Chapter 2
Arthur Bennett ran harder than he had run in twenty years.
Rain soaked through his dress shirt.
Cars hissed through puddles beside him.
He nearly slipped stepping off the curb.
But he kept moving.
“Miss!”
No answer.
“Please!”
He saw the young woman half a block away, running toward a pharmacy beneath a flickering green sign.
Arthur pushed through the door seconds after her.
She was standing at the counter.
The pharmacist was holding a small white bag.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s fifty-eight twelve with tax.”
The woman opened her fist.
The same fifty-dollar bill Arthur had given her was crushed inside.
“I only have fifty.”
Her voice broke.
“Can I pay the rest tomorrow?”
The pharmacist looked uncomfortable.
“I wish I could.”
“My daughter is eight.”
“I understand.”
“She has a fever of one hundred and three.”
“I understand, ma’am, but I can’t—”
“I’ll pay it.”
The woman froze.
Arthur stood behind her, dripping rainwater onto the pharmacy floor.
He pulled his wallet out with shaking hands.
“I’ll pay all of it.”
She stared at him.
Recognition came first.
Then anger.
“No.”
“Please.”
“I said no.”
Arthur looked at the pharmacist.
“Give her the medicine.”
“Don’t,” she snapped.
People began turning toward them.
Arthur lowered his voice.
“I made a mistake.”
“You made a choice.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
She stepped closer.
“You looked at me like I was trash because I needed eight dollars.”
Arthur had no defense.
She was right.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes filled again.
“You don’t get to humiliate someone and then buy your way out of feeling guilty.”
“This isn’t about guilt.”
“Then what is it about?”
Arthur swallowed.
The locket felt impossibly heavy in his pocket.
“It’s about your mother.”
The woman’s face changed.
“What?”
Arthur reached slowly into his pocket.
He placed the locket on the counter.
She grabbed it immediately.
“You had no right to open it.”
“I made it.”
Silence.
The pharmacist stopped moving.
The woman stared at Arthur.
“You what?”
“Thirty-one years ago.”
“No.”
“I carved those initials.”
“You’re lying.”
“I carved them for my daughter.”
The color drained from her face.
Arthur opened the locket with trembling fingers.
“That woman in the picture was my wife, Evelyn.”
The young woman stared at the photograph.
Arthur pointed to the little girl.
“And that child was our daughter.”
She stepped backward.
“No.”
“Her name was Eleanor Bennett.”
“No.”
“She disappeared when she was six.”
“Stop.”
Arthur’s eyes filled.
“She had this locket the day she disappeared.”
“I said stop.”
The young woman shoved the locket into her pocket.
“My mother’s name was Mara Carter.”
Arthur went still.
“What did you say?”
“Mara Carter.”
Arthur repeated it under his breath.
He knew no Mara Carter.
But something about the name bothered him.
“Mara raised me.”
“Raised you?”
“She was my mother.”
“Were you adopted?”
“No.”
“Do you have a birth certificate?”
She laughed bitterly.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A very important one.”
She reached for the medicine.
“I’m leaving.”
Arthur paid before she could stop him.
The pharmacist handed her the bag.
She looked ready to throw the money back in Arthur’s face.
Then her phone rang.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Her anger vanished.
“What?”
She went pale.
“I’m coming.”
She ran for the door.
Arthur followed.
“Wait!”
“My daughter collapsed.”
Arthur’s heart dropped.
“Where?”
“St. Matthew’s Urgent Care.”
“My car is outside.”
“No.”
“It’s four blocks away.”
“I said no.”
“Your daughter needs you.”
She stared at him for one second.
Then she ran toward his car.
Arthur drove faster than he should have.
The young woman sat rigidly in the passenger seat, medicine clutched to her chest.
“What’s your name?” Arthur asked.
She hesitated.
“Emily.”
“Emily Carter?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
Her head snapped toward him.
“Why?”
“Please.”
“Thirty-seven.”
Arthur’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.
His missing daughter would have been thirty-seven.
“When is your birthday?”
“Stop asking me questions.”
“Emily—”
“January nineteenth.”
Arthur almost hit the brakes.
His vision blurred.
January nineteenth.
Eleanor’s birthday.
Emily noticed his expression.
“What?”
Arthur couldn’t speak.
“What?”
“That was her birthday.”
Emily stared at him.
“No.”
“January nineteenth, 1989.”
Emily stopped breathing.
“How do you know the year?”
Arthur looked at her.
“Because I was there when she was born.”
Emily turned toward the window.
“This is insane.”
Arthur pulled into the urgent care lot.
An ambulance was already there.
Emily was out of the car before it fully stopped.
“Lily!”
Arthur followed her inside.
A nurse blocked the hallway.
“You’re Lily Carter’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“She’s stable. Her fever spiked, and she became dehydrated. We’re transferring her to County Memorial for observation.”
“Can I see her?”
“In one minute.”
Emily covered her mouth.
Arthur watched her shoulders shake.
He remembered Evelyn doing the same thing when Eleanor had pneumonia at four years old.
The resemblance suddenly hurt.
The same way of rubbing the thumb against the side of the index finger.
The same crease between the eyebrows.
The same stubborn attempt not to cry in front of strangers.
Arthur felt sick.
He had looked into those eyes fifteen minutes earlier and offered fifty dollars like he was doing her a favor.
A police officer entered through the front doors.
Emily stiffened.
Arthur noticed.
The officer spoke to the receptionist, then approached.
“Emily Carter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Reynolds. The clinic requested assistance because there’s an issue with the emergency contact information attached to your daughter’s insurance file.”
Emily frowned.
“What issue?”
“We’re trying to confirm your identity.”
“My identity?”
The officer held up his hands.
“You’re not in trouble.”
