Chapter 5
Margaret chose a restaurant two towns over, one I had never visited. She texted the address and added one sentence.
Thomas will not be there. I promise.
I almost canceled when I saw the words. A promise from her felt too large for what we knew about each other. But I needed to hear her account without the pressure of a crowded dining room where everyone might recognize her, and I needed to see what she would do when I set the terms.
I replied that I would meet for forty-five minutes. No photographs. No touching. No requests for me to call her anything.
She answered within a minute.
I agree.
The restaurant had a row of tall windows facing a church parking lot. I arrived early and chose a table near the glass, where I could see the entrance and my car. Margaret entered alone ten minutes later.
She looked exactly as she had in the first restaurant: light hair pinned in an updo, tasteful blouse, skirt, careful posture. But there was less polish in the way she held herself. One hand stayed closed around the strap of her handbag.
She stopped beside the table.
“May I sit?”
I nodded.
She waited until I had moved my bag from the empty chair. That small pause mattered. She didn't assume the space belonged to her.
A server brought water. Neither of us touched it.
Margaret placed her handbag on the floor and removed the silver locket. She set it on the table between us.
The familiar shape caught the window light.
“There is an engraving inside,” she said. “I should have told you before.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I was afraid you'd think I was trying to prove too much.” Her thumb moved over the locket's edge. “And because I hadn't looked at it in years.”
She opened it.
Inside the lid, beneath the worn hinge, were two initials and a date. The date matched the one on the photograph.
I wrote them in my notebook. Margaret watched me, but she didn't ask to see what I had written.
“The initials are mine and Thomas's,” she said. “The date was the day we planned to bring you home.”
“Planned?”
Her eyes lowered. “I was told there had been a delay. Then another explanation. Then no explanation I could understand.”
“You were at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see me?”
Her mouth tightened before she answered. “I saw you after you were born. You were small. You had a blanket around you. I remember the shape of your hand.”
I looked down at my own hand on the table, at the heart-shaped birthmark on its back.
Margaret saw me notice it and breathed in slowly.
“I gave you the locket because I believed it would stay with you,” she said. “I thought it would help identify you if there was any confusion.”
“Who took it?”
“I don't know.”
“You've said that before.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you remember that isn't a guess?”
She folded her hands. “I remember Thomas telling me not to make a scene. I remember him saying people were already watching us. I remember being told that the paperwork would be corrected.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
The answer landed harder than a confession would have. She wasn't offering me a complete story. She was offering pieces she had kept separate for years.
“Did you look for me?”
Her face changed. Not dramatically. The skin around her eyes tightened, and her fingers pressed together until the knuckles paled.
“I believed Thomas was handling it.”
That was the first time she said his name without defending him.
A chair scraped near the entrance.
Thomas walked in.
He wore a dark suit and tie, his receding hairline visible beneath the restaurant's bright ceiling lights. His sharp features looked controlled, but his eyes went immediately to the locket on the table.
Margaret rose halfway. “Thomas, you said you wouldn't come.”
“I said I wouldn't interrupt.” He looked at me. “I changed my mind.”
“You need to leave,” I said.
His gaze moved to my notebook. “You went to the county office.”
“That isn't your business.”
“It involves my family.”
“It involves my life.”
For the first time, his expression slipped. Fear showed beneath the irritation, quick and unguarded.
Margaret stood fully now. “You promised me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No,” she said quietly. “You were trying to control what happened next.”
The server approached with a nervous smile, sensing the tension without knowing its history. Thomas stepped away from our table before anyone could ask him to.
He looked at the locket again.
“Give me the photograph,” he said.
I closed my notebook. “No.”
His jaw tightened. “You don't understand what you're holding.”
“Then explain it.”
He glanced toward the windows, toward the parking lot beyond them, and said nothing.
Margaret picked up her locket and closed it. “Go home, Thomas.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue. Instead, he turned and left.
I watched him cross the parking lot. He didn't look back until he reached his car.
Margaret remained standing.
“I didn't know he would come,” she said.
“I believe you.”
Her eyes lifted.
“But that doesn't mean I trust you.”
She nodded, accepting the distinction without flinching.
I placed cash beneath the water glass, though I hadn't ordered anything. “I need time.”
“I'll give it to you.”
“If you contact me, use text. Don't come to my apartment. Don't speak to my employer. And don't tell anyone about me.”
“I agree.”
I stood and slipped the notebook into my bag.
Margaret touched the closed locket in her palm. “May I see you again?”
“Ask me later.”
She nodded once.
As I walked to my car, my phone vibrated. A message from the county records office waited on the screen.
Your request has been noted. A review appointment is being scheduled.
I looked back through the window. Margaret was still at the table, alone, her locket resting in her hand.
The private meeting had given me evidence, but it had also made the danger clearer.
May you like
Thomas knew I was searching.
And now he knew I wasn't willing to let him decide what I found.
