Ben refused to leave until Rosie’s condition stabilized. At dawn, doctors said her neurological responses were promising. She remained unconscious, but she had responded to voices and pain.
The twins were stable in the NICU.
Ben stood between their incubators for nearly an hour before we left. His son was smaller than his hand. His daughter wore a knitted cap donated by volunteers.
He pressed two fingers against the glass.
“I’m coming back,” he whispered.
The lake cottage stood ninety miles north, hidden among pines near the edge of Lake Maribel.
Rain followed us most of the way.
Daniel drove. Ben sat beside him. I remained in the back with Rosie’s letter and the brass key.
“What are we expecting to find?” Daniel asked.
“My mother,” I said.
“Which one?”
The question was not cruel.
That made it worse.
“Evelyn.”
Ben turned slightly. “Richard claimed he didn’t know where she was.”
“Richard claims many things.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the road.
