Chapter 2 - What Emma Saw
Gregory did not speak during the drive home.
Nicole preferred his anger.
Anger had sound.
Silence forced her imagination to fill the gaps.
Emma sat in the back seat clutching the small stuffed rabbit she had insisted on taking to the funeral.
Finally she whispered, “Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad at me?”
Nicole looked at her through the mirror.
“No.”
“You told me I was confused.”
Gregory glanced toward his wife.
Nicole felt the weight of that glance.
“I said the situation was confusing.”
“That’s not what you said.”
Emma had inherited Raymond’s irritating precision.
Normally Nicole loved it.
Today she wished her daughter could forget.
Gregory turned slightly.
“Emma, tell Daddy exactly what happened yesterday.”
Nicole’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Gregory.”
“I’m asking my daughter a question.”
Emma hesitated.
Gregory smiled.
“Did you see Uncle Raymond?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In Mommy’s car.”
“Where was the car?”
Nicole interrupted.
“That’s enough.”
Gregory’s voice sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because she’s six.”
“And because you don’t want her answering?”
Emma looked between them.
Nicole could see anxiety replacing confusion.
She hated herself for creating it.
“Sweetheart,” Nicole said, “you haven’t done anything wrong.”
Gregory leaned toward the back seat.
“What was Uncle Raymond wearing?”
“A shirt.”
“What color?”
“Gray.”
“Was he hurt?”
Nicole’s pulse jumped.
Emma thought.
“He was dirty.”
Gregory went still.
“Dirty how?”
“Like fireplace dirty.”
“Did he say anything?”
Emma looked at Nicole.
Nicole said nothing.
“He said Auntie—”
Emma stopped.
“I’m not his auntie.”
Gregory frowned.
Emma corrected herself.
“He said Mommy’s name.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think.”
“Gregory.”
“I said think, Emma.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
Nicole slammed on the brakes at the edge of an empty intersection.
The seat belts locked.
She turned.
“Do not interrogate her.”
Gregory stared back.
“I’m trying to understand why my supposedly dead brother-in-law was in my wife’s car.”
“And you’re frightening our daughter.”
Emma began crying quietly.
Gregory sat back.
Nicole drove the remaining distance without another word.
Their home in Westbridge, Connecticut, had always represented everything Nicole thought she wanted: cedar shingles, stone chimneys, a curved drive beneath maple trees, six bedrooms they rarely used.
That afternoon it felt like a trap.
Emma went upstairs with the housekeeper.
Gregory poured bourbon.
Nicole removed her black heels and carried them into the kitchen.
He followed.
“Start talking.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“You stopped the cremation.”
“I want certainty.”
“You identified Raymond’s body yourself.”
“I identified what they showed me.”
“You signed the release.”
“Because you told me the medical examiner had confirmed it.”
“He had.”
“Then why are you worried about another examination?”
Gregory set down the glass.
“I’m worried because our daughter just announced at a funeral that a dead man was sitting in your car yesterday.”
Nicole opened the refrigerator simply to have something to do.
Gregory closed it.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nicole.”
“I don’t know where Raymond is.”
That was technically true.
After leaving her car, Raymond had refused to tell her where he was going.
Gregory studied her.
Then his expression softened.
That was worse.
“Whatever Raymond has pulled you into,” he said, “you can still walk away.”
Nicole looked at him.
“Pulled me into?”
“Your brother has always believed rules apply to other people.”
“So you think he’s alive?”
“I think something is wrong.”
“And if he is alive?”
Gregory paused.
“Then someone committed a serious crime.”
Nicole almost laughed.
The hypocrisy was breathtaking.
Instead she said, “Maybe more than one person did.”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
That evening Gregory locked himself in his study.
Nicole sat beside Emma until she slept.
At eleven seventeen, Nicole’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet before answering.
“Hello?”
Raymond’s voice came immediately.
“Did they stop the cremation?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Emma saw you.”
Silence.
Then: “What?”
“She told everyone.”
Another silence.
Longer.
“Gregory?”
“He heard everything.”
Raymond cursed quietly.
Nicole closed her eyes.
“You need to tell me what is happening.”
“I told you enough.”
“No. You told me somebody tried to kill you. You told me not to call my husband. You told me not to let them cremate a stranger. That isn’t enough.”
“Nicole—”
“Who is in that casket?”
Raymond did not answer.
The pause told her something she had not understood before.
He knew.
“You know who it is.”
“Listen to me carefully.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
Her throat tightened.
“You used me.”
“No.”
“You let me stand beside a dead stranger while everyone told me he was my brother.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I mean it.”
Nicole lowered her voice.
“Then prove it.”
Raymond exhaled.
“Tomorrow. Ten a.m. Go to the old Briar Road greenhouse.”
“That place has been closed for years.”
“That’s why.”
“Raymond—”
“And don’t bring your phone.”
The line disconnected.
Nicole stared at the screen.
When she opened the bathroom door, Gregory was standing in the bedroom.
He looked sleepy.
Almost.
“Everything okay?”
Nicole forced a smile.
“Just checking Emma’s school messages.”
Gregory nodded.
May you like
Then he looked at the phone in her hand.
Nicole realized, too late, that the call screen was still glowing.
