Chapter 8 - Marla Had Been Receiving Postcards
Everett did not search Marla’s bedroom secretly.
He demanded that Cole open the locked cabinet in their shared sitting room.
Cole refused.
Sarah informed him that given credible allegations of coercive treatment of a minor and the active safeguarding review now underway, refusing access would become its own problem.
Cole finally handed over the key.
The cabinet contained nothing dramatic at first.
Household files.
Receipts.
Travel itineraries.
Old cards.
Then Everett found the postcards.
Eleven of them.
All addressed only to T.
None had stamps.
Each carried a short handwritten message.
I think about you every morning.
I still have the yellow scarf you liked.
I hope you remember the song about the moon.
I am getting stronger.
Everett knew Emily’s handwriting.
His hands began to shake.
Tessa.
These were for Tessa.
Not one had ever reached her.
The earliest postcard was eighteen months old.
The most recent was six weeks old.
Emily was alive.
Or had been six weeks ago.
Cole went pale when Everett held them up.
Marla did not.
That difference mattered.
“Where is she?” Everett asked.
Marla crossed her arms.
“I don’t know.”
“You have eleven postcards.”
“They came through Laurel.”
“Why didn’t Tessa get them?”
Marla’s expression remained cold.
“Because Emily has no right to destabilize that child whenever she feels lonely.”
Cole said nothing.
Everett turned toward him.
“You knew?”
Cole stared at the floor.
That was answer enough.
Everett felt something worse than anger then.
Disgust.
Not because Cole had made one catastrophic mistake.
Because for two years he had accepted a system that required his daughter to forget her own mother so his adult life would remain comfortable.
“Why?” Everett asked.
Cole finally snapped.
“Because every time Emily contacted her, Tessa fell apart!”
“Maybe because you kept telling her Emily abandoned her.”
“You don’t know what those months were like.”
“No. Because you lied about them.”
Cole stepped closer.
“Emily wanted to take her away from me.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Fear of losing control.
Marla spoke over him.
“She was erratic. She changed her mind every other day.”
Everett looked at the postcards.
The wording did not sound erratic.
It sounded cautious.
Almost painfully restrained.
“Where did Laurel send these from?”
Marla said nothing.
Sarah turned one card over.
On the bottom edge was a tiny embossed mark from a stationery shop.
Briar Glen, Vermont.
Not Europe.
Not some unreachable life.
Vermont.
Everett had his next direction.
Then Marla made a mistake.
“She won’t talk to you.”
Everett looked up.
Not she might not.
Not if you find her.
She won’t.
“You’ve spoken to Emily.”
Marla’s face changed.
Only a little.
Enough.
May you like
And for the first time, Cole turned toward his wife as if he had just discovered there were parts of the secret even he did not know.
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