Chapter 14 - THE MOTHER WHO RAN TWICE
Z
Eleanor wanted to go to Wisconsin immediately.
Gabriel said no.
They argued for forty-three minutes.
Then Eleanor reminded him he had once proposed on a dock using a ribbon instead of a ring.
Gabriel said that was irrelevant.
Eleanor said it proved his judgment was imperfect.
They left at dawn.
The town was two hours north of Chicago.
Population 6,400.
One grocery store.
One diner.
One church with a white steeple.
Maria Caruso lived under the name Marie Carson in a small blue house at the edge of town.
Gabriel parked two streets away.
“No security visible,” Marco said.
Eleanor looked at the house.
“She knows we’re coming.”
“Probably.”
Gabriel reached for her hand.
“You don’t have to go in.”
“Yes.”
“You can turn around.”
“I know.”
Those three words mattered.
She walked alone to the porch.
Gabriel stayed by the car.
The woman opened the door before Eleanor knocked.
Seventy.
Maybe.
Silver hair.
Red scarf.
Same eyes.
Eleanor stopped.
She had spent her whole life seeing her mother’s eyes in mirrors.
Only now she learned they belonged to someone else.
Maria looked at her for a long time.
Then whispered, “Elena.”
Eleanor’s breath broke.
“My name is Eleanor.”
Maria closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Did you send the photograph?”
“No.”
“Did you know someone did?”
“No.”
“Do you want me here?”
Maria’s face folded.
“I don’t know.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
At least the answer was honest.
“Can I come inside?”
Maria stepped aside.
The house smelled of cinnamon and old wood.
No family photographs.
No signs of children.
Only books.
Plants.
A blue mug on the table.
Eleanor sat.
Maria did not.
“You look like my mother.”
Eleanor swallowed.
“Did she know about me?”
Maria’s hands began shaking.
“My mother died before you were born.”
Silence.
“Who was my father?”
Maria turned toward the window.
“His name was Peter Walsh.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
“Did he know?”
“No.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly.
Another dead stranger added to her history.
“What happened?”
Maria finally sat.
“I worked nights at Bellini’s restaurant.”
Gabriel knew the name.
Old Moretti property.
Maria continued.
“One night I saw Salvatore Moretti kill a man in the storage room.”
“Who?”
“A union organizer.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked down.
“I told a police officer.”
“Bad idea.”
“Yes.”
“The officer told Salvatore.”
“Yes.”
Maria’s voice broke.
“They took you two days later.”
Eleanor froze.
“You knew?”
“I came home and your crib was empty.”
Maria started crying.
“I thought someone had stolen you for money.”
“When did you learn why?”
“Salvatore called.”
The room went still.
“He said if I ever spoke again, I would never see you.”
Eleanor felt sick.
“So you stayed quiet.”
“For weeks.”
“Then?”
“I tried to leave Chicago.”
“What happened?”
“They caught me.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened from his position outside the room, listening through Eleanor’s earpiece only because she had asked.
Maria continued.
“Lucia found me before Salvatore did.”
“You knew Lucia?”
“Not before then.”
“What did she say?”
“That she knew where you were.”
Eleanor gripped the table.
“At Saint Agnes.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she give me back?”
“She planned to.”
“But the fire.”
Maria nodded.
“Afterward, she told me you were safe with a family.”
Eleanor stared.
“You let them keep me.”
Maria flinched.
“I was being followed.”
“You let strangers raise your baby.”
“Yes.”
Anger arrived.
Hot.
Immediate.
“You could have come back later.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
Maria looked at her.
“You were six.”
Eleanor stopped.
“That’s when Salvatore found the hidden certificate.”
“Yes.”
“Lucia moved Emma.”
“And me.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Eleanor stood.
“You ran again.”
Maria’s face hardened through tears.
“I stayed alive.”
“So did I.”
“Yes.”
“You missed everything.”
“Yes.”
“My mother died and you didn’t come.”
Maria closed her eyes.
“I went to the funeral.”
Eleanor stopped breathing.
“What?”
“I stood across the cemetery.”
Memory flashed.
Rain.
Black umbrellas.
A woman in a red scarf far beyond the graves.
Eleanor had noticed her.
Of course she had.
Even then.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you speak to me?”
“Because Salvatore was alive.”
