Part 4
Nathan drove to the Bennetts’ house with copies of the photographs on the passenger seat.
Frank opened the door and looked first at Nathan, then at the folder in his hand. Something in his face collapsed before Nathan said a word.
“Anne home?”
Frank stepped aside.
She was in the kitchen, trimming the stems of grocery-store carnations. The sight of her doing something so ordinary made Nathan angrier than he expected.
He placed the marriage photograph on the table.
“Who is this?”
Anne’s scissors stopped.
Then he laid down the newspaper clipping, the crash-site photographs, and the delayed birth certificate.
“Tell me where Claire is.”
Frank moved toward him. “Lower your voice.”
“Is she alive?”
Anne sat down very slowly. Her hand went to her mouth.
Nathan heard the answer before either of them spoke.
“She’s alive,” Frank said.
The kitchen blurred at its edges.
Nathan grabbed the back of a chair, but his fingers slid across the wood. A sound escaped him—half laugh, half breath—and then he swept the carnations from the table.
The glass vase shattered against the tile.
“You buried her.”
“We buried an empty casket,” Anne whispered.
“You made me believe she was dead.”
“We had to make Gabriel believe it.”
“You had to make me believe it too.”
Frank flinched, but Nathan stepped closer. “I called every airline in Montana. I begged strangers to fly through a blizzard because I thought my wife was in a coffin. I came home and stood in our kitchen, trying to understand how to live without her.”
“We thought your phone might be monitored,” Frank said. “We thought he would follow you.”
“Then you go to the police.”
“You don’t know Gabriel Mercer.”
“No. I know you.”
Anne began gathering the photographs with shaking hands. Nathan stopped her by placing his palm over them.
“Where is Claire?”
“She’s at a cabin outside Hayward,” Anne said. “It belongs to an old friend. She’s safe.”
“Why did she agree to this?”
Anne closed her eyes. “Because she’s pregnant.”
For a moment, Nathan could not feel the floor beneath him.
Frank spoke into the silence. “She found out a few days before Gabriel approached her. We told her what he was capable of. We told her stress could endanger the baby.”
“You used our child to frighten her.”
“We were trying to keep them alive.”
Nathan turned toward the sink because he could not look at either of them. Through the window, a squirrel moved along the fence, scattering snow from the boards.
“How far along?”
“Ten weeks now,” Anne said.
Nathan counted backward. Claire had known before he left for Montana. She had carried that news while they packed his suitcase, while he complained about the supplier, while he promised he would be home Friday.
“Give me the address.”
Frank resisted for less than a minute. Nathan’s threat to call Detective Ruiz ended the argument.
The cabin stood at the end of an unplowed road in northern Wisconsin, nearly three hours from Minneapolis. Nathan drove through bands of falling snow with both hands locked on the wheel.
He did not decide what he would say.
He did not know whether he was driving toward his marriage or the place where it had ended.
A porch light came on before he reached the steps.
The door opened.
Claire stood inside wearing wool socks, loose jeans, and one of Nathan’s old college sweatshirts. Her hair was shorter than it had been at the cemetery photograph. Her face looked pale and thinner, but alive.
Completely, impossibly alive.
“Nathan.”
He crossed the porch in two strides.
Claire reached for him, and he pulled her against his chest with enough force to lift her from the floor. Her breath broke beside his ear. His hands moved over her shoulders, hair, neck, and face as though his body needed separate proof from every part of her.
She was warm.
He began crying before he realized it. Claire cried too, apologizing against his coat, but the word soon became indistinct.
When he finally released her, he stepped backward.
“How long did you know they’d told me you were dead?”
Claire’s face changed. “From the beginning.”
“You knew I thought you drowned.”
“Yes.”
“You knew there was a funeral.”
She nodded.
Nathan turned away and pressed both hands to his head. “I stood at your grave.”
“I know.”
“A child had to tell me the coffin was empty.”
“Sophie?”
“Don’t.” He faced her again. “Don’t say her name as though that’s the part we need to discuss.”
Claire took the blow without defending herself. “You’re right.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“My parents said Gabriel’s people were watching the house, your office, your phone. They said one call could bring him here.”
“And you believed them.”
“I was terrified.” Her hand moved instinctively toward her abdomen. “They told me things about him I’d never heard. Then they showed me photographs, police reports, names of people who disappeared. I thought if I stayed quiet for a few days, they would find a safe way to tell you.”
“A few days?”
“Then the memorial happened. After that, every hour made it worse.”
Nathan looked at her hand resting over the child he had not known existed. Joy moved through him, immediate and fierce, but it did not erase what she had done.
“I love you,” he said. “I don’t know what to do with the fact that I also don’t trust you.”
Claire’s mouth trembled. “You shouldn’t. Not yet.”
She led him inside after the cold began seeping through his coat. A mug sat on the table beside a stack of prenatal pamphlets. Near the door was a packed suitcase, as though Claire had never fully accepted the cabin as a place she would stay.
“There’s something else,” she said.
From a drawer, she removed an envelope. It had been pushed beneath the door the previous evening.
Nathan unfolded the note.
Mr. Cole,
Your wife is safe. I knew where they took her before they staged the accident. I will not come unless she asks.
When you are ready, call me.
G. Mercer
Nathan read it twice. Claire wrapped both arms around herself. “My parents weren’t hiding me from a stranger.” She looked toward the dark window. “Gabriel Mercer is my biological father…”
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