Chapter 2 - The House Where Grace Stopped Singing
I stayed for one hour.
Then two.
Then dinner.
By nine that night, I'd learned three things about Harrison Cole's house.
The first was that everybody moved quietly.
Not respectfully.
Carefully.
The second was that Harrison knew where his daughter was every minute without actually spending much time in the same room with her.
The third was that Grace had become an expert at disappearing in plain sight.
She didn't run.
Didn't hide under beds.
She simply occupied corners adults forgot to look at.
Window seats.
The space beneath the staircase.
A little reading alcove behind the library shelves.
Places where she could observe without being observed.
Once I noticed it, I couldn't stop.
Neither could Harrison.
Grace sat at one end of the kitchen island drawing while Harrison spoke privately with the federal prosecutor he'd called earlier.
Her name was Helen Mercer.
She arrived without lights, sirens or a government vehicle.
Mid-fifties.
Short dark hair.
Gray wool coat.
The kind of face that probably made guilty people volunteer information just to end the silence.
Harrison brought her to his study.
I stayed with Grace.
Not because anyone ordered me to.
Because she had started drawing birds.
Two white ones.
One blue.
One black.
"What does the black bird do?" I asked.
Grace stopped coloring.
I immediately regretted it.
"Never mind."
"It watches."
I looked at her.
"The black bird?"
She nodded.
"From where?"
"The window."
A chill moved across my shoulders.
"Does it have a name?"
She colored harder.
I didn't ask again.
Instead I drew my own bird.
It looked like a potato with wings.
Grace glanced at it.
"That's not a bird."
"Art is subjective."
"That's a potato."
"An airborne potato."
She smiled.
Harrison came into the kitchen twenty minutes later.
He stopped when he saw it.
Not my masterpiece.
Grace smiling.
The expression on his face made me look away.
Parents aren't supposed to be grateful just because their child smiles.
That's supposed to be ordinary.
The fact that it wasn't told me everything.
Helen entered behind him.
She crouched several feet from Grace.
"Hi."
Grace immediately looked down.
Helen didn't move closer.
"I'm Helen."
No answer.
"I work for the government."
Grace looked up.
Children apparently considered that interesting.
Helen continued.
"I'm not going to ask you questions tonight."
Harrison frowned.
Helen ignored him.
"I heard you remembered something scary."
Grace gripped her blue pencil.
Helen said, "Sometimes when kids remember scary things, adults ask too many questions and make everything messier."
I liked her.
"So I'm going to talk to your dad. Another person who knows how to talk to kids will talk to you later if you want."
Grace glanced at me.
Helen noticed.
"And Miss Clare can stay if that makes you feel safer."
Harrison looked at me.
I looked at Harrison.
Nobody had discussed me staying.
Grace whispered, "Okay."
Apparently negotiations were complete.
Helen stood.
In the study, Harrison closed the door.
I remained outside because I was not part of the investigation.
That didn't stop me hearing the first thirty seconds.
"The code in the bird belongs to a secure cloud-storage service," Helen said.
"Can you access it?"
"Not legally without proper authorization."
"Emily created it."
"Emily is deceased. We need to establish ownership and authentication."
"How long?"
"Longer than you want."
"I can get into it tonight."
Helen's voice sharpened.
"And if you do, every defense attorney Daniel hires will argue the evidence was manipulated by a grieving husband with organized-crime connections."
Silence.
Then Harrison said, "Careful."
Helen didn't lower her voice.
"You called me because I'm careful."
I smiled.
Someone else who wasn't afraid of him.
Useful.
Grace looked at me.
"What are you smiling at?"
"Your dad doesn't like being told no."
"I know."
That was the most normal thing she'd said.
"Does he ever listen?"
"Sometimes."
"Encouraging."
The study door opened.
Harrison looked directly at me.
"You find me amusing."
"I find several things amusing."
"Apparently my frustration is one."
"Currently top five."
Helen walked past us.
"Good night, Clare."
"Good night."
Harrison watched her leave.
Then he looked at Grace.
"It's bedtime."
Her shoulders tightened.
I saw it.
He didn't.
Not until I did.
"Something wrong with bedtime?" I asked casually.
Grace shook her head too quickly.
Harrison's face changed.
"What?"
Grace started folding her drawing.
"Nothing."
I lowered myself onto the stool opposite her.
"What happens at bedtime?"
"Nothing."
