Chapter 9: Gerald Makes His Move
The call came on a Thursday evening.
Sarah was in Lena's room, reading to her — a story about a rabbit who kept getting lost and kept finding his way home — when her phone rang.
The household phone.
The one Gerald monitored.
She answered it.
"I need you to be ready to travel tomorrow," Gerald said.
"Pack enough for two weeks.
For you and Lena."
Sarah kept her voice even.
"Travel where?"
"The house in the country.
I think some time away would do you both good."
"It's the middle of the school term.
Lena has—"
"She's five.
She won't fall behind." A pause.
"I've already spoken to the center.
I let them know you won't be in next week."
Sarah's hand tightened on the phone.
He had called the center.
He had already moved.
He was watching the schedule more closely than she had realized.
"Gerald, I don't think this is a good time—"
"Sarah." His voice was still pleasant.
It was always pleasant.
That was the thing about Gerald — he never raised his voice.
He never had to.
"I'm not asking.
I'll be there at nine tomorrow morning.
Have your bags ready."
The line went quiet.
Lena looked up from the pillow.
"Who was that?"
"Uncle Gerald." Sarah set the phone down on the bedside table.
Her hands were completely steady.
She had learned, over four years, to keep her hands steady.
"He wants us to go on a little trip."
"Where?"
"The country house."
Lena wrinkled her nose.
"There's no playground there."
"I know." Sarah smoothed her daughter's hair back from her forehead.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart.
I'll be back in a minute."
She went to the bathroom and locked the door.
She took the second phone from inside the lining of her washbag — she had moved it from Lena's toy box two days ago, after Gerald had spent an unusually long time in the child's room — and typed quickly.
*He's moving us tomorrow.
Country house.
9am.
I don't know the address, I've only been there once.
I don't think I can get out tonight without him knowing.*
The reply came in less than three minutes.
*Don't try to leave tonight.
Too risky.
Is Lena's bag already packed from last time?*
*Yes.
In the hall cupboard.*
*Good.
Tomorrow morning, before he arrives — take the second phone, the photographs, and Lena's bag.
Put them by the door as if they're part of what you're packing.
When he arrives, you need to give us ten minutes.*
*How?*
A pause.
Then:
*Tell him Lena is sick.
Stomach ache.
Stall him in the hallway.
Ten minutes is all we need.*
Sarah read the message twice.
Then she deleted it, as she always did, and put the phone back in the lining of the washbag.
She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror for a moment.
Four years.
Four years of keeping her hands steady and her voice even and her face arranged into whatever expression the situation required.
Four years of watching what she said and where she went and who she spoke to.
She thought about Daniel's face in the park.
The way he had looked at Lena.
She thought about Lena asking, in a whisper, *Is he my dad?*
She unlocked the bathroom door and went back to finish the story about the rabbit who kept finding his way home.
May you like
She read it twice, because Lena asked her to.
Then she sat in the dark after her daughter fell asleep and waited for morning.
