Chapter 15 - The Night Nobody Came Home
I called Eric back until my fingers hurt.
No answer.
Then I called Sarah Kim.
She couldn't disclose private details without authorization, but she confirmed that Eric had contacted her and was safe.
I asked about the children.
She suggested contacting their parents and, if necessary, local authorities for a welfare check.
Beth was already putting on her coat.
We drove to Eric's house through freezing rain.
Every window was dark except one upstairs.
Rachel's car sat in the driveway.
I rang the bell.
No answer.
I rang again.
Finally the porch light came on and Rachel opened the door a few inches.
Her eyes were red.
“What do you want?”
“Where are the children?”
“They're asleep.”
“Is Eric okay?”
She gave a short laugh.
“You tell me.”
“He called from the police station.”
“Then he's probably talking about me.”
I stared at her.
“Rachel, I don't know what's happening, and I won't argue on your porch.”
“I didn't ask you to come.”
“I'm here because Eric sounded frightened.”
She looked past me at Beth.
“Your sister always did love a crisis.”
Beth didn't rise to the insult.
“Please tell Mom whether Chloe and Max are safe,” she said.
Rachel hesitated.
Then a small voice came from the hallway.
“Grandma?”
Chloe appeared in her pajamas.
She was pale and holding Max's hand.
Both looked exhausted.
I couldn't keep the relief off my face.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Rachel stepped between us.
“Go upstairs.”
Chloe stood still.
“Where's Dad?”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Upstairs, Chloe.”
The girl obeyed, pulling Max gently behind her.
I watched them climb out of sight.
Something in the way they moved told me the house had become a place where they listened carefully before speaking.
Rachel looked back at me.
“Happy now?”
“No,” I said.
“I don't think anybody is.”
We left.
The next morning Sarah called with Eric's permission to explain the essentials.
Eric had voluntarily spoken with investigators after discovering discrepancies in the investment company's accounts.
He wasn't under arrest.
He had turned over records from his own devices, including messages about the disputed release.
And he had told Sarah that he knew the document was questionable when he allowed it to be used.
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not the full truth, but a painful part of it.
My son had known enough to stop.
He hadn't.
Sarah couldn't promise what legal consequences might follow.
She was working to protect his rights while encouraging him to provide accurate information through proper channels.
“Can I speak with him?” I asked.
“He'll call when he's ready.”
I thanked her.
Afterward I sat at the kitchen table and tried to sort the grief from the anger.
I had wanted Eric to admit the truth for years.
Now that he had begun, I feared what the truth might cost him.
That was the lowest point I had reached since Frank died.
Not because I was about to lose money.
Because I could no longer pretend that the son I'd raised and the man he'd become were easy to reconcile.
Beth found me crying.
She sat beside me without speaking.
I cried for Frank.
I cried for my grandchildren.
I cried for the frightened young mother I'd been, who believed that loving a child enough could prevent every bad choice.
Eventually I dried my eyes and made tea.
The phone rang just after noon.
A woman introduced herself as a state investigator reviewing the notarization complaint.
She asked me to confirm that I had not appeared before Dana Whitcomb on March fourteenth.
I answered carefully and explained the evidence placing me in Oregon.
Then she asked a question I hadn't expected.
“Mrs. Foster, do you recognize the witness named on the associated identity-verification form?”
“I haven't seen the form.”
She read the name.
And my breath caught.
The witness wasn't Dana or Rachel.
May you like
It was Evelyn Moore, my old friend from church.
