Now every memory made my skin crawl.
“Did you send him?” I demanded.
“No!”
The answer came too quickly.
“Then how does he know you?”
“He doesn’t. Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Emily whispered something to someone near her, then I heard a door close.
When she spoke again, she sounded alone.
“Mom, Daniel is Rebecca Cole’s son.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who?”
Another pause.
“Rebecca Cole.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“I know.”
“Then why should I care who her son is?”
“Because Dad knew her.”
My heartbeat slowed in that strange way fear sometimes makes time feel thick.
“How?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Emily.”
“Dad was sending her money.”
I sat back down.
The words seemed absurd.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
The room went completely quiet.
Outside the hotel window, Chicago moved through an ordinary morning.
