Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN WHO DIED TWICE
Thomas sat on the concrete floor of the storage unit.
For ten full seconds, he looked unable to speak.
Julia stood over him holding the photograph.
“Tell me.”
He closed his eyes.
“Jules.”
“Tell me.”
Luca stayed near the doorway.
Michael searched the unit.
Neither interrupted.
Thomas finally looked up.
“Your mother didn’t die eighteen years ago.”
Julia’s chest hurt.
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not good enough.”
“She left.”
“With Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor found her.”
Julia laughed.
It sounded close to a sob.
“So Mom abandoned me?”
“No.”
“Then what do you call disappearing for eighteen years?”
“She thought Victor would take you.”
“Why?”
“Because of the trust.”
Julia stared.
“She didn’t care about the trust.”
“Victor did.”
Thomas stood.
“Your mother discovered she had a claim through Catherine. Victor told her if she refused to sign it over, he would use the courts, money, anything, to get access to you.”
“So she faked her death.”
“Yes.”
“With Elena.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe my mother was dead.”
Thomas’s eyes filled.
“I wanted to tell you every day.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Did she contact you?”
“A few times.”
Julia recoiled.
“You spoke to her?”
“Three letters.”
“When was the last?”
“Four years ago.”
Luca noticed the date immediately.
“The year Elena died.”
Thomas nodded.
Julia whispered, “What did Mom say?”
“She was leaving the country.”
“Where?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did she ask about me?”
“Every line.”
Julia’s face crumpled.
That was worse somehow.
If Elaine had forgotten her, anger would have been simple.
But a mother who loved her and stayed away?
That was harder.
“Show me the letters.”
“They’re gone.”
“Of course.”
“I kept them in the metal case.”
The case Rosa had emptied.
Julia looked toward the open unit.
“So Rosa has them.”
“Maybe.”
Luca’s phone rang.
Michael looked at the screen before handing it over.
“Unknown.”
Luca answered.
“Hello?”
Rosa’s voice.
“Don’t look for me.”
Julia grabbed the phone.
“Rosa.”
Silence.
Then:
“Julia.”
“Where is my mother?”
Rosa began crying.
That answered more than words.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
Julia closed her eyes.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena made me promise.”
“Elena is dead.”
“So are promises supposed to die with people?”
“This one should.”
Julia’s anger exploded.
“You stood beside me while I cried over my mother.”
Rosa said nothing.
“You let me think she was dead.”
“She asked us to.”
“She was my mother!”
“I know.”
“Then where is she?”
Rosa’s voice broke.
“Close.”
Everyone froze.
Julia whispered, “How close?”
A pause.
“Closer than you think.”
Then the call ended.
Michael began tracing.
Luca looked at Julia.
“Your mother may be in Chicago.”
Julia laughed shakily.
“Apparently every dead person in this story is alive except your mother.”
The words left before she could stop them.
Luca’s face changed.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded once.
No anger.
That made her feel worse.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s true.”
Julia looked at him.
He gave the faintest shrug.
“At this point, if Elena walks through the door, I’m charging her rent.”
Julia laughed.
For one second.
Then cried.
Luca crossed the space between them slowly.
Not touching until she chose.
Julia leaned into him.
His arms came around her.
Thomas looked away.
Michael pretended to inspect a box.
Julia buried her face against Luca’s chest.
“I don’t know who to be angry at.”
“All of them.”
“That seems exhausting.”
“It is.”
She pulled back.
Their faces were too close.
Luca looked at her.
She looked at him.
Then Michael cleared his throat.
Loudly.
“Found something.”
Julia stepped away.
Luca looked annoyed.
Michael smiled.
“Happy to help.”
Inside one box, they found an old address book.
Elaine’s handwriting.
Names.
Numbers.
Several crossed out.
One remained circled.
MIRIAM COLE — EVANSTON.
Julia knew the name.
“My mother’s college roommate.”
Thomas frowned.
“I thought she moved away.”
“She did.”
Michael searched.
Miriam Cole had returned to Evanston ten years ago.
They drove there.
A modest house near the university.
Lights on.
A woman in her early sixties answered.
When she saw Thomas, she closed her eyes.
“Oh, Tommy.”
Julia’s heart stopped.
Miriam knew.
“You know who I am?”
The woman looked at her.
“You have Elaine’s eyes.”
Julia nearly collapsed.
“Where is she?”
Miriam opened the door wider.
“Come inside.”
The living room contained no dramatic secrets.
Books.
Plants.
Family photographs.
Then Julia saw one frame on the mantel.
Elaine.
Older.
Gray at the temples.
Alive.
Standing beside Lake Michigan.
The date was last summer.
Julia touched the frame.
“My mother was here.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“July.”
“Where is she now?”
Miriam looked toward Luca.
“Who is he?”
“Luca Moretti.”
Her expression hardened.
“No.”
Julia stepped forward.
“He’s helping me.”
“Morettis don’t help.”
Luca said calmly, “That opinion is not unsupported.”
