The Stillwater Girls(55)

He glances up at me, his lips moving before he says anything. “How much do you know? Exactly?”

“I know about the money, the phone calls, the woman . . . the daughter,” I say.

His left hand drags down the side of his face, and the glint of his meaningless wedding band catches my eye.

“How old is she?” I ask.

He turns to me. “Nine.”

An unexpected burn hits my eyes.

“Nine?” I whisper, taking a step back. “Nine?”

My breath quickens, and my body grows heavy. My eyes sting with the threat of tears, but I’m too numb with shock to actually cry. How could I have not known?

“Why did you stay with me all this time?” I ask.

He looks to me, brows lifted as if I’ve insulted him with an idiotic question. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my wife. I love you.”

I scoff and then glance away. “Yeah. Looks like you really took those vows to heart, didn’t you?”

Brant rises, forehead lined as he walks toward me. “Nicolette, what are you talking about?”

His confusion only magnifies my own, but before I have a chance to respond, there’s a knock at our bedroom door.

“Nicolette?” It’s Wren.

Composing myself, I exchange looks with my husband, and then I get the door. “Hi, sweetheart. What is it?”

“Deputy May is downstairs. She said she needs to talk to us—all of us.”





CHAPTER 39

WREN

“Would you like some coffee, Deputy?” Nicolette paces the living room, her fingers dancing together like she’s knitting a sweater, and she pulls in lungful after lungful of air but I never hear her release them.

Deputy May lifts her hand before returning it to the belt around her hips. “No thanks.”

Sage and I take a seat in the center of the sofa. May says the social worker from the hospital last week is on her way. I haven’t seen her since then, and I can’t remember her name—only that she smelled heavily of lilacs and talcum powder.

“She’s here,” Brant says, heading to the entryway to get the door. A second later, the woman with the poufy brown hair and tired-looking eyes is standing next to Deputy May. Nicolette takes a seat beside Sage; Brant takes a seat beside me.

“Girls, you remember Sharon Gable,” the deputy says.

I nod and breathe in the heavy scent that invades the room.

Sage’s knee bounces, and I place my hand over her thigh to stop it.

“A few days ago,” Sharon begins, her words slow, “authorities came across the body of a woman in the woods. They were able to compare her DNA to DNA found at your cabin.” She pauses, swallowing. “And I’m so sorry to tell you this, girls, but it was a match.”

I glance to Nicolette. “What does this mean?”

Deputy May steps forward. “Your mother is no longer with us.”

Sage looks to me, and I slip my arm around her shoulders, letting her bury her head into my shoulder, muffling her sobs. Deep down, beneath all her simplicity, I think she knew just as well as I did that things would never be the way they once were.

Mama never would’ve abandoned us intentionally, even with all her faults and imperfections.

It’s the strangest thing, but . . . I feel nothing.

No sadness. No relief. No sorrow or regret.

Is it normal to feel this numb?

Maybe I’m too angry to feel sad?

“I’m sure you’re in shock, girls,” May says, “but if you need, we can refer you to a grief counselor . . . someone to talk to.”

“What about Evie?” I ask.

The deputy hesitates. “We’re still looking for her.”

“But, girls,” Sharon says, placing her hand on May’s shoulder, “there’s more.”

May won’t look at us now.

“What?” I ask. “What else is there?”

“Remember the DNA tests you did at the hospital?” she asks. “When a nurse swabbed the inside of your cheeks?”

“Yes,” I say, voice sinking. Heart sinking. Hope sinking. May’s normally hardened expression is blank and unreadable. Whatever news she’s about to share won’t be good.

“The lab wasn’t able to get a match between you and your mother,” she says, face wincing. “And not only that, but they weren’t able to find a match between the two of you.”

“What does that mean?” I ask. It wasn’t until that day at the hospital that I’d ever heard of such a thing as DNA. “We’re not sisters?”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall in front of Sage.

“Wren.” Sage lifts her head, the tip of her pointed nose flushed and her gaze glassy.

Sharon nods. “I’m so sorry, but yes. That’s exactly what that means. Genetically you are unrelated.”

“How could that have happened?” Brant asks.

“That’s what we’re still checking into,” Deputy May says. “Normally we’d start by combing through adoption records, but without last names or confirmed birth dates, it’s virtually impossible to track those down.”

Nicolette covers her nose and mouth with one hand. She’s yet to say a single word.