Chapter 3: What the Attic Was Hiding
I drove to Rachel's house at seven the next morning.
She met me at the door still in her robe, coffee in both hands.
She gave me one without being asked.
We sat at her kitchen table and neither of us spoke for a moment.
"Show me the key," she said finally.
I set it on the table between us.
Rachel stared at it.
She reached out, then pulled her hand back.
"I remember that," she said quietly.
"She never took it off."
"I know."
"Daniel." She looked up.
"I burned the letter."
"What?"
"After I read it, I panicked.
I didn't know what it meant.
I thought — I don't know what I thought.
I was grieving.
Dad was still alive.
I told myself it was someone's idea of a cruel joke and I burned it and I never told anyone."
I set my coffee down.
"Rachel.
That letter was from Mom."
"I didn't know that then."
"But you know it now."
She pressed her lips together.
Her eyes were wet but she didn't cry.
"What do we do?" she asked.
"We go back to the attic."
I had not finished going through the boxes the night before.
Emma had found the photograph near the top of the first one.
There were four more boxes I hadn't opened.
I had carried them all downstairs before driving to Rachel's, and they were now stacked in my living room.
We went through them together.
Most of it was ordinary.
Old tax records.
Christmas cards.
A broken clock my father had always meant to repair.
Rachel held up a photograph of the two of us as children at the lake house and set it aside without a word.
Then, in the third box, beneath a folded wool blanket that still smelled faintly of cedar, Rachel found a manila envelope.
No label.
Sealed with tape that had yellowed at the edges.
She held it out to me.
"Your name," she said.
Written on the front in handwriting I recognized immediately.
*Daniel.*
My mother's handwriting.
My hands were not steady when I opened it.
Inside was a single folded sheet of paper and a smaller envelope I did not open yet.
The sheet had four lines written on it.
*If you are reading this, your father is g*ne and I believe it is finally safe.*
*The small envelope contains an address.*
*Go there alone first.*
*I am sorry it took so long.
I never stopped loving you.*
Rachel read it over my shoulder.
Neither of us said anything for a long time.
Then Sarah appeared in the doorway from the hallway, still in her pajamas, holding a cup of tea.
She looked at my face.
Then at Rachel's.
"What happened?" she said.
I looked down at my mother's handwriting.
"She's alive," I said.
"I think she's been alive this whole time."
Sarah's cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
"Daniel—"
"Dad faked her death." The words felt strange leaving my mouth, too large for the room.
"Or arranged it.
Or forced her into it.
I don't know which yet."
Sarah set her cup on the counter very carefully.
"Where is she?"
May you like
I picked up the smaller envelope.
It was still sealed.
