Chapter 14 - The Night Michael DiedRussell finally told us.
He had been nineteen.
Wayne had taken him to meet Michael.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said Michael had stolen money.”
Russell looked sick.
“I believed him.”
“What happened?”
“They argued.”
“Then?”
“Wayne hit him.”
I stared.
“With what?”
“A tire iron.”
The room spun.
“Was Michael dead?”
Russell shook his head.
“When we left, he was alive.”
“Then how did he die?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear.”
Samuel stepped forward.
“Russell, what did Wayne make you do?”
Russell closed his eyes.
“He made me drive.”
“Where?”
“To the river.”
“For what?”
“There was a car.”
My blood ran cold.
“Michael's?”
Russell nodded.
“Wayne put something in the trunk.”
“What?”
“A suitcase.”
“What was inside?”
“Documents.”
“Which documents?”
“The original settlement papers.”
My breathing stopped.
“Wayne didn't just steal my money.”
Russell looked at me.
“He stole the evidence.”
My voice trembled.
“What else?”
Russell swallowed.
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“The hospital nursery.”
I looked at Emily.
Russell continued.
“Wayne told me Michael had been investigating him.”
“And?”
“He wanted the photograph destroyed.”
“Did you destroy it?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
Russell looked toward Samuel.
“Samuel has it.”
Everyone turned.
Samuel's face went pale.
I stared at him.
“You knew?”
He nodded.
“I kept it.”
“For thirty years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To prove what happened.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
I nearly screamed.
“Everyone kept deciding what I could handle!”
Samuel lowered his head.
Then he did something unexpected.
He opened his briefcase.
Inside was the photograph.
A row of hospital bassinets.
Two babies.
One had a white blanket.
The other a blue blanket.
Wayne stood in the background.
Beside him was Arthur Voss.
And on the far edge of the photograph was a young woman.
Mama.
She was holding a third baby.
I stared.
“There are three.”
Samuel nodded.
My skin turned cold.
“Three babies?”
“Yes.”
Emily whispered:
“Who was the third?”
Samuel didn't answer.
Because there was something written on the back.
Three names.
Linda.
Emily.
And:
Sarah.
I had never heard the name.
Russell looked at me.
“Mama had another daughter.”
I couldn't speak.
“Where is she?”
Russell whispered:
“We don't know.”
A phone rang.
Everyone froze.
It was Samuel's.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
Then Samuel's face turned white.
He hung up.
“What did they say?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Sarah is alive.”
I stood.
“Where?”
May you like
Samuel swallowed.
“They said she's coming home.”
