PART 3 — THE NIGHT I WENT TO SEE LACEY
“You came to see me.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t make sense of the words.
I actually pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen, as if maybe I’d answered somebody else’s call.
Then I put it back.
“No.”
“Jill—”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I would remember driving to see you.”
“You remembered driving to Nashville.”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t remember what happened after that?”
I gripped the edge of the kitchen table.
Upstairs, the house was silent.
Jeremy was sleeping twenty feet above me.
Caleb was down the hall from him.
My husband.
My son.
Two people I suddenly felt I knew less about than I had yesterday.
“I remember enough,” I whispered.
“Then tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me what you remember.”
I hated the way she said it.
Not challenging me.
Not accusing me.
Almost afraid.
“I fought with Jeremy.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
“That’s what he told you?”
“No. That’s what happened.”
“Jill.”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We were broke. Jeremy had taken money out of savings without telling me. I found out. We fought.”
“How much money?”
I closed my eyes.
“Eight hundred dollars.”
Lacey was silent.
“What?”
I asked.
“Nothing.”
“No. You did that silence thing. What?”
“Jeremy didn’t take eight hundred dollars.”
“Yes, he did.”
“He took eight thousand.”
My fingers went cold.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I saw the cashier’s check.”
“What cashier’s check?”
“The one he gave me.”
I stood so fast the chair scraped across the kitchen floor.
I froze.
Upstairs, nothing moved.
I lowered my voice.
“My husband gave you eight thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“In 2009?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lacey didn’t answer.
I could hear her breathing.
“Why?”
“Come tomorrow.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Because I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
“You married my husband.”
“I know.”
“You’ve apparently been keeping secrets about my child.”
“I know.”
“You just told me Jeremy gave you eight thousand dollars when we’d been married less than a year and were eating canned soup three nights a week because we couldn’t afford groceries.”
“I know.”
“Then you don’t get to decide how I find out.”
Lacey began coughing.
It came suddenly.
Deep.
Wet.
Painful enough that I stopped talking.
I heard movement on her end.
A man’s voice said something I couldn’t make out.
Then Lacey whispered, “I’m okay.”
The man answered.
My entire body went rigid.
I knew that voice.
Jeremy.
I looked toward the ceiling.
No.
Impossible.
Jeremy was upstairs.
Wasn’t he?
I put the phone down and ran.
I took the stairs two at a time.
Our bedroom door was open.
The bed was empty.
His side still had the shape of his body in the sheets.
The bathroom was empty.
I ran to the front window.
His truck was gone.
I hadn’t heard it leave.
I lifted the phone again.
“Lacey.”
Nothing.
“Lacey!”
The call disconnected.
I called back.
Straight to voicemail.
I stood in the dark hallway with my phone pressed against my ear.
Then a bedroom door opened behind me.
“Mom?”
I jumped.
Caleb stood there in basketball shorts, rubbing one eye.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you yelling?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
He looked toward our bedroom.
“Where’s Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
That woke him up.
“What do you mean?”
“He must’ve gone out.”
“At three-thirty?”
“Go back to bed.”
“Is everything okay?”
I looked at my son.
Sixteen years old.
Six feet tall already.
Jeremy’s dark hair.
Jeremy’s crooked smile.
At least that’s what everybody always said.
Caleb looks just like his daddy.
Suddenly, I found myself studying his face like a stranger’s.
His eyes.
Brown.
Mine were green.
Jeremy’s were hazel.
His chin.
The little cleft nobody else in our family had.
His left ear stuck out slightly more than his right.
I’d kissed that ear when he was a baby.
I’d held him through fevers.
Sat beside him when he got stitches at seven.
Driven him to baseball practice.
Made birthday cakes shaped like dinosaurs, footballs, and one terrible Minecraft block.
Whatever secret existed, he was my son.
Nothing could change that.
“Mom?”
I realized I was staring.
“Go back to bed, baby.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“You’ll be my baby when you’re fifty.”
