Chapter 2: The Photograph My Mother Left Behind
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
The photograph was old, its edges yellowed and slightly torn.
My mother looked younger than I remembered her. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, and she was smiling at the camera while holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
Me.
But it wasn't the baby that frightened me.
It was the man standing beside her.
He wore a black leather vest and had one arm resting casually across my mother's shoulders.
Behind them was a motorcycle.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
For Walter, who promised to look after our little girl. June 14, 2009.
I looked at Jace.
"Who is this man?""
Jace glanced toward the group.
"My father kept that picture in his bedroom. He never explained much about it.""
"Why would he have a picture of my mother?""
"That's what I was hoping you'd tell me.""
I shook my head.
"I don't understand.""
Jace lowered his voice.
"Emily, my father talked about your mother a lot during his final days. He said there were things he should have told you years ago.""
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
"What things?""
"There's someone who can explain better than I can.""
He turned toward the entrance.
An older biker was standing near the doors.
He had a thick gray beard, broad shoulders, and a faded leather vest. His sunglasses hung from the collar of his shirt.
When he saw me looking, he approached slowly.
"Emily Parker?""
"Yes.""
He studied my face.
For a moment, he looked as though he might cry.
"My goodness," he whispered.
"You have her eyes.""
"Did you know my mother?""
The man nodded.
"My name is Tom Reed. Your mother was like a sister to me.""
I stared at him.
"Then why have I never heard of you?""
Tom lowered his head.
"Because some promises are harder to keep than others.""
I didn't like that answer.
I held up the photograph.
"Why did Walter have this?""
Tom glanced at Jace.
Jace nodded.
Tom exhaled.
"Your mother asked Walter to keep something safe. He kept it for years. After Walter passed, we found a box in his belongings with your name written on it.""
"What's inside?""
"More than I think you're ready for.""
I felt frustration rising in my chest.
"Everybody keeps saying that! My aunt says it. My teachers say it.
People tell me I'm too young to understand things. I'm sixteen, not six!""
Tom didn't argue.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and produced a second envelope.
"This one was written by your mother.""
My knees nearly buckled.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
The rounded letters.
The little hearts she used to draw above the letter I.
I hadn't seen her handwriting since I was eleven.
"Where did you get that?"" I whispered.
"Walter kept it locked away.""
I took the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
To my sweet Emily. Open when she's old enough to understand.
I carefully unfolded the letter.
The paper smelled faintly of dust and something floral.
My mother's first words made the room disappear.
My sweet Emily,
If you're reading this, then I wasn't able to explain everything to you myself.
I need you to know something before you believe anything anyone tells you.
You were never unwanted. You were never a burden. And no matter what happens, your father loves you more than you can imagine.
I stopped.
My father.
The man who had disappeared without saying goodbye.
The man my aunt had described as selfish, irresponsible, and dead to us.
I continued reading.
Your father may have to leave one day. If that happens, please don't mistake his absence for a lack of love.
My throat tightened.
Then came the paragraph that changed everything.
If your father ever disappears, find Tom Reed. He knows what happened to our family.
I lowered the letter.
"Tom?""
The older man removed his sunglasses.
"I'm here, sweetheart.""
"What's happened to my family?""
He glanced at the other bikers.
Nobody spoke.
I looked from one face to another.
"Please. I deserve to know.""
Tom pulled a chair closer and sat down.
"Your mother and I grew up together. We weren't related by blood, but she was family. Your father was also part of our circle.""
"Your circle?""
"We were a group of friends who helped people. We raised money for children who'd lost their parents. Paid medical bills. Found homes for families who needed them.""
I looked at his vest.
"So you were a motorcycle club?""
Tom nodded.
"Still are.""
"Why would my mother need help from a motorcycle club?""
His expression hardened.
"Because she discovered that someone was stealing from the charity.""
I stared at him.
"Stealing money meant for children?""
"Thousands of dollars. Maybe more.""
"Who?""
Tom looked away.
"That's where things became dangerous.""
I unfolded the letter again.
"Why did my mother write your name?""
Tom took a long breath.
"Because she knew something was going to happen.""
My stomach twisted.
"What happened?""
He looked directly at me.
"Your mother didn't die the way you were told.""
I shook my head.
"Stop.""
"Emily—"
"She died in a car accident. That's what the police report said. That's what my aunt told me. That's what everybody told me.""
Tom reached for the photograph.
He turned it over and pointed to the date.
"June 14, 2009. This was taken when your mother was already worried about someone following her.""
I stepped backward.
"You're saying somebody killed my mother?""
Tom didn't answer immediately.
Then he said the words I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Your mother had discovered who was stealing from the children's charity. And that person had connections powerful enough to make an accident look convincing.""
I felt sick.
I looked at Jace.
He was watching me with a mixture of sympathy and anger.
"Why didn't anyone tell the police?""
Tom rubbed his beard.
"Your father tried.""
"What happened to him?""
Tom reached inside his jacket again.
This time, he pulled out a photograph of five men standing outside an old warehouse.
One was my father.
Another was Walter Miller.
Tom pointed to the man standing at the far right.
I recognized his face immediately.
I had seen him in photographs at my aunt's house.
A man she'd once introduced as an old family friend.
Tom's voice dropped.
"That's the man who was responsible for your mother's death.""
I stared at the photograph.
"Who is he?""
Tom looked at me.
"His name is Richard Hayes.""
May you like
Then he added quietly:
"Your father disappeared because he found out Richard knew where you lived.""
