Behind Every Lie(47)
The child who’d died in the articles.
But she wasn’t dead at all. Laura Ashford was very much alive.
I’m Laura Ashford.
twenty-four
kat
25 years earlier
I LOCKED ALL THREE LOCKS to our apartment and hurried after Eva. Even though we’d been in Chicago for three months, I wasn’t used to so many locks. At least they kept us safe, at any rate.
“Blimey, Eva! Would you ever wait up?”
Her short four-year-old legs pumped as she barreled down the corridor, shooting a cheeky smile over one shoulder. Just then a tall, balding bloke exited his apartment and Eva smashed into him, the air bursting from her mouth.
“Oh! I do apologize!” I exclaimed, hurrying to them and pulling Eva out of his way.
“That’s all right.” The man smiled, his hazel eyes crinkling, and patted his belly. “I have some extra cushioning.”
He was a rather large man, broad, with a significant paunch on him. Yet he had an air of gentleness, and his smile was so warm I couldn’t help returning it. I’d seen him around the apartment complex a few times, checking his post box and washing clothes every Sunday in the communal laundry room downstairs.
Eva giggled. “Like Santa Claus!”
“Exactly like Santa Claus.” He laughed and held out a hand to shake Eva’s. “I’m Mike. And who are you?”
I held my breath, awaiting her reply.
“I’m Eva,” she exclaimed.
It was rather extraordinary how easy it had been to start a new life in America. Children didn’t need their own passports in the UK, and anyhow, she was Eva now, and Eva was listed on my passport.
What surprised me more was how quickly she adapted to being Eva. She occasionally asked for Rose, especially at first, but her entire life in London was quickly melting away as she adjusted to being Eva. Her British accent had already flattened, and she now called me Mommy, even when I insisted on Mummy.
Mike knelt so he was close to Eva and stage-whispered, “And what’s your mom’s name?”
“I’m Kath—Kat. Just Kat.”
“Kat. A lovely name for a lovely woman.”
His smile revealed a row of very white, very straight teeth. Why did Americans always have such perfect teeth? I did not return his smile a second time. He was talking rubbish. I wasn’t the type that men ever referred to as “lovely.”
Eva tugged on my hand. “Can we go?”
“Very well, then.” I nodded politely at Mike. “It was nice meeting you.”
“And you. Hopefully I’ll see more of you both.”
Outside, a brisk wind slapped us in the face, causing me to shiver. Although we had bundled into the thick winter clothes I’d bought, the wind still nipped at every exposed bit of skin. We’d flown to Chicago simply because it was the next flight leaving after we arrived at Heathrow. But as winter descended on the Windy City, I regretted not waiting for the next flight to Florida. It was utterly frigid here.
We walked to the nearby lake, the ghostly outline of downtown Chicago sketched in charcoal against the pale, distant sky. The beach was a tree-lined affair with a boat launch and an abandoned stall for kayak and sailboat rentals. Dirty snow clumped in giant gray patches. The lake itself was a desolate beauty, ice waves making a quiet shushing sound. Closer to shore, ice had crusted in giant blocks along the sand.
I trailed behind as Eva clambered over the ice and snow, my mind a million miles away. On Rose. Sebastian. Eva. Even David. I had contemplated contacting him many times, but each time I remembered Seb’s words: An eye for an eye. And then I thought of what Rose had told me: David can’t keep her safe.
Eva’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Mommy! Mommy!”
I looked around, heart stalling as I realized I could not see her. Suddenly a snowball thumped me in the middle of my forehead.
I gasped and took my glasses off, watching the snow slide to the ground. “What the … ?”
Eva jumped out from behind a tree, her gray eyes gleaming with mischief. Her red hair poked out of her green snow hat.
“I’m gonna get you!” She scooped up another handful of snow and launched it at me, but this time I ducked.
“You cheeky little monkey!” I gasped. A smile, new as a baby’s skin, tugged at my mouth.
I rolled a small snowball and ran after Eva, enjoying her whoops of delight.
A strange feeling unfurled deep in my chest then. Later, when I took it out and examined it, measured its peaks and troughs and let it truly sink in, I recognized it: love. At least the potential for it.
After a few moments we both collapsed, breathing heavily, onto a picnic bench. Eva threw her arms around me, her sweet, childish voice rising over the wind. “I love you, Mommy!”
I opened my mouth to say it, but it felt like a betrayal. It was too soon. I couldn’t force the words past my charley-horsed throat.
Instead I squeezed her hand three times: I. Love. You.
* * *
The winter sun was dwindling as we trudged toward home, leaving everything a smudged shade of dirty gray. Giant flakes of snow had started to fall. After spending the morning at the lake, we’d walked to the grocery store to stock up on food. A car horn sounded, and Mike leaned his head out of a rusted Ford Escort.