Chapter 7 - MY MOTHER'S EIGHTEEN-YEAR SECRET|
I had never known my mother to lie.
She sometimes avoided questions about my father.
She occasionally pretended she wasn't tired after working a double shift.
And she regularly insisted that her cooking was terrible when everyone knew it wasn't.
But I'd never imagined she might have been keeping a secret connected to the Romano family.
Now I stood in the kitchen doorway, holding my phone.
My mother was pouring hot water into two mugs.
When she looked up, her smile disappeared.
"Claire?"
I couldn't find the words.
Gabriel's voice came through the speaker.
"Is your mother there?"
"Yes."
"May I speak to her?"
I looked at the woman who had raised me.
"Mom, do you know someone named Daniel Romano?"
The kettle slipped from her hand.
It struck the counter with a loud clang.
Hot water splashed across the tiles.
My mother didn't move.
Her face had gone completely white.
"Where did you hear that name?"
I felt my heart drop.
"Mom."
She reached for the back of a chair.
"Claire, answer me."
"He's alive."
My mother covered her mouth.
For a terrible moment, I thought she might faint.
I rushed forward.
"Sit down."
She lowered herself into the chair.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Oh, thank God."
I stared.
"You knew him?"
My mother nodded.
"Yes."
"How?"
She looked toward the phone.
"Who's there?"
"Gabriel Romano," he answered.
My mother closed her eyes.
"Gabriel."
Her voice sounded as though she were speaking to someone she hadn't seen in decades.
"Mrs. Bennett," he said carefully, "how do you know my brother?"
She began crying.
Not the quiet tears of someone hearing unexpected news.
The helpless sobs of someone who had carried guilt for years.
I knelt beside her.
"Mom, please tell me what's happening."
She took my hand.
"Eighteen years ago, I worked as a registered nurse at a private rehabilitation clinic."
I frowned.
"You told me you worked at St. Mary's."
"I did, later."
She wiped her cheeks.
"Before that, I worked at Willowbrook."
Gabriel went silent.
My mother continued.
"Daniel was brought in after a terrible accident."
"He was twenty," Gabriel said.
"Yes."
"He'd suffered a head injury."
My mother nodded.
"He was confused and frightened."
She looked at me.
"But he wasn't incapable of understanding."
I gripped her hand.
"What happened?"
She took a deep breath.
"The night he arrived, a man told the staff that Daniel's family had died."
Gabriel spoke sharply.
"Who?"
My mother looked toward the phone.
"Richard Holloway."
Gabriel swore under his breath.
She continued.
"He presented documents identifying himself as Daniel's legal guardian."
"Did you believe him?"
"At first."
My mother's voice shook.
"Daniel had difficulty remembering details after the accident."
She paused.
"But he kept asking for his brother."
Gabriel said nothing.
"He would wake up at night calling your name."
I pressed my lips together.
My mother continued.
"He thought you were injured."
Gabriel's breathing became audible through the phone.
"He asked me to call you."
"Why didn't you?"
My mother began trembling.
"Because I tried."
The kitchen fell silent.
She looked at me.
"I called the number Daniel gave me."
"What happened?"
"A man answered."
"Richard?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"I didn't know his name."
"He told me Gabriel Romano had died in the accident."
My stomach twisted.
"And you believed him?"
"Not entirely."
She looked ashamed.
"So I called again the next day."
Gabriel asked, "What happened?"
"My supervisor warned me never to contact that number again."
"Why?"
"She said Daniel's case involved dangerous people."
My mother swallowed.
"Two days later, Daniel disappeared from my ward."
I stared.
"Disappeared?"
"They transferred him to a restricted section."
"Who authorized it?"
"Richard Holloway."
My mother began wringing her hands.
"I asked questions."
Her voice broke.
"And then my supervisor told me I was being dismissed."
I leaned closer.
"What did you do?"
"I filed a complaint."
"With whom?"
"The state licensing office."
Gabriel spoke.
"Did they investigate?"
"I never received a meaningful response."
She lowered her eyes.
"And a week later, someone came to our apartment."
I felt cold.
"Who?"
"Two men."
She looked toward me.
"You were nine years old."
I remembered almost nothing from that time.
Only that we'd moved suddenly.
My mother had explained that our rent was increasing.
"They told me to stop asking about Daniel," she said.
"And they knew where you went to school."
Gabriel went silent.
My mother squeezed my fingers.
"I was frightened."
I understood then.
She hadn't remained silent because she didn't care.
She'd remained silent because she was afraid someone would hurt her child.
"Mom," I whispered.
She shook her head.
"I should have done more."
"You were protecting me."
"I know."
She wiped her face.
"But I never stopped wondering what happened to that young man."
Gabriel finally spoke.
"Mrs. Bennett."
"Yes?"
"Do you still have anything from Willowbrook?"
