Chapter 6: The Woman on the Phone
I walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the dark street.
"How do they know?" I said.
"His name is Dennis Hale," Ruth said.
"The man in the photograph.
He has been watching your father's house.
Carl believes he has been watching it for weeks, waiting to see whether your father would finally tell you." A pause.
"When your father's car stayed past midnight, Dennis made a call."
"A call to who?"
"To the man who runs the network.
A man named Garrett Voss." Her voice stayed level.
"Voss is the reason Emily was taken.
He is the reason Carl has been running for thirteen years.
And as of approximately two hours ago, Voss knows that you know."
I turned away from the window.
"Where is Carl?" I said.
"Nearby.
He has been nearby for three weeks.
He didn't want to come to you until the case was solid enough that coming forward couldn't be buried." She paused.
"It's solid enough now.
Ruth has the hospital records, the transfer documents, the financial trail.
Carl has testimony from two other families.
What they need now is a formal statement from you — what your father told you, what was in the box — filed with a federal contact before Voss can move to destroy what's left."
"And Emily?"
A silence that lasted just long enough to hurt.
"Emily is safe," Ruth said.
"She doesn't know yet.
That conversation has to happen carefully, and it has to happen after Voss is in custody.
Carl was very clear about that."
I sat back down at the table.
My father was watching me, reading my face.
"She's safe," I said to him.
He put his hand over his eyes.
"Ruth." I kept my voice steady.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Tonight, nothing.
Lock your doors.
Don't contact Dennis Hale for any reason.
Don't let him know you've seen the photograph." A pause.
"Tomorrow morning, Carl wants to meet you.
In person.
He said to tell you — the coffee shop on Mercer Street.
The one you used to go to on Sunday mornings."
My throat tightened.
He remembered.
After thirteen years, he remembered.
"What time?"
"Eight o'clock.
Come alone.
Don't tell anyone outside of your father."
"All right."
"Sarah." Her voice shifted slightly.
"I know this is a great deal to absorb in one night.
But I want you to know — Carl never stopped believing he would get back to you.
Not once.
Whatever you feel about the choices he made, that part is true."
I didn't answer that.
I wasn't ready to.
We ended the call.
My father and I sat in the kitchen for a long time without speaking.
The letters were spread across the table between us.
The photograph of Dennis Hale sat face-up near the edge.
"He was at her birthday party," I said again.
I couldn't seem to stop saying it.
"I know."
"He sang to her."
"Sarah—"
"I want you to go home tonight, Dad." I stood up and started gathering the letters back into the box.
"Lock your doors.
Don't call Dennis.
Don't act any differently than you normally would."
"I'm not leaving you alone."
"Lily is upstairs asleep.
I'm not alone." I looked at him.
"And if you stay here all night, Dennis will notice.
You said yourself he's been watching."
He didn't like it.
But he understood it.
He stood slowly, the way he'd been standing slowly for the last few years, and I noticed for the first time how much older he looked than he had even a year ago.
The weight of thirteen years of this secret was written in every line of his face.
At the door, he stopped.
"I thought I was protecting you," he said.
"I need you to know that.
Whatever you decide about what I did — I thought I was protecting you."
"I know, Dad."
"Are you angry with me?"
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Ask me again in a week," I said.
"Right now I just need to get through tomorrow."
He nodded.
He stepped outside.
I watched his car until the taillights disappeared.
Then I went upstairs and stood in the doorway of Lily's room.
She was asleep on her side, one arm thrown over the edge of the mattress, her hair across her face.
Eighteen years old today.
Eighteen years of being an only child because someone had decided her sister was worth more as a transaction than as a person.
I stayed in the doorway for a long time.
Then I went back downstairs, picked up the photograph of Dennis Hale, and looked at his face.
May you like
He would be expecting things to feel normal tomorrow.
I intended to let him think they were.
