first time that afternoon, her anger faltered.
I looked at the boys.
“They're my sons.”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
The word nearly broke me.
“My sons.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Five years.
I had missed first steps.
First words.
First birthdays.
First days of preschool.
Fevers.
Nightmares.
Christmas mornings.
Every ordinary moment that makes a father a father.
And somebody had taken all of it from me.
Maybe Claire had.
Maybe my father had.
Maybe both.
We drove through the rain in silence.
Finally I asked,
“When did you find out you were pregnant?”
Claire stared through the window.
“Three days after you signed the divorce papers.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I tried.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“I called you.”
“I never received a call.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You answered.”
I shook my head.
“I never spoke to you.”
“You did,” she whispered. “Your father answered first.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
Claire's eyes filled.
“He said you were in Europe.”
“I wasn't.”
“I know that now.”
“What happened?”
She took a breath.
“I told him I was pregnant.”
I waited.
“He congratulated me.”
My jaw tightened.
“That doesn't sound like him.”
“It wasn't.”
She looked at me.
“He asked me how much money I wanted.”
I said nothing.
“I thought he was joking.”
“He wasn't.”
“He told me you had already moved on. He said you were ashamed of me. He said your company was preparing to announce your engagement to another woman.”
My hands tightened around the wheel.
“That never happened.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I saw you.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“The day I left Seattle.”
I stared at her.
“You saw me?”
“You were standing outside your office.”
“I don't remember.”
“You weren't alone.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
“Who was with me?”
She hesitated.
“Your father.”
I remembered that day.
My father had asked me to meet him.
He had insisted I sign several business documents.
I had been furious with him.
I remembered him telling me Claire had already left.
I remembered believing she wanted nothing to do with me.
But now…
I wasn't sure what had been real.
“Where did you go?”
“Portland first.”
“Then?”
“California.”
“And Seattle?”
“Three years ago.”
I looked at her.
“Why come back?”
“My mother is sick.”
I nodded.
Then I noticed Noah staring at me through the rearview mirror.
“What?”
He smiled.
“You drive like Daddy.”
My throat tightened.
“What was Daddy like?”
Noah shrugged.
“Mommy says you were funny.”
Claire immediately interrupted.
“Noah.”
“And you used to sing badly.”
I laughed despite myself.
“I did.”
Noah grinned.
“Mommy said you sang in the shower.”
Claire covered her face.
“Oh my God.”
For the first time in five years, we laughed together.
It lasted only a second.
Then Claire's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed.
“Who's calling?”
She didn't answer.
The phone stopped.
Then a text appeared.
She read it.
Her hands began shaking.
“What does it say?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire.”
She handed me the phone.
The message contained a photograph.
Our house.
My old house.
The one Claire and I had lived in before the divorce.
Someone had taken the picture that morning.
Underneath it were six words:
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED AWAY, CLAIRE.
I looked at her.
“Who knows where you live?”
“Almost nobody.”
“Your address?”
“Only family. My lawyer. My children's school.”
“Your lawyer?”
She nodded.
I memorized the name.
“Call him.”
“He won't answer.”
“Why?”
“Because he's dead.”
Silence filled the car.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
I felt the hair rise on my arms.
“And before he died?”
“He told me something.”
“What?”
“He said if anything happened to him, I should find your mother.”
I stared at her.
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“And you came to this hospital because of her?”
“Yes.”
“Claire…”
She turned toward me.
“What?”
“Did you know my mother was here?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks.”
I felt betrayed all over again.
“You knew she was sick and never told me?”
“She asked me not to.”
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
“Because she was afraid your father had people watching her.”
I pulled the car to the curb.
“What?”
Claire leaned forward.
“Julian, your father didn't just try to separate us.”
She looked at me.
“He threatened to take the children.”
My blood went cold.
“Why?”
“Because he believed they belonged to the family.”
“What family?”
“Your family.”
I stared at her.
“He wanted them raised by someone else.”
“Who?”
She whispered a name.
“Victor Bennett.”
My father's younger brother.
My uncle.
A man I had not seen in fifteen years.
A man officially declared dead before I finished college.
I laughed bitterly.
“That's impossible.”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
She reached into her purse.
Then she pulled out an envelope.
She placed it in my hand.
My name was written across the front.
In my father's handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
My fingers went numb.
“He left this for you,” Claire said.
I stared at the envelope.
“Why didn't you give it to me five years ago?”
“Because I didn't have it.”
“When did you get it?”
“Yesterday.”
I opened it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Only one sentence.
If Julian ever discovers the boys, tell him the truth about the night his brother died.
I looked up.
“I don't have a brother.”
Claire stared at me.
“Yes, you do.”
My phone rang again.
This time, my mother was calling.
I answered.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Julian…”
“Mom?”
“Come back to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your father didn't have one secret son.”
My blood froze.
“He had two.”
The line went dead.
And in the back seat, Eli whispered,
“Mommy…”
Claire turned.
“What?”
Eli looked at me.
“That's not what Grandma told us.”
I stared at him.
“What did Grandma tell you?”
The little boy lowered his voice.
“She said Daddy wasn't dead.”
I felt my heart stop.
“Who isn't dead?”
May you like
Eli pointed at me.
“You.”
