Part Seven — The People Who Knew

I carried the box back to the reception room. Marianne saw it in my hands and went pale.

“You knew,” I said.

She did not ask what I meant.

“Yes.”

“From when?”

“From the beginning.”

“You knew where she was?”

“Yes.”

Marianne lowered her head.

“I was beside Rebecca when you called that morning. She begged me not to tell you.”

My fingers tightened around the box.

“And you let nine children grow up believing their mother simply wanted a life without them?”

“She was frightened.”

“She was their mother.”

“She was sick, Brian.”

“She was sick when she left. She was ashamed afterward. Those are explanations, Marianne—not the same thing as repairing the damage.”

Tears gathered in her eyes.

“She made me promise.”

“You protected her secret. Who protected the children?”

There was no answer.

There had not been one twenty-eight years earlier, either.