Chapter 5 - CLAIRE’S SILENCE
At the hospital, Sophie fell asleep before sunset.
The doctor said her dehydration was mild enough that she did not need admission overnight, but they wanted observation for several hours because of the heat exposure.
I sat in the chair beside her bed.
The stuffed rabbit rested beneath her chin.
A child welfare investigator named Janine Alvarez sat across from me.
She had a calm face and a habit of waiting after asking questions.
That made her difficult to lie to.
Not that I intended to.
“How often did you see Sophie?”
“Before Claire died? Every week.”
“And afterward?”
“Less.”
“How much less?”
I stared at the floor.
“Once or twice a month.”
“Why?”
“Dennis said she was struggling.”
“With what?”
“Grief. Preschool. Sleep.”
“Did you notice changes?”
“Yes.”
The answer came faster than I expected.
Janine waited.
I swallowed.
“She stopped running to the door when I arrived.”
“What did she do instead?”
“She waited for Dennis to tell her she could hug me.”
Janine wrote something.
I hated the sound of her pen.
It felt like evidence against every moment I had failed to understand.
“Anything else?”
“She asked permission to eat snacks.”
Another note.
“She started apologizing constantly.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Dropping a crayon. Needing the bathroom. Talking too loudly.”
“And what did Dennis say about those behaviors?”
“That Claire had spoiled her.”
Janine’s expression did not change.
“When did Claire die?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
“Cause?”
“Brain aneurysm.”
“Was Sophie present?”
“No. She was at preschool.”
“Did Claire ever express concern about Dennis?”
The correct answer should have been no.
That was the answer I had given myself for eighteen months.
But sitting in a hospital beside a child found inside a wardrobe had rearranged my memory.
There had been Thanksgiving two years earlier.
Claire was rinsing dishes.
Dennis had taken Sophie outside.
I walked into the kitchen.
Claire looked toward the back door and said:
“Elmer, if something happened to me, you’d still see her, right?”
I laughed because the question felt absurd.
“Of course.”
“No matter what Dennis said?”
I stopped laughing.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head immediately.
“Nothing.”
“Claire.”
“I’m tired.”
I should have asked again.
Instead, I dried a plate.
“I think she tried to tell me something.”
Janine waited.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
And there it was again.
I don’t know.
The language of people who had noticed enough to be afraid.
My phone buzzed.
Rosa.
I stepped into the hallway to answer.
“The police are still here,” she said. “They asked if I knew where Dennis keeps Sophie’s clothes.”
“Her bedroom.”
“I know.”
She lowered her voice.
“There’s something strange.”
“What?”
“Half her drawers are empty.”
My stomach tightened.
“Maybe he packed for the trip he claimed she was taking.”
“No.”
Rosa sounded certain.
“Her suitcase is here.”
“Could he have moved clothes somewhere else?”
“I’m looking.”
I heard drawers opening.
Then she stopped.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“What?”
“There are cardboard boxes in the garage.”
“What kind?”
“Sophie’s books. Toys. Winter clothes.”
I leaned against the hospital wall.
Dennis had not just confined Sophie.
He had been preparing to move her.
Or remove her.
“Take pictures but don’t touch anything.”
“The police already are.”
“Good.”
Rosa hesitated.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“I found a real-estate brochure on the kitchen counter.”
“For the house?”
“No.”
Paper rustled.
“It’s for a condominium development in Scottsdale, Arizona.”
Dennis had spent the last three months telling me he had no intention of leaving Portland.
I stared through the hospital room window at Sophie.
She shifted in her sleep.
One small hand immediately searched for the rabbit.
Dennis had been packing her belongings.
Planning to leave the state.
Hiding the paternity test.
And locking Sophie in a wardrobe when she asked about Michael.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered if Rosa’s call had not interrupted a punishment.
Maybe it had interrupted an escape.