My mother looked toward the hallway.
"Maybe."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She slowly rose.
"There's a box."
She walked into the bedroom.
I followed her.
At the bottom of her closet stood an old green suitcase.
I'd seen it hundreds of times.
We used it to store winter blankets.
My mother pulled it into the middle of the room.
Beneath the blankets was a small cardboard box sealed with yellowed tape.
She opened it.
Inside lay old identification cards, nursing certificates, photographs, and several envelopes.
My mother lifted a blue notebook.
"I kept notes about patients whenever I had concerns."
She turned the pages.
"Daniel's name is in here."
Gabriel's voice became urgent.
"Can you read it?"
My mother adjusted her glasses.
"September fourteenth."
She stopped.
"Patient repeatedly requesting contact with brother Gabriel."
Another page.
"September eighteenth."
Her fingers began trembling.
"Patient reports seeing a man near the vehicle before the collision."
Gabriel said, "What man?"
My mother read the next line.
"Patient identifies the man as Uncle Richard."
Silence.
Then Gabriel whispered, "He saw him?"
My mother nodded.
"He kept saying Richard had been waiting beside the road."
She turned another page.
"September twenty-first."
Her voice became unsteady.
"Patient says he heard Richard arguing with Eleanor Romano before the accident."
I looked at the phone.
"Your mother knew."
Gabriel didn't answer.
My mother turned another page.
"September twenty-third."
She stopped reading.
"What?" I asked.
She stared at the notebook.
"I wrote something here that I'd forgotten."
"Read it," Gabriel said.
My mother swallowed.
"Patient states that his mother planned to report financial crimes involving Richard Holloway."
Gabriel's voice hardened.
"Financial crimes?"
"Yes."
She kept reading.
"Patient fears Richard intends to silence her."
I felt the room tilt.
Gabriel's mother had died only weeks after Daniel's accident.
I'd assumed her death was unrelated.
Now I wasn't sure.
My mother looked toward me.
"Claire, there's another note."
"What does it say?"
She struggled to read her own faded handwriting.
"Patient requested that I protect a letter if anything happened to him."
Gabriel inhaled sharply.
"What letter?"
My mother searched inside the box.
She removed an envelope.
It had been sealed with clear tape.
Across the front was written a name.
GABRIEL ROMANO.
My mother stared at it.
"I never knew how to deliver it."
Her voice broke.
"I thought you were dead."
Gabriel didn't speak.
I carefully took the envelope.
"Can we open it?"
My mother nodded.
I slid one finger beneath the flap.
Inside was a single sheet of notebook paper.
The handwriting was uneven.
Some words had been crossed out.
But the message was clear.
"Gabriel, if someone gives you this, I'm alive."
"I don't know where Dad is."
"They keep telling me you're gone, but I don't believe them."
"I remember the crash."
"I remember Richard."
"And I remember what he said before everything went dark."
I turned the page over.
Three more lines had been written.
"He said Mom had discovered the missing money."
"He said our family would never be the same."
"And he said the easiest way to destroy the Romanos was to let us destroy each other."
My hands began shaking.
Then I noticed a small sentence at the bottom.
"Please find me, Gabe."
Gabriel made a sound through the phone.
It was barely more than a breath.
But I recognized grief when I heard it.
My mother covered her face.
"I'm so sorry."
For several seconds, Gabriel said nothing.
Then he spoke with surprising gentleness.
"You believed I was dead."
"Yes."
"And you kept his letter."
"All these years."
Gabriel exhaled slowly.
"Then you saved something important."
My mother began crying again.
This time, I held her.
I thought about how many years she'd carried the burden.
How many nights she'd wondered whether she'd failed a frightened patient.
And how strange it was that her daughter had eventually found a place working for the same family.
Gabriel interrupted my thoughts.
"Claire, I need to ask your mother something."
I lifted the phone.
"She's listening."
"Did Daniel ever mention a place where he wanted to go?"
My mother considered it.
"He talked about a lake."
Gabriel went still.
"What lake?"
"He said there was a cabin where his mother took him when he was little."
Gabriel whispered, "Lake George."
My mother nodded.
"Yes."
"He said if he could ever leave Willowbrook, he'd go there."
Gabriel's voice changed.
"That's where he used to hide when we played as children."
I looked at my mother.
For the first time, hope appeared in her eyes.
"Could he have gone there?"
"Maybe."
Gabriel paused.
"But if Richard knows about the cabin, it might be dangerous."
Suddenly, my mother's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
An unknown number.
We stared at one another.
Then she answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke.
"Margaret Bennett?"
My mother froze.
"Yes?"
The voice was quiet.
Uncertain.
And terribly familiar to her.
"Did you ever find my brother?"
My mother began shaking.
"Daniel?"
There was a long silence.
May you like
Then the man whispered something that made both of us cry.
"Nurse Maggie?"
