Chapter 11 - The Father Olivia Thought Never Wanted HerOlivia could not speak to Michael immediately.
She tried.
No sound came out.
Caleb remained beside the phone.
“Mr. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“Olivia is here.”
Silence.
Then a breath.
“Is she okay?”
Olivia looked at Caleb.
Something about that question hurt.
Not where is she.
Not does she know.
Is she okay?
Caleb answered:
“She’s had a difficult few days.”
Michael’s voice broke.
“I’ve had twenty-seven years to imagine that sentence.”
Olivia finally spoke.
“Why didn’t you find us?”
The silence changed.
“Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
“Answer me.”
“I tried.”
“My mother told me my father was gone.”
“She probably believed I should be.”
“What does that mean?”
Michael took a breath.
“Claire disappeared three days before we were supposed to leave Chicago.”
“Leave for where?”
“Denver.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted distance from her family.”
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
“No.”
Olivia closed her eyes.
Of course.
Michael continued.
“She left me a note saying she had changed her mind about us.”
“And you believed it?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you find her?”
“I searched.”
“So did George.”
George looked down.
Michael continued.
“I filed a missing-person report. Her family told police she had left voluntarily.”
Olivia looked at George.
He whispered:
“I did.”
Michael heard.
“George Hart?”
“Yes.”
“You son of a bitch.”
Caleb almost admired the speed.
Michael’s voice rose.
“You told them Claire was unstable.”
George closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Olivia stared.
“You what?”
“I was angry.”
“You told police my mother was unstable?”
“I told them she was emotional and had taken company money.”
Michael shouted through the speaker:
“She was terrified!”
George’s face collapsed.
“I know now.”
“You knew then! You just cared more about your company!”
Olivia stood.
Her belly tightened again.
Caleb watched.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I’m still fine.”
Michael’s voice softened.
“Olivia, are you pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“How far?”
“Thirty-five weeks.”
Another painful silence.
“I have a granddaughter too?”
Olivia looked toward the ceiling where Emma slept.
“Yes.”
Michael cried.
Quietly.
Olivia didn’t know what to do with that.
She had imagined a father who didn’t care.
A man who disappeared.
That was easier than a man who had looked for her and failed.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Indianapolis.”
“Why?”
“I moved years ago.”
“Can you come here?”
Caleb looked at her.
She ignored him.
Michael answered:
“I can leave now.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“And bring everything you have from Mom.”
“I will.”
“Everything.”
“Yes.”
After the call ended, Olivia turned to George.
“You told police she was unstable.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought she had stolen from me.”
“You made it easier for everyone not to look.”
“Yes.”
“How many times are you going to say yes like confession is the same as repair?”
George looked at her.
“It isn’t.”
Caleb expected defensiveness.
None came.
George continued:
“I don’t know how to repair this.”
Olivia’s eyes filled.
“Good.”
George looked confused.
“I’m tired of men in this family deciding they can fix things.”
Caleb glanced at her.
That included him.
He knew it.
Olivia sat again.
“Maybe some things don’t get fixed.”
George nodded.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe you just live differently afterward.”
George’s voice softened.
“I can try that.”
The next morning, Michael Bennett arrived.
He was fifty-four.
Tall.
Gray at the temples.
Workman’s hands.
No expensive coat.
No chauffeur.
He drove a fifteen-year-old Ford.
Olivia watched from the window as he stood outside the Hart house holding a battered cardboard box.
He looked terrified.
Emma ran into the room.
“Mommy.”
Olivia lifted her.
“That man might be your grandpa.”
Emma considered this.
“Like cane grandpa?”
Caleb, standing nearby, coughed to hide a laugh.
George did not.
“Cane grandpa?”
Emma pointed.
“You.”
George sighed.
“I’ve had worse titles.”
Michael entered.
He saw Olivia.
Stopped.
His face broke.
“You look like her.”
Olivia hated how much she wanted that to be true.
Michael placed the box down.
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
“Good.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I just…”
He looked at her belly.
Then at Emma.
Then back at Olivia.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
Olivia crossed her arms.
“Show me the box.”
He nodded.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
Police reports.
Copies of missing-person flyers.
Twenty-seven years of attempts.
Then Olivia saw something beneath the papers.
A photograph of Claire and Michael standing outside a diner.
Claire was wearing the Hart necklace.
Her stomach was flat.
Her smile was enormous.
Olivia touched it.
“When?”
“About a month before she disappeared.”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“She was the love of my life.”
Olivia whispered:
“She never married anyone.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Michael reached into the box.
“She contacted me once.”
George straightened.
Caleb leaned forward.
“When?” Olivia asked.
“Six years after she disappeared.”
“Why didn’t you say that on the phone?”
“Because I didn’t want to tell you like that.”
He placed a letter on the table.
Claire’s handwriting.
Michael continued.
“She told me she was alive.”
Olivia picked up the letter.
“She told you about me?”
Michael looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you come?”
His face crumpled.
“Because she said if I tried to find you, Henry Vale would kill you both.”
Olivia went cold.
Michael reached beneath the last stack of papers.
“And she sent me this.”
A photograph.
Henry Vale standing outside a school.
A little girl visible through the fence.
Six years old.
Olivia.
May you like
Henry had found her decades ago.
And Claire had known.
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