Chapter 2
By the time the plane touched down, I had found a dozen explanations for what I’d heard and trusted none of them.
The woman had said Claire. She had also looked at me with the anger of someone who knew exactly how much my name could hurt her. I stayed beside my seat until the aisle began to move, then let the crowd carry me toward the terminal, contract folder tucked under my arm and every sensible thought trailing behind.
I spotted Willa’s pink sweater near the gate. The woman from the plane walked beside her, one hand wrapped around the little girl’s, while the worn rabbit bobbed against Willa’s coat.
I followed at a distance—not close enough to alarm them, I told myself, though close enough not to lose them. When they stopped near a bank of windows overlooking the baggage carousels, I stopped too.
The woman turned before I could speak.
“You followed us.”
“I did.” My mouth had gone dry. “I’m sorry. I need to ask you one question.”
“No, you don’t.”
Willa looked between us. Her fingers tightened around the rabbit.
“Mommy, are you mad?”
The woman’s expression softened for her. “No, sweetheart. I’m just tired.”
She guided Willa toward a row of seats beside a vending machine, then faced me again, putting herself between us without making a show of it.
“Ask your question,” she said. “One.”
I couldn’t make my voice work at first. The name from the plane sat in my throat like a swallowed stone.
“Are you Claire?”
Her jaw tightened. “No.”
The answer knocked the air out of me, though I hadn’t realized I was holding it.
“My name is Mara Hartwell,” she said. “And I shouldn’t have given you Claire’s name.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I panicked. Because I knew you’d ask questions, and I didn’t know what you would do with the truth.”
“What truth?”
Mara glanced toward Willa. The girl had settled on the seat and was whispering to her rabbit, completely absorbed in an argument only the two of them could understand.
“Claire was your fiancée,” Mara said.
The terminal noise dulled around us. A suitcase rattled over a floor seam; somewhere behind me, a child cried. I heard both sounds as if from the far end of a tunnel.
“Claire was going to marry me,” I said.
“She was.”
I looked at Mara’s face, searching for the trick in it. “She died five years ago.”
“That’s what you were told.”
The words struck harder than an accusation. I gripped the edge of my contract folder until the stiff paper bent beneath my thumb.
“Who told me?”
“I don’t know what you know. I don’t know what they made you believe.” Her voice dropped. “But Claire didn’t leave you because she stopped loving you. And she didn’t want you to think the worst of her.”
A hot, foolish hope rose in me. I hated it instantly.
“You’re saying she’s alive?”
Mara’s eyes flicked toward Willa again. “I’m saying you were given a story designed to end questions.”
“Then answer one. Where is she?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.” Her words came quick, then caught. “I’m trying to keep Willa’s life steady. She has a home. She has people who love her. She doesn’t need a stranger charging in with a folder and a hundred questions.”
“I’m not a stranger to Claire.”
“You’re a stranger to Willa.”
That was the line I couldn’t push through. I glanced at the little girl, who had tucked the rabbit under her chin and was now watching us with open curiosity.
Mara lowered her voice. “You asked me on the plane if she was your daughter. You don’t get to turn that question into a claim.”
“I’m not claiming anything.”
“You don’t even know what happened.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
My admission seemed to loosen something in her face, but only for a second. She looked tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix, and afraid in a way that made me wonder what exactly she thought I might do.
“Then let us leave,” she said.
“I can’t just walk away after hearing Claire’s name.”
“You walked away once.”
“I didn’t know I was walking away.”
The words came out before I could soften them. Mara flinched, and I saw that I’d hit something real. For one breath, neither of us spoke.
Then Willa slid off the seat.
“Mommy, can we go now?”
“Yes.” Mara took her hand. “Right now.”
She passed me without looking back. I let them get several yards ahead before I followed—not because I’d decided to disregard her, but because I couldn’t make myself let the only thread I had disappear into the crowd.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Ethan Bell, the company security officer: Sloane’s at arrivals waiting for you. Says he wants to ride with you to the hotel. You give him your flight details?
I stopped beneath a sign pointing toward baggage claim.
I hadn’t told Victor Sloane I was flying to Boston today. The conference was on my calendar, but my flight had been booked at the last minute after a meeting shifted. I read Ethan’s message twice, then typed, No. Did you?
The reply came before I could pocket the phone.
No. He asked me to check if you’d landed.
Across the arrivals hall, Mara and Willa had reached the sliding doors. Mara paused, scanning the crowd before stepping through. She held Willa close at her side, one hand resting protectively on the child’s shoulder.
Then I saw Victor.
He stood beyond the doors beside a column, wearing the charcoal suit he saved for investors and public appearances. I had expected him to turn toward me, offer his practiced smile, and ask how the flight had been.
He didn’t.
Victor was watching Mara and Willa.
When Mara looked over her shoulder, he lowered his gaze to his phone. The movement was small—polite enough to pass for coincidence, careful enough to feel rehearsed.
My contract folder slipped against my palm. I held on to it, but its corner had bent.
May you like
Mara stepped out into the gray Boston afternoon with Willa’s hand in hers. Victor stayed where he was, not greeting his colleague, not even pretending to look for me.
He was watching them leave.
