The Brit

“Oh my God.” I nearly drop the papers when the date sinks into my confused brain. A date I will never forget. But his name? “Daniel,” I say to myself, feeling at my throat, massaging the swell of grief away. I urgently scramble through the rest of the papers, finding an address. My hand comes up to my mouth to contain my sob, my body convulsing. He found my son? In California. There’s a plane ticket for there too.

I jump out of the car quickly. “Perry!” I yell, stopping him from pulling the door of his car closed. I hold all the papers up, fighting to find my voice. “Thank you.”

He smiles again, this time not forced. But he doesn’t say a word. He pulls the door closed and drives off.

And then the rain suddenly stops.

And the clouds clear.

I look up to the sky.

The sun is out for the first time since Danny died.

The house is perfect. White, spotless, and perfect. The front lawn is an unbelievable shade of perfect green and the white picket fence containing it looks like it’s straight from a picture book advertising the most perfect family home.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Esther asks as I stare at the house from the back seat of the cab. “I don’t mind coming with you. We don’t know how they’ll react to you.” She looks at the house too. “Maybe you should have called first.”

I shake my head and open the door. “Giving them notice of my arrival would give them time to stop me. I don’t want to risk them blocking me.” Reaching over, I kiss her cheek. “I’ll get another cab back to the hotel. You don’t have to wait.” I get out and make my way toward the house, brushing down my black pants. I’ve never found it so tricky to decide what to wear. I wanted to look as together and presentable as possible, even if I’m anything but. Danny’s note shook me to the core. When I started reading, he suddenly wasn’t dead anymore. Then I finished the letter and it was like he’d died all over again. But he offered me hope. A savior. Something to live for.

I knock on the door and step back, listening for sounds from beyond. There’s nothing. And then there’s something. Footsteps. My heart starts beating double time, pounding fiercely, and Danny’s voice drums in my head.

Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.

The door swings open, and all the words I’d planned abandon me as I stare at the woman before me. An attractive woman, with blonde hair and brown eyes, maybe mid-fifties. She’s in an apron that’s covering a pleated skirt and chiffon blouse. She’s baking. Being a mom. Normal. She looks so normal. I cough my throat clear and search through the bedlam in my head for my lines. “Hello, my name is—”

“You don’t need to tell me who you are.” Her hand drops from the door, her eyes glazing. “He looks just like you.”

I inhale, so sharply, I find myself staggering back.

“Careful, there.” She rushes to catch me when my heel slips off the step, and I start plummeting backward.

I quickly right myself with her help, my head in even more chaos, trying to adjust to the unexpected direction this moment has taken. As I stare at the woman before me, I can’t help but think that she was prepared for it. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I’ve always wondered when you’d show up. How did you find us?”

I pull out the envelope from my purse. “My fiancé gave me these.” Again, the notion that Danny had everything in place pokes at my mind. I don’t want to believe he walked into his death willingly to save me, but everything I know suggests it. Ernie, Nox, now my son. He was willing to sacrifice himself for me. And I hate him for it. “Hilary,” I begin, and she frowns. “It’s on Daniel’s birth certificate. It’s fake, I assume. But that is your name, yes?”

Her head bobs on a light nod. “And your name?”

“Rose.”

Looking at the house, as if thinking carefully, she motions to the door. “You should come in.”

“Is Daniel there?”

She starts toward the front door, looking back. “He’s at soccer practice.”

It’s weird. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is disappointed. I want to see him, and I don’t. But only because I know that visual confirmation that Danny really did find my son might finish me off.

I follow her and enter a light, breezy hallway, letting Hilary direct me to the kitchen—a huge square space, with sofas, a dining area, and doors onto a huge yard. I see a soccer net at the back, a few balls scattered on the lawn before it. I keep my eyes on the balls as I lower to a chair at the table.