Chapter 17 - The Second DestinationPierce called Mara immediately.
“What country?”
“I’m reading the same letter.”
“Did investigators know?”
“No.”
Pierce felt panic despite Rowan sleeping safely upstairs.
“What did she mean?”
The next paragraph answered partially.
Henrietta claimed she had planned to transfer Rowan from Hawthorne Ridge to an international boarding school after an “assessment period.”
Pierce searched the name.
St. Adrian’s Preparatory.
Outside Montreal.
Canada.
Not sinister.
Not a hidden institution.
An expensive private boarding school that accepted students beginning at age nine under limited circumstances.
Rowan was eight.
“Could she do that?”
Mara asked.
“Not without parental authorization.”
“She had no real parental authorization for Hawthorne either.”
Pierce kept reading.
Henrietta had planned to tell Pierce Hawthorne recommended a different environment.
Then present St. Adrian’s as temporary.
Another forged signature if necessary.
Why Canada?
Distance.
Jurisdiction.
And a family connection.
Raymond’s sister lived near Montreal.
Pierce called investigators.
Emails were recovered.
Henrietta to Raymond:
Once he is outside New York, P will slow down. He hates public scenes.
Another:
If R stays with Celia during breaks, P may even convince himself the arrangement is healthy.
Pierce stared.
Henrietta knew his psychology with terrifying precision.
She expected him to protest.
Then compromise.
Then rationalize.
He imagined it.
Mom already enrolled him.
Maybe disrupting another school is worse.
Maybe Rowan likes it.
Maybe we can wait until Christmas.
Peacekeeping.
Again.
That was why Henrietta needed the first thirty days.
Not simply to discredit Rowan.
To exhaust Pierce’s resistance.
“Why Canada?” Detective Chen asked Raymond.
He answered:
“Henrietta wanted him farther away.”
“For the property?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Raymond hesitated.
“For Pierce.”
“What does that mean?”
“She thought Pierce would recover if Rowan wasn’t always reminding him of Claire.”
Pierce went still.
Henrietta believed removing Rowan might return her son.
Not to her house.
Emotionally.
Before Claire.
Before fatherhood.
Before people competed with her.
Rowan was not merely financial obstruction.
He was evidence Pierce belonged to another family now.
A family Claire created.
Henrietta had been trying to dismantle it.
Piece by piece.
Pierce sat alone in Claire’s old closet that night.
Her clothes were mostly donated years earlier.
A scarf remained.
Two shoeboxes.
He found himself speaking aloud.
“I’m sorry.”
No answer.
He continued.
“I kept asking you to understand her.”
He closed his eyes.
“I should have asked her to understand you.”
Pierce cried.
Not dramatic grief.
Quiet.
Old.
The kind stored in walls.
Rowan appeared in the doorway.
“Dad?”
Pierce wiped his face.
“Hey.”
“Why are you in Mom’s closet?”
Pierce almost laughed.
“Good question.”
Rowan sat beside him.
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Because Grandma?”
“And Mom.”
Rowan leaned against him.
They sat.
After several minutes, Rowan asked:
“Was I really going to Canada?”
Pierce froze.
“How do you know?”
“I heard you talking.”
Pierce sighed.
He needed to be more careful.
“Grandma had talked about it.”
“Do I have to go?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Not unless someday you want to visit Canada.”
Rowan thought.
“I like pancakes.”
Pierce smiled.
“They do have those.”
“Then maybe.”
Pierce laughed for the first time that day.
Rowan looked toward Claire’s scarf.
“Did Grandma hate Mom?”
Pierce considered.
“I think Grandma felt threatened by Mom.”
“What does threatened mean?”
“Like she thought Mom was taking something away from her.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Rowan frowned.
“Can people own people?”
“No.”
“Then that’s dumb.”
Pierce smiled sadly.
“Yes.”
Children again.
Fastest route.
“Did she think I took you too?”
Pierce’s heart tightened.
“Maybe.”
Rowan looked down.
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“You can love Grandma too.”
Pierce stared at him.
Even after everything.
Rowan continued.
“I don’t want to see her.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But you can.”
Pierce’s eyes filled.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because you look sad when people say Grandma.”
Pierce hugged him.
His eight-year-old son was trying to give him permission adults had spent decades refusing one another.
Love without ownership.
Distance without hatred.
Pierce realized he had one more decision.
Henrietta’s sentencing was next week.
Rowan had been invited, through the victim advocate, to submit a statement.
Pierce had planned to refuse.
Now he asked:
“Do you want the judge to know how you feel?”
Rowan looked nervous.
“Do I have to talk?”
“No.”
“Can I write?”
“Yes.”
“What if I say I’m mad?”
“That’s okay.”
“What if I say I miss her sometimes?”
Pierce swallowed.
“That’s okay too.”
Rowan nodded.
“I want to write.”
The statement took three days.
Pierce did not edit it.
At the bottom, Rowan wrote one line himself in uneven handwriting.
I want Grandma to learn that being family doesn’t mean you can scare somebody and keep them.
Pierce read it twice.
May you like
Then folded it.
The child Henrietta tried to erase had finally decided what belonged on the record.
