Chapter 3: Act Normal
"Just some flowers," I said.
"From my neighbor.
She remembered the date."
A pause.
One beat too long.
"That's sweet," Adrian said.
"How are you holding up?
I always think about you on this day."
"I'm fine, Adrian.
Same as every year."
"Good." Another pause.
"You know you can always call me.
If you need anything."
"I know.
Thank you."
I kept my voice level.
Warm.
Exactly the way I had spoken to him for fifty-six years.
"Take care of yourself, Mary."
"You too."
I set the phone down on the kitchen table and did not move for a full minute.
My hands had stopped shaking.
Something colder had replaced the trembling — a stillness I didn't recognize in myself.
I looked at the yellow roses sitting in the center of the table.
All those petals.
All those years.
I picked up the note again and read the final line one more time.
*There is a second envelope taped beneath the drawer on the left side of the kitchen table.
Do not open it until you are alone and certain no one is watching the house.*
I had not seen that line the first time.
Or the second.
I had been so shaken by the words above it that my eyes had simply stopped.
My hand went under the drawer.
The envelope was there.
Small.
Sealed with tape on all four edges.
I sat back down.
Inside was a single photograph and a folded page of handwriting.
The photograph showed James — older, thinner, with white hair and deep lines around his eyes, but unmistakably James — standing outside what looked like a small house somewhere rural.
He was holding a newspaper.
The date visible on the front page was eleven days ago.
My throat closed.
I unfolded the letter.
*Mary.
I don't have much time to explain everything here, so I will tell you only what you need to know right now.
I did not disappear by choice.
After the explosion, I was pulled out by people I did not know.
I was injured.
When I recovered enough to understand what had happened, I was told that returning to you would put you in danger.
I was told this by someone I trusted.
I believed it for too long.
I know now that it was a lie — the same lie that kept me away from you for all of these years.
Adrian was the one who arranged it.
I don't know all of his reasons yet.
But I know he has been watching you.
I know he has been watching me.
I am coming home, Mary.
But I need you to do something first.
In three days, a woman named Ruth will knock on your door.
She will say she is collecting for the church garden fund.
Let her in.
She will explain everything.*
I read it twice.
Then I folded it carefully and slid it back inside the envelope.
Three days.
I looked at the roses.
Then I looked at the phone.
Adrian had called within an hour of the delivery.
He had known about the flowers before I had even found the second envelope.
Which meant he had someone watching.
The delivery driver, maybe.
Or someone on the street.
Or someone closer than that.
I stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the quiet road in front of my house.
A dark car was parked two houses down.
It had been there when I opened the door for the delivery.
May you like
I had not thought anything of it then.
It was still there now.
