ログインHarrison’s POVThe fog hadn’t burned off yet, and the tower across the street was only the bottom ten floors—the rest had been erased.I was at my desk at six in the morning with the overheads still off, working by the lamp, a yellow legal pad in front of me with a phone number written three times because I’d gotten the last digit wrong twice.I had come in early specifically so Estelle would not be in the next room.I called the county clerk first. #I got transferred.I called the evidence archive, got transferred again, sat on hold for nine minutes listening to a recorded message about tornado preparedness, and then a woman picked up.“Rita.”“Rita, hi. My name’s Harrison Emerson. I’m calling about a 1996 case.”“Hit me with the number.”I read it off the legal pad. I got the last digit wrong.“That doesn’t exist, hon.”“Sorry. Hold on.”“Take your time.”I read it again, slower.“There we go. Emerson, David. That’s the one?”“That’s the one.”“Son or brother?”“Son.”“Okay.” She d
Harrison’s POVLucas had slept through.He was sitting up in the hospital bed at seven in the morning eating a triangle of toast with one bite taken out of it, looking at the wall like he had never seen a wall before.Chloe was in the chair beside the bed reading him facts off her tablet about the brain, because Chloe had clearly been up since five.“The frontal lobe is behind your forehead,” she said.“I can feel my forehead, Chloe.”“That doesn’t mean you can feel your frontal lobe.”“I feel it.”“You don’t.”“I do. It’s warm.”Estelle had gone home an hour ago to shower and grab clothes for all of us. I was in the chair by the window. I had not slept. I had stopped pretending to around four.The doctor came in at ten past eight with the tablet and a small stack of paper. She had the kind of tired around her eyes you got when you had been on for fourteen hours, but she smiled at Lucas and asked him about the toast.“It’s cold,” Lucas said.“I know. Hospital toast’s a known problem.
Estelle’s POVI had been staring at the same paragraph of the same paper for twenty minutes, and I had not turned the page.I got up and poured myself a glass of water from the kitchen. I came back to my office and set it on the desk and sat down and looked at the paper again. I did not drink the water. I picked up my phone. I put it face down on the desk. I picked it up again. He had not texted.The doorbell went at twenty past three, which was Mrs. Henderson with the kids.I thanked her. Lucas came in quiet, which was the first sign. Chloe came in with her face set, which was the second. I knew enough not to ask yet.“Snack,” I said. “Kitchen.”Apple slices, cheese. Chloe ate her apples in three bites and asked if she could go upstairs. I said yes. Lucas pushed the apple slices in a slow circle around the edge of his plate. He ate one.“My head hurts, Mom.”I set the towel I was holding down on the counter.I came around the table. I put my hand on his forehead. He was warm. Warmer
Harrison’s POVI was on my second coffee when I got to my mother’s house, and I had not shaved. Claire poured the third from the pot without asking, and put it down in front of me hard enough to slosh.“Sit,” she said.Lloyd-Thomas was at the kitchen table with a square of cloth spread out and a piece of basswood in one hand and a folded piece of sandpaper in the other. He was making a bird. He’d been making birds for months. He nodded at me when I came in. I nodded back.I sat. I did not drink the coffee.“Lloyd slipped on Saturday,” I said. “He told the kids his father drank at the King’s Arms on Jersey Street.”Lloyd put the sandpaper down on the cloth. He set the bird down next to it. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead for a second and held it there.“I didn’t realize I’d said it,” he said quietly.“I know.”“This is the third time,” Claire snapped, and started counting on her fingers. “The film. The wine. Now the pub. Three times in two months, Lloyd. Three.”“C
Estelle’s POVI was folding one of Harrison’s shirts when I started the conversation, and I did not stop folding while I said it.“I’ve been thinking about Lloyd all weekend.”He was on the bed in sweatpants with the laptop on his knees, and he closed it. He didn’t say anything. Downstairs, something on the television was making the wrong kind of noise for a Sunday evening, and I had decided an hour ago not to fight about it.“It isn’t just yesterday,” I said, putting the shirt on the stack and picking up the next one. “Three weeks ago he said his dad took him to see a movie that came out in ‘68. Last month he ordered that Liverpool wine, the one from the little place. His uncle drank it, he said. Liverpool wasn’t even in his story, Harrison. He was Manchester through and through, that was the whole point. And yesterday. Jersey Street. My dad used to drink there. Just like that, mouth full.”“Estelle.”“Four, that I can count. In two months.”“Estelle.”I stopped folding. I turned and
Harrison’s POVThe cinnamon rolls were twenty minutes into the oven, and the whole kitchen smelled of brown sugar and butter.I was at the table with my second coffee, scrolling through an email I did not want to answer, the phone in my right hand because my left wrist still couldn’t grip anything heavier than a mug. The cast had come off three weeks ago. The bones were fine. The rest of it was taking its time.Lucas was on the floor by the radiator, shoving a wooden dolphin and a wooden whale into the same plastic tub with a focus that suggested a lot rode on the outcome.Chloe was at the counter with a piece of cardboard flattened in front of her, drawing something in pencil so hard her hand was white at the knuckles.Estelle was at the sink rinsing cups, the tap low. She had her hair up with a pen through it.I watched the back of her shoulders for a second, the way they moved when she rinsed, and then I looked back at the phone.“The whale goes in the deep-sea bin, Luc,” Chloe sa
Lyndsey’s POVI changed three times before settling on the cashmere sweater and jeans. Not too polished, not too casual. The concerned friend. The woman who just happened to stumble across something troubling and felt obligated—reluctantly, of course—to share it.I checked myself in the hallway mirr
Harrison’s POVI sat in the car for a long time.The folder from the investigator lay on the passenger seat, the cream-coloured cover slightly bent from where I’d gripped it too hard, and I stared at it without seeing it because the only thing in my head was one sentence, looping over and over.She’
Estelle’s POVI woke to the gritty pull of dried mascara against my eyelids, and for about three seconds I didn’t remember any of it.Then it came back. The photos. Karl’s face. Chloe is crying. The whole room staring.I groaned and dragged the pillow over my head and pressed it down hard enough to
Karl’s POVDaisy opened the door and gave me a long look before stepping aside to let me through. I walked into the hallway and Estelle appeared from the kitchen doorway, and the sight of her nearly stopped me in my tracks.She looked wrecked. Red-rimmed eyes with no makeup to hide them, her hair un







