Chapter 3: Don't Say My Name
I pressed the phone so hard against my ear it hurt.
"I'm here," I whispered.
"I'm right here."
"Is the baby okay?" Her voice cracked on the last word.
"She's perfect." I looked down at the little girl in my arms.
She had stopped squirming.
She was watching my face like she already knew me.
"She's right here with me.
She's safe."
A sound came through the phone that I hadn't heard in five years.
Half a sob, swallowed fast.
"Good.
That's good.
Okay."
"Jennifer." I caught myself, dropped my voice even lower.
"Where are you?
Are you hurt?"
"I can't tell you where I am yet.
I'm sorry.
I know how that sounds."
"Then tell me something.
Tell me anything."
A pause.
I could hear her breathing — shallow, careful, like someone trying not to be heard.
"I didn't run away, Mom.
I need you to know that.
I never ran away."
My throat closed.
"I know," I managed.
"I always knew."
"Dad said—"
"I don't care what your father said.
I never believed it."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"He's going to find out about the baby," she said.
"If he doesn't already know."
I went still.
"What does your father have to do with this?"
"Not Dad." Her voice dropped even further.
"His brother.
Uncle Ray."
The name landed like something physical.
Raymond Calloway.
My husband's older brother.
The one who had always made me uneasy at family dinners, who stood too close, who watched Jennifer in a way I had never been able to name out loud without feeling like I was being dramatic.
"Jennifer—"
"I don't have much time.
I'm using someone else's phone.
Listen to me very carefully." A door closed somewhere near her.
"The baby's name is Lily.
She's fourteen months old.
She doesn't know anything about any of this and she never should."
"Okay.
Lily." I looked at the little girl again.
She had one fist pressed against her mouth.
"Okay."
"There are people who know I left her with you.
I don't know how many.
I don't know if they'll come to the house."
The kitchen felt suddenly exposed.
I stood up from the floor and moved toward the window without thinking, angling my body away from the glass.
"What kind of people?"
"The kind that do what Ray tells them to do."
I didn't answer right away.
Outside, the street looked exactly like it always did.
Mrs.
Patton's car in her driveway.
The Hendersons' sprinkler running.
Ordinary and quiet and suddenly not trustworthy at all.
"Jennifer, I need you to tell me what happened to you.
From the beginning."
"I can't.
Not yet.
Not on this phone."
"Then when?"
"Soon.
I promise.
I just needed to know Lily was with you before I—" She stopped.
"Before you what?"
She didn't answer that.
"There's something in the jacket," she said instead.
"Inside the lining.
Bottom left corner.
You'll need a seam ripper or small scissors.
Don't throw it away."
I carried the phone to the table and laid the denim jacket flat with one hand.
I found the corner she meant.
Something small and rigid was sewn into the lining.
A rectangle, no bigger than a matchbook.
"I feel it," I said.
"Keep it somewhere safe.
Don't look at it yet.
Wait until I call again."
"Jennifer, please—"
"I love you, Mom.
I have to go."
The line went de@d.
I stood at my kitchen table with Lily on my hip and the jacket in my hand and five years of silence pressing down on me from every direction at once.
Then Lily reached up and patted my cheek with her open hand.
I looked at her.
She looked back at me, completely serious, like she was checking whether I was going to be all right.
I wasn't sure yet.
May you like
But I pulled her closer and held on.
Then I heard a car slow down outside the house and stop.