"Okay."
She folded again.
Then again.
Paper getting smaller.
Harrison took one step closer.
I looked at him.
He stopped.
Grace whispered, "I don't like the hallway."
"Which hallway?" I asked.
"The upstairs one."
"Why?"
No answer.
"We don't have to talk about it."
She looked at me.
Then Harrison.
"That's where Miss Tessa stood."
The third nanny.
The one Grace had told.
Harrison's jaw tightened.
"What did Tessa do?"
Grace's breathing changed.
I cut in.
"Not now."
Harrison shut his eyes.
When he reopened them, he nodded.
"Not now."
That was progress.
Margaret took Grace upstairs.
Grace made me promise I'd still be there when she woke.
I shouldn't have promised.
I did.
The instant she disappeared, Harrison turned toward me.
"You're staying."
"No."
His expression hardened.
"We just told my daughter you'd stay."
"I told her I'd be here when she woke. I didn't agree to move into your house."
"Then sleep in a guest room."
"That is staying."
"Exactly."
I stared.
He stared back.
It probably worked on board members.
Maybe criminals.
Possibly senators.
I had spent seven years working food service.
Angry men did not impress me after brunch crowds.
"Harrison."
"Clare."
"You cannot order random waitresses to sleep in your house."
"I can when my daughter needs one."
"I'm not an object you can requisition."
His face changed.
Subtle.
But he heard it.
"You're right."
Two apologies in one day.
Historic.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I am asking you."
"Why?"
"Grace trusts you."
"She met me six hours ago."
"Exactly."
That hurt.
He looked toward the stairs.
"Twelve nannies. Four therapists. Two psychiatrists. Three schools. She has spoken more today than in the previous six months."
I couldn't joke.
"That's not because I'm special."
"I don't care why."
"You should."
He looked back.
"If Grace attaches to me because I'm new and safe, that can become unhealthy if everybody starts treating me like the only person who can reach her."
Harrison was silent.
I continued.
"She needs a qualified trauma therapist who doesn't dismiss her memory. She needs consistency. She needs you."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You don't know what she needs from me."
"You're right."
I crossed my arms.
"But I know she checks your face every time she speaks."
That landed.
"She's terrified of upsetting you."
"I have never hurt her."
"I didn't say you did."
His jaw clenched.
"Then what are you saying?"
"That fear doesn't always come from what parents do. Sometimes it comes from what kids think their parents can't survive."
He looked toward the stairs.
Grace believed speaking might kill him.
For two years.
"Stay tonight," he said quietly.
"One night."
"Fine."
"And tomorrow, I go back to work."
His expression suggested he found that unlikely.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Make the rich-guy face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you think my life before today was an administrative problem."
His mouth twitched.
"I don't have that face."
"You absolutely do."
A room was prepared for me.
Calling it a room was offensive.
It had a fireplace.
A sitting area.
A bathroom larger than my apartment kitchen.
I stood in the center feeling ridiculous in my black work pants.
There was a knock.
Harrison.
He held a folded sweatshirt.
"Margaret thought you might want something comfortable."
I took it.
"Thank you."
He lingered.
"What?"
"I had Michael run a background check."
I stared.
"Of course you did."
"No criminal record."
"Disappointed?"
"Two parking tickets."
"I'm dangerous."
"Student-loan debt."
"Now you're getting personal."
His expression changed.
"Your mother died when you were twenty-three."
I stopped smiling.
"Pancreatic cancer."
"Yes."
"You don't need to tell me my own history."
"I'm trying to understand why Grace trusted you."
"Maybe stop."
He frowned.
"If you turn kindness into something that has to be explained, you're going to miss the obvious."
"Which is?"
"She needed somebody who wasn't expecting anything from her."
Harrison absorbed that.
Then nodded.
"I'll leave you alone."
He almost did.
"Harrison."
He turned.
"Grace mentioned a black bird."
His face sharpened.
"What?"
"She drew one. Said it watches from the window."
"Which window?"
"I don't know."
He was already pulling out his phone.
"Don't ask her tonight."
"I won't."
"Don't have six men suddenly search outside her bedroom either."
His eyes met mine.
"I know how to be discreet."
"Your convoy at lunch suggested otherwise."
This time he actually smiled.
Barely.
It changed his entire face.
Then it disappeared.
At two in the morning, I woke to a sound.
Not screaming.
Soft crying.
