Chapter 7 - The First Woman Had Worked Nights Too
Evelyn had reopened the Laura search after Nina contacted her.
Canada records did not support Gideon’s old story.
No ordinary relocation trail.
No clear death.
Then someone accessed an email account Evelyn had used years earlier.
One message:
I KNOW YOU’RE LOOKING AGAIN. STOP.
Evelyn replied:
WHO IS THIS?
The response came two days later.
ASK JOAN’S DAUGHTER WHAT GIDEON DOES TO CHILDREN WHEN THEIR MOTHERS WORK NIGHTS.
I stopped breathing.
“Laura?”
“Maybe.”
Another message followed.
IF BERNICE FOUND HER SON DOWNSTAIRS, SHE FOUND HIM EARLIER THAN I FOUND EMMA.
I stood.
“What happened to Emma?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you find out?”
Evelyn looked toward the conference-room door.
“She found us first.”
The woman who entered was in her early forties.
Dark blond hair.
Plain black coat.
No dramatic entrance.
She looked tired.
Alert.
Terrified.
She saw the photograph of Gideon and stopped.
I knew.
“Laura?”
She nodded.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you disappear?”
“Because I thought disappearing was the only way to keep my daughter.”
Laura’s story was my life with different wallpaper.
At first, Gideon had been wonderful with Emma.
School pickups.
Homework.
Dinner.
Laura worked nights.
Soon Gideon began saying:
“You’re lucky I’m basically raising her.”
Then came photographs.
Laura asleep during the day.
A dirty kitchen photographed before she cleaned after work.
Emma eating breakfast with Gideon.
Comments to friends:
“She’s never here.”
Later:
“I don’t know how much longer I can cover for her.”
Then Gideon pushed for refinancing.
Laura refused.
She later found an application carrying a signature that was not hers.
I felt nauseous.
“Same house plan.”
“Yes.”
“Same night-shift story.”
“Yes.”
“Same financial documents.”
“Yes.”
Then Laura pulled an old notebook from her coat.
Child drawings.
A couch.
A staircase.
A little girl sitting downstairs.
One looked disturbingly similar to the way I found Roger.
“Gideon used to make Emma wait downstairs too,” Laura said.
“Why?”
“So she wouldn’t interrupt him.”
“With whom?”
“Marissa. My younger cousin.”
I closed my eyes.
May you like
Celina was not an original idea.
Even the betrayal had a template.
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