Chapter 4
I spent that night in the pediatric wing of a hospital in Montrose.
Not because I was badly hurt.
Because nobody knew where else to put me safely.
Claire stayed outside my room until almost three in the morning.
She didn’t ask to come in.
That mattered.
I watched her through the glass.
Sometimes she cried.
Sometimes she looked at old pictures on her phone.
At one point Hank appeared carrying a plastic bag.
He had gone to a store.
Inside were dry pajamas, socks, a toothbrush, and a new copy of Charlotte’s Web because mine had been soaked.
I held the new book.
Then looked at the old one drying beside the window.
“I want both.”
Hank smiled.
“Then both it is.”
He sat in the chair near my bed.
“You have kids?”
“Three.”
“Are they little?”
He laughed.
“My youngest is thirty-one.”
That sounded ancient to me.
“Why did all those motorcycles stop?”
He shrugged.
“First rider saw you. Rest of us follow the first rider.”
“All hundred?”
“One hundred seventeen.”
I blinked.
“You counted?”
“Someone had to.”
For the first time that night, I smiled.
Then the door opened.
Deputy Morales entered with Claire.
“Emery, can we talk?”
I sat straighter.
“About Dad?”
Morales nodded.
My smile disappeared.
Claire sat on the far side of the room.
Morales placed a photograph on the bedside table.
The medicine bottle.
“Your father had a prescription for a heart medication called propranolol.”
I didn’t understand.
“What does it do?”
“It can affect heart rate and blood pressure.”
“Did it kill him?”
“We don’t know.”
Claire looked sick.
Morales continued.
“The bottle found in Valerie’s car was filled two weeks before your father died.”
I looked at the label.
“It’s empty.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“According to pharmacy records, your father should have had most of those pills remaining.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you saying?”
“We’re reopening questions around his death.”
My eyes filled.
“You said heart attack.”
“That was the original conclusion.”
“Was it wrong?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I hated those words again.
Claire reached toward me, then stopped before touching my hand.
I noticed.
I placed my hand closer.
She gently covered it.
Her fingers trembled.
Morales continued.
“Valerie says your father accidentally took too much medication.”
“Did he?”
“She claims he sometimes forgot doses.”
I shook my head.
“Dad had a pill organizer.”
Morales leaned forward.
“You remember that?”
“It was beside the coffee machine.”
“Did Valerie ever handle his medicine?”
“Yes.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“How often?”
“After Dad got headaches.”
“What headaches?”
I frowned.
“He started getting sick a few months before he died.”
Morales’s pen stopped.
“What kind of sick?”
“Tired. Dizzy.”
I remembered him sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing his temples.
Valerie bringing tea.
Dad saying it tasted strange.
My heart started pounding.
“He said his coffee tasted bitter sometimes.”
Morales and Claire looked at each other.
“Did that happen often?”
“I don’t know.”
A memory surfaced.
Dad whispering into his phone in the garage.
“I need another blood test.”
Then Valerie walking in.
He stopped talking.
I swallowed.
“He went to the doctor.”
“When?”
“A week before he died.”
Morales nodded.
“We’ll request those records.”
Claire squeezed my hand.
I looked at her.
“Did Dad really contact you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see?”
She immediately pulled out her phone.
There were emails.
Dozens.
Most unanswered at first.
Then Dad’s responses began three months before his death.
Claire opened one.
Emery asks about you.
I stared.
Dad had written it.
I knew his typing style.
He always used two spaces after periods because he said that was how he learned.
Another message.
I think Valerie lied to both of us.
Another.
I found withdrawals from Emery’s trust. I need to fix this before Valerie knows what I discovered.
My throat closed.
The final message was sent two nights before he died.
Meet me Friday. I’m bringing Emery. She deserves the truth.
Friday was the day after Dad died.
I started crying.
Claire moved closer.
This time I didn’t stop her.
She wrapped her arms around me.
At first, I stayed stiff.
Then I broke.
I cried into the shoulder of a mother I barely remembered.
“I thought you didn’t want me.”
Her body shook.
“I wanted you every single day.”
“Why didn’t you fight harder?”
“I did.”
“Not enough.”
She pulled back.
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
Most adults defended themselves.
Claire didn’t.
“I should have found another way.”
She wiped her face.
“I was scared after the accident. I was broke. Valerie had lawyers. Your father believed her. Then years passed, and I convinced myself I would hurt you by appearing suddenly.”
I looked down.
“That was stupid.”
A tiny laugh escaped her through tears.
“Yes.”
“It was.”
“Yes.”
I almost smiled.
Then Morales’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
Minutes later, she returned.
Her expression was serious.
“They found something at your house.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Your father kept a locked box inside his office wall.”
I knew the wall.
Behind the photograph of Dad and me fishing.
“What was inside?”
Morales looked at Claire.
Then back at me.
“Copies of financial records.”
“That’s not all.”
I could tell.
“No.”
“What else?”
“A handwritten letter.”
My heart pounded.
“From Dad?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
Morales swallowed.
“To you.”
I sat completely still.
“Can I have it?”
“It’s currently evidence.”
My eyes filled.
“But we photographed it.”
She handed me several printed pages.
Dad’s handwriting filled them.
My hands shook so badly Claire helped hold the paper.
Birdie,
If you’re reading this, then I failed to tell you something in person.
I stopped.
My vision blurred.
Claire whispered, “Take your time.”
I continued.
Your mother did not abandon you.
I stared at the words.
Dad knew.
Dad knew.
I kept reading.
I believed lies because they were carefully built around my fears.
That is my failure, not yours or Claire’s.
I covered my mouth.
There was more.
I have discovered Valerie has taken money from your trust.
I am also concerned that some of my recent medical problems may not be natural.
Claire gasped.
The room disappeared around me.
Dad had known.
He had been afraid.
The final paragraph was short.
If anything happens to me, do not stay with Valerie.
Find your mother.
Trust Claire.
And remember this above everything:
None of this happened because of you.
I started sobbing.
For eight months, Valerie had told me Dad died because I stressed him.
Dad had known she might say it.
And from beyond the grave, he had answered her.
None of this happened because of you.
Claire held me.
I read those words again.
Then Morales’s phone rang once more.
This time, she answered and immediately stood.
“What happened?” Claire asked.
Morales looked at me.
“Valerie made bail.”
My entire body went cold.
Claire stood.
“How?”
“Her attorney moved quickly.”
“Where is she?”
“We don’t know.”
Then my phone buzzed from the bedside table.
Unknown number.
One message.
Your father should have burned that letter.
A second appeared.
Now you’ve made everything worse.
Claire grabbed the phone.
May you like
Morales called for an officer.
And I stared at the hospital window, realizing Valerie knew exactly what we had found.
