Chapter 7: The Mother We Buried Twice
“Your mother is dead,” I whispered.
Grace stared at me, her expression painfully calm.
“That's what Dad told us.””
I felt the floor shift beneath my feet.
Our mother had supposedly died when I was twenty-four, following complications from a stroke. I remembered the hospital room, the white sheets, and my father's hand gripping mine as a doctor explained that nothing more could be done.
I remembered the funeral, too.
The closed casket.
The flowers.
Edward Vale standing beside my father, whispering that grief was sometimes the price of loving someone deeply.
And now Grace was telling me that our mother might still be alive.
“Explain,” I demanded.
Edward's two men stood near the station entrance. Daniel had gone pale, and the folder containing our father's confession lay scattered across the concrete.
Grace looked at Edward.
“You know where she is.””
Edward tightened his grip on the handgun.
“Your mother has nothing to do with this.””
“Then you won't mind telling us where she is.””
He took a step toward her.
“Give me the photograph.””
Grace slipped it into her pocket.
“No.””
Edward raised the weapon slightly.
“Don't test me.””
I moved in front of Grace.
“You said you wanted the recording. Take the documents. Let us leave.””
Edward laughed without humor.
“You still think this is about documents? Your father built an empire on secrets. Your mother was the one who discovered how deep they went.””
I froze.
“What did she discover?””
His expression hardened.
“Enough to destroy everything.””
“Then why didn't you destroy her?””
For a moment, Edward said nothing.
Then he smiled.
“Perhaps I did.””
One of the men behind him shifted nervously.
“Mr. Vale, we should leave. The police could be here any minute.””
Edward turned on him.
“I didn't ask for your opinion.””
The man lowered his eyes.
I recognized the behavior immediately. Edward didn't need to shout to control people. He made them feel that one wrong word could cost them everything.
Grace pulled my sleeve.
“Lucy, we need to go.””
I glanced at Daniel.
He nodded almost imperceptibly.
While Edward argued with his men, Daniel scooped up the scattered papers and shoved them into his briefcase. I grabbed the metal box.
Then the station lights flickered.
A distant alarm began ringing.
Someone had triggered the emergency system.
Edward spun toward the entrance.
“Move!””
Daniel shoved the briefcase into my hands.
“Run!””
We raced down the aisle between the lockers. One of Edward's men lunged for Grace, but she ducked beneath his arm and slammed the locker door into his shoulder.
He cursed.
We burst through a side exit into the cold evening air.
A police cruiser screeched around the corner.
Edward's voice followed us from inside the station.
“Lucienne! You have no idea what you're doing!””
I didn't look back.
Daniel led us to his car, and we drove away before the officers could question us. Only when the station had disappeared behind us did I realize my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the metal box.
Grace sat beside me, clutching the photograph.
“Where would Mom go?”” I asked.
She stared out the window.
“Somewhere Edward couldn't reach her.””
“That's not an answer.””
“It's the only one I have.””
Daniel glanced at us through the rearview mirror.
“There may be a record of your mother's medical treatment. If the death certificate was fraudulent, we could trace the institution that issued it.””
Grace shook her head.
“He would have changed everything. He changed my name, my birthday, my entire life. He could have done the same to her.””
I looked down at the photograph.
It showed our mother standing beside a white house surrounded by pine trees. She appeared younger than I remembered, perhaps in her late forties, with one hand resting on a wooden railing.
On the back, my father had written an address in rural Georgia.
Beneath it were the words:
If the girls are ever reunited, take them to Eleanor.
Eleanor.
Our mother's name.
I traced the handwriting with my thumb.
“Daniel, can you get us there?””
He checked the address.
“It's about two hours away.””
“Then drive.””
The journey felt endless.
Grace barely spoke. She held the photograph against her chest and watched the darkness outside. Every time headlights appeared behind us, she turned sharply to look.
I wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know how.
I had spent twenty-five years mourning a sister who was alive. Now I was discovering that the mother I'd buried might have been alive, too.
How much of my life had been built on lies?
At last, Daniel turned onto a narrow gravel road. Trees crowded both sides, their branches scraping against the roof of the car.
At the end stood a modest white house with green shutters.
A single porch light glowed above the door.
I stepped out before Daniel had fully stopped.
“Mom?””
The word escaped my mouth before I could think.
The front door opened.
An elderly woman stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. Her hair was almost entirely white, and a long scar ran from her temple toward her jaw.
But her eyes were unmistakable.
I had seen those eyes in every photograph from my childhood.
“Lucy?”” she whispered.
My knees nearly gave way.
“Mom?””
She dropped the cane.
I ran toward her, and she caught me in her arms with a strength I hadn't expected.
“Oh, my baby,” she sobbed.
“My beautiful baby.””
I buried my face against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of lavender and warm wool. For one impossible moment, I was six years old again, standing in the kitchen while she braided my hair before school.
Then Grace appeared behind me.
Our mother lifted her head.
She stared at Grace as if she were seeing a ghost.
“No,” she whispered.
“No, that can't be.””
Grace took one hesitant step forward.
“It's me, Mom.””
Our mother's face crumpled.
She reached for her youngest daughter, then stopped abruptly, her eyes darting toward the road.
“Did he follow you?””
I nodded, unable to speak.
She grabbed both our hands and dragged us inside, slamming the door behind us.
“Listen to me,” she said, locking the deadbolt.
“Edward knows you're here now. And if he discovers what I kept hidden, he won't stop at threatening you.””
She led us to a small bedroom and pulled a photograph from beneath the mattress.
It showed our father standing beside Edward.
Between them stood a third man.
I recognized him instantly.
It was the judge who had signed my mother's death certificate.
Our mother placed the photograph on the bed.
“Your father didn't arrange Grace's disappearance to protect the family,” she whispered.
“He did it because Edward had discovered the truth about who your father really was.””
I stared at her.
“What truth?””
She looked at Grace, tears gathering in her eyes.
May you like
Then she spoke the words that shattered everything I thought I knew about my family.
“Your father wasn't the man who owned the money, Lucy. He was the man who stole it.””