I opened the door.
Grace stood in the hallway barefoot.
"Hey."
She looked at me.
"I had the dream."
I crouched.
"Do you want to tell me?"
She shook her head.
"Want company?"
Nod.
She took my hand.
Instead of returning to her room, she led me downstairs.
Through the dark kitchen.
Into a sunroom overlooking the garden.
There was a piano.
Grace climbed onto the bench.
I sat beside her.
She didn't play.
She touched one key.
Middle C.
Then another.
"Mommy played."
"What did she play?"
"Everything."
"Was she good?"
"She thought she was."
I smiled.
Grace looked at me.
"Are you poor?"
I nearly choked.
"Subtle."
"Miss Tessa said poor people always want Daddy's money."
There it was.
I kept my voice light.
"Your Miss Tessa sounds charming."
"She said everybody who comes here wants something."
"Everybody wants something."
Grace frowned.
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Her eyes widened.
"I want my manager to stop scheduling me Sundays."
She stared.
Then smiled.
"And I want a dishwasher that doesn't sound like it's dying."
A little laugh.
"What do you want from Daddy?"
"Nothing."
"Not money?"
"No."
"Everybody wants his money."
"I'd rather have health insurance."
She didn't understand that.
Probably fortunate.
Grace touched another piano key.
"Miss Tessa said you would leave too."
"When?"
She looked at me.
"People always do."
That wasn't about me.
Or Tessa.
It was about Emily.
I chose my next words carefully.
"I have to go to work tomorrow."
Her face closed.
"But that doesn't mean I disappear."
"Promise?"
"I won't promise something I can't control."
Grace frowned.
"You don't promise?"
"I promise what I can."
I held out my pinky.
"I promise I won't disappear without telling you."
She considered.
Then hooked her finger through mine.
"Okay."
A light came on behind us.
Harrison stood in the doorway.
He wore black sweatpants and a dark T-shirt.
No jacket.
No bodyguards.
He looked younger.
Still dangerous.
But human.
Grace immediately pulled her hand away.
"Daddy."
"What are you doing awake?"
"The dream."
His face softened.
"Come here."
Grace hesitated.
Then crossed the room.
Harrison opened his arms.
She stopped in front of him.
Not touching.
His expression hurt to watch.
He lowered his arms.
"Do you want me to sit with you?"
After a long pause, she nodded.
He looked at me.
"You can go back to bed."
Grace immediately said, "No."
Harrison stopped.
I spoke before he could react.
"I'll stay for a little while."
We sat around the piano.
It was awkward.
But eventually Grace leaned against Harrison's arm.
He went completely still.
Like he was afraid moving would scare her away.
Then she whispered, "Mommy knew Uncle Daniel was bad."
Harrison swallowed.
"Why do you say that?"
"She cried after he came to the house."
"When?"
"Before she died."
"How long before?"
"I don't know."
I watched Harrison fighting the instinct to question.
Grace continued on her own.
"Mommy put papers in the piano."
Harrison looked at me.
I looked at the instrument.
"Where?"
Grace stood.
Walked to the far end.
Pressed beneath the wooden lip.
A small panel clicked open.
Harrison stared.
Inside was empty.
Grace's face fell.
"No."
She reached inside.
"Mommy put them here."
Harrison stood immediately.
"Who knew?"
Grace started panicking.
"They were here!"
"I believe you."
"They were!"
"I believe you."
That mattered.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
He crouched.
"Someone took them. That is not your fault."
Grace began crying.
"Uncle Daniel knows."
Harrison hugged her.
This time she let him.
I looked at the empty compartment.
Somebody had searched the house.
Maybe two years ago.
Maybe yesterday.
Then I noticed scratches around the edge.
Recent.
Pale wood exposed beneath dark polish.
"Harrison."
He looked.
I touched the scratches.
"These aren't old."
His face changed.
"How can you tell?"
"The wood underneath hasn't darkened."
He moved closer.
"Someone opened this recently."
"Maybe after Grace spoke today."
Silence.
We looked at each other.
Only a handful of people knew Grace had talked.
Harrison.
Me.
Helen Mercer.
Michael.
Margaret.
The restaurant had heard she spoke, but not what she said.
Harrison's face turned cold.
"We have a leak."
May you like
Grace clung tighter to him.
And somewhere inside the enormous house, someone had already begun cleaning up Emily Cole's secrets.
Related Stories
