Chapter 2 - THE NAME HE HAD BURIED
Charles knelt in front of Lucy.
The knees of his expensive suit touched the floor. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Who told you to find me?”
“My mom.”
“When?”
“This morning. Before they gave her the medicine that makes her sleepy.”
He tried to ask another question, but his voice failed.
For eighteen years, Charles had practiced being angry at Anna. Anger had been easier than standing in her empty bedroom. Easier than admitting his youngest daughter had built a life somewhere without him.
He had never practiced meeting her child.
Vivian recovered first.
“Dad, please. Anyone could get an old photograph.”
Lucy snatched it from his hand.
“It’s ours.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
The little girl’s voice cracked, and that hurt Charles more than if she had shouted.
A woman in a black catering uniform hurried through the crowd.
“Lucy. Oh, honey.”
She crouched beside her, breathing hard.
“I turned around and you were gone.”
“I found him, Mrs. Alvarez.”
Rosa Alvarez looked at Charles. Her face changed, but not with surprise.
With recognition.
“You look older,” she said.
“Do we know each other?”
“I knew your wife. I worked at your house when Anna was in high school.”
Charles stared.
“Rosa?”
She nodded once.
Vivian stepped between them.
“This is neither the time nor the place.”
Rosa’s eyes moved to the broken glass.
“Seems like your timing is always convenient.”
“Where is my daughter?” Charles asked.
“Emergency surgery. She collapsed at the diner yesterday. They found a serious problem with a valve in her heart.”
“Why didn’t someone call me?”
Rosa gave him a long look.
“Anna said you’d made your feelings clear.”
Charles stood.
“Get my car.”
“Dad.” Vivian caught his sleeve. “There are two hundred people here.”
“Then tell them to enjoy the cake.”
He offered Lucy his hand.
She studied it.
“Are you mad at my mom?”
The question landed with terrible precision.
“No.”
“Because she said you might be.”
Charles had no answer that wouldn’t expose how little he understood.
He settled for the truth.
“I need to talk to her.”
Outside, cold rain streaked the limousine windows.
Lucy sat beside Rosa, keeping the photograph in her lap.
Charles took out his phone and found his daughter’s number among contacts he had never deleted.
The call failed.
He tried again.
Same result.
Rosa watched him.
“That’s not her number anymore.”
“When did it change?”
“About twelve years ago.”
Charles turned toward her.
“Vivian told me Anna called her last Christmas.”
May you like
Rosa went still.
“No,” she said. “She didn’t.”