“He died two years later.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Maria had no answer.
That was the answer.
Fear did not disappear when danger died.
Sometimes it simply became habit.
Eleanor sat again.
“You were afraid.”
“Yes.”
“For thirty-one years.”
“Yes.”
Eleanor wanted to hate her.
It would have been easier.
Instead she saw a young waitress with a stolen infant and no power.
A woman threatened by a man like Salvatore.
A woman Lucia tried to protect imperfectly.
A woman who survived badly because surviving beautifully was never an option.
“You could have written.”
“Yes.”
“You could have called.”
“Yes.”
“You should have.”
“Yes.”
Maria did not defend herself.
That saved the conversation.
Outside, Gabriel turned suddenly.
Marco’s voice came through the radio.
“Vehicle approaching fast.”
A black pickup stopped in front of the house.
Two men stepped out.
Gabriel moved.
“Eleanor, away from the windows.”
She stood immediately.
Maria froze.
“No.”
“What?”
Maria went white.
“I know him.”
One of the men approached the porch.
Mid-sixties.
Tall.
Bald.
Gabriel intercepted him.
The man stopped.
“Gabriel Moretti.”
“Name.”
“Vincent Hale.”
Gabriel recognized it.
Old family attorney.
Retired fifteen years ago.
“Why are you here?”
Vincent looked toward the house.
“For Maria.”
Gabriel’s body shifted.
Protective.
“You’re not getting near her.”
Vincent laughed.
“That sounds exactly like your father.”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
Vincent raised both hands.
“I’m not armed.”
Marco checked anyway.
Clean.
Eleanor stepped onto the porch.
Maria followed behind her.
Vincent looked at Maria.
“You should have called me.”
Maria whispered, “I thought you were dead.”
“Almost.”
Eleanor looked between them.
“Who is he?”
Maria’s face changed.
Vincent answered.
“The man Lucia paid to keep your mother alive.”
Gabriel frowned.
“You worked for my father.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother.”
“Mostly your mother by the end.”
Vincent reached slowly inside his coat.
Marco moved.
“Easy.”
Vincent produced an envelope.
“Lucia gave me this nineteen years ago.”
“Why nineteen?” Eleanor asked.
“She expected Salvatore to find Emma eventually.”
Vincent looked at Gabriel.
“She prepared contingencies.”
“Of course she did.”
Vincent handed Eleanor the envelope.
On the front:
FOR ELENA, IF SHE EVER FINDS MARIA.
Eleanor stared.
Another letter.
Another piece of Lucia reaching through time.
She opened it.
The first line made her sit down.
Elena, if you are reading this, then I owe you the one truth I was too ashamed to give anyone else.
Eleanor continued.
Her face changed.
Gabriel moved closer.
“What?”
She handed him the page.
Lucia had not discovered Eleanor by accident.
She had known Maria before Salvatore took the baby.
Lucia knew Maria planned to testify.
Lucia encouraged her.
Lucia promised protection.
And that promise failed.
Eleanor whispered, “She convinced my mother to speak.”
Maria started crying.
Lucia’s letter continued:
I believed I could control Salvatore’s reaction. I believed his love for me was stronger than his need for power. I was wrong. Elena was taken because Maria trusted me.
Eleanor stared at Maria.
“You never told me.”
“You had enough to hate.”
“I don’t hate you.”
Maria broke.
For the first time, Eleanor crossed the room and held her biological mother.
Awkwardly.
Not like mother and daughter.
Not yet.
Like two survivors connected by the same wound.
Gabriel looked away to give them privacy.
That was when the second vehicle arrived.
A gray sedan.
Rebecca Vale stepped out.
Her face was pale.
She held a phone.
“Gabriel.”
He knew before she reached them.
“What?”
“Emma is gone.”
Eleanor released Maria.
“Gone how?”
Rebecca showed them the screen.
A video.
Emma sat tied to a chair.
Behind her stood Daniel Keane.
The lawyer who claimed he wanted the truth.
The man who brought them evidence.
The man whose father burned Saint Agnes.
Daniel looked directly into the camera.
“Enough family reunions.”
He smiled.
“Bring Lucia’s journals to Saint Agnes.”
Rebecca whispered, “He lied about everything.”
On screen, Daniel continued.
“And Gabriel?”
May you like
His smile disappeared.
“Come alone.”
