Chapter 7: The Child Beside Me in the Rain
Rain hammered roof while I drove toward Olivia.
Lucy sat in passenger seat, small body wrapped in my jacket. Her soaked sweatshirt clung to her arms. Wet strands of brown hair stuck against her cheeks. She kept both hands around tan envelope, holding it flat against her chest as if pressure could keep its contents safe.
I watched road, then her reflection in windshield.
She had not asked where we were going. She had not asked whether Olivia would still be alive when we arrived. She only watched passing lights smear across glass and checked envelope each time tires struck standing water.
The car heater blew lukewarm air. Lucy began shivering.
I reached toward controls, turned heat higher, then pulled onto shoulder beneath dark trees. Hazard lights flashed against rain. I opened trunk and found nothing useful except an old towel beneath spare-tire cover. I carried it around car, rain soaking my tuxedo again, and held it out.
Lucy looked at towel, then at me. She did not speak. Neither did I.
She took it.
She dried her hands first. Not hair. Not face. Hands. Then she placed towel across her lap and kept envelope above it.
That small choice cut deeper than accusation. She trusted paper more than she trusted warmth.
I removed my jacket from her shoulders and replaced it with towel around her back. Her fingers tightened around envelope. I left my hand near center console, palm open, without touching her.
After a moment, she moved envelope into one arm and used other hand to pull towel closed.
We drove.
The route narrowed beyond town. Rain blurred signs before I could read them. I relied on directions marked in my phone, stopping twice when signal disappeared. Each stop made Lucy lean toward windshield, searching for something beyond road.
At a fuel station, I parked beneath canopy. Fluorescent light exposed water dripping from her hair and mud dried along her dark pants. She looked younger there, not because of her face but because she had no adult beside her except me, a man she had entered life as a stranger.
I went inside and returned with bottled water, crackers, and a dry sweatshirt from a travel display. I set everything on seat between us.
Lucy took water. She did not open crackers.
Her hand slipped on bottle cap. I reached over, twisted it loose, and set it back without meeting her eyes. She drank in careful sips, then held bottle against her knees.
My phone showed no new messages. Victoria knew envelope existed. She had already lunged for it in chapel. I pictured her hand closing over checks, her face losing bridal composure. I pictured every year I had spent believing Olivia dead.
Then I looked at Lucy.
If I had been present, she would not have needed to cross rain alone with proof pressed to her ribs. The thought arrived without explanation and stayed.
Back on road, headlights appeared behind us.
One vehicle. Then distance.
Lucy noticed it too. Her shoulders drew inward. She pulled envelope beneath sweatshirt, hiding its outline. I locked doors, checked mirrors, and slowed only where road required it. The vehicle turned away at a junction.
Lucy’s breathing eased.
I moved my right hand from console to seatback beside her, creating a barrier between her and window. Awkward. Too late. Still necessary.
She shifted closer to center, not touching me, but near enough that her sleeve brushed my arm when car turned.
Phone signal returned.
A message from unknown number appeared without text, only an image attachment. I did not open it. Another message followed. Then another.
May you like
Lucy saw screen. She pressed envelope harder against herself.
I started driving again before reading any of them. Olivia remained unreachable. Rain covered road ahead. Beside me, Lucy allowed my arm to stay between her and dark glass while we moved toward a woman who might not have enough time left to explain anything.
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