The Invitation by Vi Keeland(85)

“He said Charlie was about two. So that would be four years ago.”

“So the diary could’ve been written anywhere from a year and a half ago to a hundred years ago?”

I shrugged. “I guess. But the pages aren’t yellowed or anything, so I don’t think it’s too old.”

“Okay…so the timeline works, but it would probably work for a million other scenarios, too. Let’s move on to names. Your woman’s name was Alexandria. Do we know that’s Hudson’s ex-wife’s name for sure?”

I nodded. “Hudson had only ever referred to her as Lexi, but the other night when Charlie mentioned her full name—I asked what her mom’s name was. It’s Alexandria—and, by the way, she also kept a diary. Hudson once mentioned that in passing.”

“Okay. That’s two names in common. What about Hudson? Does the diary ever say his name?”

I shook my head. “She only refers to him as H, which I assumed while reading stood for husband. But obviously that could stand for Hudson. And the guy she was having an affair with is her husband’s best friend, and she calls him J. Hudson’s best friend’s name is Jack.”

Fisher scribbled some more notes. “There’re thousands of people named Jack. It’s a common name. I bet Alexandria is, too. Again, all circumstantial.”

“But she wrote down her daughter’s name the day she was born—Laken Charlotte.”

Fisher’s brows pulled together. “And Hudson’s kid’s name is definitely Laken Charlotte?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s not such a common combination, obviously. I’ve never met anyone named Laken, but I’m sure there are quite a few in New York. We have more than eight-million people who live here.”

“There are one-thousand-six-hundred-and-sixty-two people named Laken in the United States who are under the age of thirteen, according to the Census Bureau. I looked it up.”

“Shit. Okay. Well, that’s still more than sixteen-hundred people.”

“But when I put in the first name and the last name—Laken Rothschild—they estimate that there is only one.”

“Estimate? The Census Bureau isn’t sure.”

“They tell you based on old data. It’s more of a statistical-type thing than an exact count. But basically, it’s not a popular name combination.”

“Alright, what else?”

“Alexandria was married at the New York Public Library. So were Hudson and Lexi.”

“Ugh. This isn’t looking so good.”

“Alexandria and H also lived on the Upper West Side, same as Lexi and Hudson.”

Fisher blew out a deep breath. “So there’re definitely a lot of coincidences. But I once read about a set of twins separated at birth. Both were named James by their adoptive parents, and both grew up to be cops and marry women with the same name. They also had kids with the same name, then got divorced and married women with the same name for their second marriages. They didn’t realize any of it until they met later in life. So strange shit can happen.”

I sighed. “I guess. But what do I do? Say, ‘Hey, by the way, I think there’s a possibility your daughter isn’t yours? Oh, and she might be your lifelong best friend Jack’s because he was secretly banging your ex-wife’?”

Fisher shook his head. “Jesus.” He knocked back the rest of his glass of wine. “I don’t think you have any other choice.”

“I could burn the diary and pretend I never saw it.”

“And then what? Never tell the guy his kid might not be his? I know you, Stella. That would eat a hole in your stomach.”

I looked into Fisher’s eyes. “She’s the light of his life. I think I’d rather it eat a hole in my stomach than break Hudson’s heart.”

“But you can’t even function. You haven’t had a real conversation with him since you figured all this out. You can’t keep it in unless you’re leaving his life entirely.” Fisher frowned. “Christ, if it’s true… Think of how many lives that one diary has ruined. You might never have found out what Aiden was doing had you not been reading it. And now this. It’s really crazy.” He paused, shaking his head. “But you need to tell him, honey. He has a right to know.”

It felt like there was a golf ball stuck in my throat. I swallowed. “I know.”

After our talk, Fisher and I proceeded to polish off both bottles of wine. I was trying to drown my brain, hoping maybe it would allow me to stop thinking about what I needed to do for just a few minutes. But all the alcohol seemed to do was make me feel sadder.

I felt tears threatening. “I don’t want to lose him, Fisher. I miss him like crazy, and it’s been less than a week since I saw him.”

Fisher stroked my hair. “I saw the way Hudson looked at you. That man is crazy about you, too. You’re not going to lose him, but you do need to talk to him. It can’t be avoided anymore.”

I sighed. “I know. I’ve just felt so paralyzed these last few days.”

I walked Fisher to the door about ten. “I’ll bring us breakfast in the morning when you’re sober so we can talk about how you’re going to tell him,” he said.

I sighed. “Okay. Thank you.”