Chapter 13 - THE WARNING IN MY OLD DUFFEL BAG
Daniel recognized the note immediately.
“I wrote that in your dorm parking lot.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Why put it in my bag?”
“I didn’t.”
That answer scared me.
“You wrote it but didn’t give it to me?”
“I folded it and put it in my jacket.”
“Then how did it get here?”
Daniel took the paper.
“I don’t know.”
Dad stared.
“Did you come to our house that night?”
“No.”
“Did Bell?”
Daniel’s face changed.
“Maybe.”
Mom sat down.
“Marcus came once.”
Everyone turned.
“When?”
“The night Emma left.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“What?”
“It was late.”
“How late?”
“After midnight.”
I stared.
I had left around nine.
“What did he want?”
“He said he needed to speak to Tom.”
Dad looked stunned.
“I was asleep?”
“You’d been drinking.”
Dad’s face tightened.
That sounded familiar.
He drank heavily for several months after I left.
Mom continued.
“I told Marcus you were unavailable.”
“Did he come inside?”
“For a few minutes.”
My skin crawled.
“Where was my bag?”
“On the porch.”
Leo looked confused.
“Why was Mom’s bag outside?”
I closed my eyes.
Because I had cried so hard while loading my car that I apparently left one behind.
Daniel turned the note over.
“There’s dirt on one corner.”
Dad frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Bell could have had this in his possession.”
“How?”
Daniel’s expression hardened.
“He searched my desk.”
The planted personal items in the warehouse.
The fake death.
Bell had taken Daniel’s belongings.
Maybe the jacket too.
“Why put the warning in Emma’s bag?” Margaret asked.
Daniel looked at Mom.
“To scare her.”
Mom whispered:
“Or to see whether she would contact Daniel.”
A trap.
If I found a warning telling me not to trust my father, maybe I would try to reach Daniel.
Bell could watch.
Follow.
Find him.
Except I never found the note.
I left the whole bag behind.
For once, my carelessness may have helped.
Dad sat heavily.
“So Bell was outside this house the night Emma left.”
Daniel nodded.
“And Emma leaving town…”
“Probably saved her.”
Again.
Chance.
Not parental wisdom.
Dad understood the difference now.
He looked toward me.
“I’m glad you left.”
The words would have destroyed me once.
Now I understood.
“I’m not glad you made me.”
“No.”
A week passed.
Leo and I stayed in Ohio.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because leaving immediately would have felt like running before I chose the direction.
Daniel rented a room nearby.
He and Leo spent afternoons together.
Nothing dramatic.
Mini golf.
A science museum.
Building a model rocket that Leo immediately crashed into a tree.
Daniel never tried to replace ten missing years in ten days.
That helped.
My parents saw Leo twice.
Both times because he asked.
Mom cooked too much food.
Dad tried not to interrogate him about school.
They were awkward.
Human.
One evening, Leo sat beside me on the old porch.
“Are you still mad at them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love them?”
I considered lying.
“Yes.”
“Can you do both?”
“Apparently.”
He nodded like he was filing that away.
Then he asked:
“Do you love Dad?”
Daniel.
I looked toward the driveway.
He was helping my father replace a broken porch rail.
Two men separated by ten years of lies.
“I loved him when I was nineteen.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Damn observant child.
“I don’t know what I feel now.”
“Okay.”
No pressure.
Children were sometimes better at boundaries than adults.
That night Daniel found me in the backyard.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“For Virginia.”
I hated the reaction in my chest.
He noticed.
“My job is there.”
“Right.”
“My apartment.”
“Right.”
“But I want to come back.”
I looked at him.
“For Leo?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“And for you, if you want that.”
My breathing changed.
“Daniel…”
“I’m not asking you to restart something that ended ten years ago.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking whether I can learn who you are now.”
That was different.
“I think so.”
He smiled.
Then reached into his pocket.
A small key.
“What is this?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
My stomach sank.
“Please tell me there isn’t another trust.”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Something I saved before I entered protection.”
“What?”
He placed the key in my hand.
“The only photograph I had of us.”
I looked at him.
May you like
Then he added:
“And a ring I bought three days before the fire.”