Miriam almost smiled.
Then she looked at Julia.
“Elaine lives under another name.”
“What name?”
“I promised.”
Julia closed her eyes.
“Please stop using promises to dead women to hurt living ones.”
The sentence landed.
Miriam looked ashamed.
Finally:
“Anna Mercer.”
Michael was already searching.
Anna Mercer.
Fifty-seven.
Registered nurse.
Worked at a hospice facility in Oak Park.
Julia stopped breathing.
She had been twelve miles away.
For years.
They drove there.
The night supervisor checked the staff roster.
“Anna Mercer is working tonight.”
Julia gripped the counter.
“Can I see her?”
“Are you family?”
Julia laughed brokenly.
“Yes.”
The nurse called the hospice wing.
Then frowned.
“She signed out early.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
“Why?”
“Family emergency.”
Julia’s chest tightened.
“Did someone pick her up?”
Security footage showed Anna leaving through the employee entrance.
Gray hair.
Blue coat.
Julia pressed her hand to the screen.
Her mother.
Older.
Alive.
A black sedan pulled up.
Anna hesitated.
Then got inside.
Michael froze the image.
Driver.
Marco Moretti.
Luca’s face hardened.
“He has her.”
Julia whispered, “Why?”
Luca already knew.
“Because Marco lost the ledger.”
Michael nodded.
“And Elaine knows what Elena knew.”
Julia looked at the screen.
Her mother had survived eighteen years in hiding.
Now, less than one day after Julia learned the truth, Marco had found her.
Her phone rang.
Unknown.
Julia answered.
Marco’s voice.
“Hello, niece.”
Her stomach turned.
“I’m not your niece.”
“Close enough.”
“Where is my mother?”
“She’s here.”
A woman’s voice in the background.
“Julia?”
Julia stopped breathing.
“Mom?”
A sob.
Real.
Alive.
“Baby?”
Julia covered her mouth.
Twenty-eight years old and suddenly five.
“Mom.”
Marco returned to the call.
“Bring Luca.”
Luca held out his hand.
Julia gave him the phone.
“What do you want?”
Marco laughed.
“What everyone wants.”
“The ledger?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Rosa.”
Luca frowned.
“You have Elaine. You want Rosa.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Rosa has the one thing Elena never trusted anyone else to keep.”
“What?”
Marco’s voice lowered.
“The original confession.”
Then the line disconnected.
Julia looked at Luca.
“What confession?”
Luca’s face had gone still.
“I don’t know.”
Thomas whispered behind them.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
He looked twenty years older.
“Salvatore confessed to the warehouse fire.”
Luca stared.
“My father didn’t start it.”
“No.”
“But he covered it up.”
Thomas nodded.
“And signed a statement.”
“Why?”
“To protect you from Marco.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Rosa has it?”
“Yes.”
Julia wiped her face.
“Then find Rosa.”
Michael’s phone rang.
He looked down.
Then toward the parking lot.
“You don’t have to.”
Rosa Alvarez stood outside beneath the hospice lights.
Holding a brown envelope.
She had come back on her own.
And the expression on her face said she was finally ready to break the last promise Elena Moretti ever made her keep.
Rosa lifted the envelope when Julia moved toward her.
“Not here.”
Julia stopped.
“What do you mean, not here?”
“I mean I have spent too many years watching Morettis and Bellinis decide that private rooms are better than public records.”
Luca folded his arms.
“That sounded directed at me.”
“It was.”
Rosa looked at Julia.
“We take this to the police. And federal agents. Tonight.”
Thomas frowned.
“Rosa, if that confession says what I think it says—”
“It does.”
His face tightened.
“Then Salvatore—”
“Was guilty of things Luca deserves to know without anyone editing the story.”
Julia stared at the brown envelope.
“Does it explain my mother?”
“Partly.”
“Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Marco?”
“Yes.”
“Elena?”
Rosa hesitated.
That hesitation made Julia’s stomach tighten.
“What did she do?”
Rosa’s eyes filled.
“Elena was the best friend I ever had.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Rosa looked toward Luca.
“And that is exactly why I will answer it somewhere none of us can make the truth disappear.”
For the first time all night, Luca did not argue.
He took out his phone.
“I’ll call Agent Walsh.”
Julia looked at him.
“No private handling?”
“No.”
“Not even a little intimidation?”
“Disappointing, I know.”
She almost smiled.
Rosa’s gaze moved between them.
“Elena was right about one thing.”
“What?” Luca asked.
“You two are going to be trouble.”
Julia opened her mouth.
Luca said, “Don’t encourage her.”
Rosa gave him a look.
“I wasn’t talking about Julia.”
Twenty minutes later, three cars left the hospice parking lot together.
In the middle vehicle, Rosa sat beside Julia with the envelope in her lap.
Julia did not ask what was inside again.
May you like
For once, she was done accepting half-answers in hallways and whispers behind closed doors.
If her family’s history was going to break her heart, it was going to do it on the record.