“Then why is a police officer asking me who I am?”
Arthur stepped forward.
“Officer, I may know why.”
Emily turned sharply.
“Stay out of this.”
Arthur did not move.
“My daughter disappeared thirty-one years ago.”
Officer Reynolds looked at him.
“What was her name?”
“Eleanor Bennett.”
The officer’s face changed slightly.
Arthur saw recognition.
The Bennett disappearance had once been one of the most famous missing-child cases in the state.
Emily shook her head.
“No. Absolutely not.”
Officer Reynolds looked between them.
“Ms. Carter, may I see your identification?”
She handed him her driver’s license.
He entered something into his tablet.
His eyebrows pulled together.
He tried again.
Then he asked, “Where were you born?”
“Albany.”
“Which hospital?”
“I don’t know.”
“Parents’ full names?”
“Mara Carter. I never knew my father.”
“Your mother’s date of birth?”
Emily gave it.
Reynolds typed.
He stopped.
“What?”
Emily’s voice sharpened.
“What are you seeing?”
He looked at Arthur.
Then back at Emily.
“Ms. Carter, your birth certificate wasn’t registered in 1989.”
Emily stared at him.
“What?”
“It was registered in 1996.”
Arthur felt the room tilt.
1996.
Months after Eleanor disappeared.
Emily laughed nervously.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“The document says you were delivered at home by a licensed midwife named Helen Price.”
“So?”
Officer Reynolds turned the tablet.
“There has never been a licensed midwife named Helen Price registered in this state.”
Emily’s face went blank.
Arthur whispered, “Oh God.”
Reynolds continued.
“Your Social Security record begins in 1996 too.”
Emily looked as if someone had taken the floor away beneath her.
“My mother told me we lost everything in a house fire.”
“Did she ever show you photographs of yourself before age six?”
Emily opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Arthur knew the answer before she said it.
“No.”
A nurse appeared.
“Ms. Carter?”
Emily turned immediately.
“Your daughter is asking for you.”
Every other question disappeared from her face.
She followed the nurse.
Arthur stayed behind.
Officer Reynolds looked at him.
“You’re Arthur Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“You filed the original missing-person report?”
“I did.”
“You still have a detective assigned to the cold case?”
“Detective Lopez.”
Reynolds nodded.
“I’m calling her.”
Arthur leaned against the wall.
He could barely stand.
Twenty minutes later, Lily was transported to County Memorial.
Arthur drove behind the ambulance.
Emily rode inside with her daughter.
Detective Maria Lopez met them at the hospital.
She was fifty-five now.
She had been a rookie when Eleanor disappeared.
For years, she had promised Arthur she would never stop checking new leads.
Most leads had gone nowhere.
A child in Ohio.
A woman in Arizona.
A body found near a river.
Every time, Arthur’s heart had been broken again.
Lopez entered Lily’s room after receiving Emily’s permission.
Emily sat beside the bed, holding her daughter’s hand.
Lily was sleeping.
Arthur stood near the door.
Lopez spoke gently.
“Emily, I need to ask something personal.”
Emily looked exhausted.
“What?”
“Do you have any scars from childhood?”
Emily looked at Arthur.
He had not mentioned a scar.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Behind my left ear.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
Lopez continued.
“How did you get it?”
“My mother said I fell through a glass table when I was little.”
Arthur’s knees weakened.
“No.”
Emily looked at him.
“What?”
“You didn’t fall through a table.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“You had surgery when you were four.”
Emily touched the spot behind her ear.
Arthur’s voice cracked.
“You had a benign growth. Evelyn slept beside you in the hospital for three nights. You hated the bandage because it pulled your hair.”
Emily stared at him.
“You can’t know that.”
“I know because you were my little girl.”
Tears filled Arthur’s eyes.
“You used to call me Daddy Bear.”
Emily shook her head.
“No.”
“You hated peas.”
“Stop.”
“You slept with a stuffed yellow rabbit named Sunny.”
“Stop.”
“You were scared of thunderstorms.”
“Stop!”
Lily stirred.
Emily immediately lowered her voice.
She stood.
“I need air.”
She walked into the hallway.
Arthur did not follow.
Lopez did.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
When Emily returned, she had clearly been crying.
She stood beside Arthur.
“I’ll do the DNA test.”
Arthur looked at her.
“But understand something.”
“Anything.”
“If this says I’m not your daughter, you leave me alone.”
Arthur nodded.
“And if it says I am…”
She stopped.
Arthur waited.
Emily’s voice became smaller.
“If it says I am, that doesn’t make you my father overnight.”
Arthur’s heart broke all over again.
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“No, you don’t.”
Arthur lowered his eyes.
She was right again.
A nurse collected the samples.
Detective Lopez promised to request expedited testing because of the active missing-person case.
As she prepared to leave, her phone buzzed.
She checked the screen.
Then she looked at Arthur.
“What?”
Lopez hesitated.
“We ran Mara Carter’s information.”
Emily stood.
“And?”
“There’s no record of a Mara Carter before 1996.”
Silence filled the room.
Emily whispered, “What does that mean?”
Lopez looked directly at her.
“It means the woman who raised you may not have been Mara Carter.”
Arthur felt cold.
Emily gripped the bed rail.
“Then who was she?”
Lopez took a breath.
“We found a fingerprint match from an old employment record.”
Emily’s lips parted.
Arthur saw something in the detective’s face that frightened him.
“Maria,” he said. “Who was she?”
Lopez looked at him.
“Her real name was Marianne Brooks.”
Arthur’s face collapsed.
Emily noticed.
“You know that name.”
Arthur could barely force the words out.
“Yes.”
“Who was she?”
He stared at the woman who might be his missing daughter.
May you like
Then he said the last thing Emily expected.
“She was your mother’s sister.”