He smiled.
Jeremy’s smile.
Or maybe I’d only decided years ago that it was Jeremy’s.
Caleb went back to his room.
I returned downstairs.
At 3:51, I texted Jeremy.
Where are you?
No response.
At 4:03:
Jeremy?
Nothing.
At 4:18, I called.
Straight to voicemail.
I didn’t sleep.
At 5:47, headlights swept across the living room wall.
I was sitting on the couch.
Jeremy came through the kitchen door.
He stopped when he saw me.
For half a second, his face told me everything.
He hadn’t expected me to be awake.
“Where were you?”
He closed the door.
“Jill—”
“Where?”
“Rick called.”
I almost admired it.
The lie came so easily.
“Rick.”
“Yeah.”
“At three in the morning?”
“Emergency.”
“What kind?”
“His wife—”
“What’s her name?”
Jeremy blinked.
“What?”
“Rick’s wife. What’s her name?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because apparently she’s sick enough that my husband sneaks out at three in the morning, so I’d like to know her name.”
He stared at me.
“Melissa.”
I nodded slowly.
“What’s Rick’s number again?”
Jeremy’s jaw tightened.
“Jill.”
“I’ve got it in my phone. I’m just asking.”
“What is this?”
“Answer.”
He didn’t.
I stood.
He looked exhausted.
Not roofing-job exhausted.
Something else.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes.
His jacket wasn’t zipped correctly.
Then I noticed something on his sleeve.
A small white sticker.
Vanderbilt University Medical Center.
My heart began hammering.
I walked toward him.
Jeremy stepped back.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
“You were with her.”
His face emptied.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“With who?”
“Don’t.”
“Jill—”
“Don’t you dare make me say her name while you stand there pretending.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Keep your voice down.”
That made something inside me snap.
“Why? You afraid Caleb might hear?”
Jeremy went pale.
There it was again.
Caleb.
I stepped closer.
“Why did Lacey tell you to tell Caleb the truth?”
Jeremy’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I almost laughed.
“I found the phone.”
His eyes closed.
Just for a second.
When they opened, he looked older.
“You went through my things.”
“That’s what you’re going with?”
“No.”
“You married another woman.”
“Jill—”
“While you were married to me.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No. Taxes are complicated. Health insurance is complicated. Having two wives is a crime.”
“She isn’t my wife.”
“I have a certified marriage license that says otherwise.”
His face changed again.
“How did you—”
“The courthouse.”
He sat down.
Not slowly.
His knees seemed to give out.
He put both hands over his face.
I stood there waiting for him to deny it.
He didn’t.
Finally he said, “How much do you know?”
“Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Neither is anything you’ve said.”
He rubbed his face.
“Does Caleb know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
That word made me furious.
“Good?”
“He can’t find out like this.”
“Find out what?”
Jeremy looked at me.
I saw tears gathering in his eyes.
In eighteen years, I’d seen my husband cry three times.
When his father died.
When Caleb was born.
When our old dog Rusty had to be put down.
Now there was a fourth.
“What does Lacey have to do with my son?”
He shook his head.
“Jeremy.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“You already did.”
His head snapped up.
“What?”
“I heard you.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Understanding crossed his face.
Then fear.
Real fear.
“You talked to Lacey?”
“Yes.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough to know you’re a liar.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Why?”
“Jill, what exactly did she tell you?”
“She said I went to see her in Nashville in February 2009.”
Jeremy stood.
“Did she tell you why?”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“Thank God.”
I slapped him.
I had never hit anybody in my life.
The sound shocked both of us.
Jeremy didn’t move.
A red mark appeared across his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered automatically.
Then anger came rushing back.
“No. I’m not.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then get out.”
“Jill.”
“Get out of my house.”
“It’s our house.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
“You don’t have anywhere to go.”
“I’d rather sleep in my car.”
He reached for me.
I backed away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand dropped.
“Please.”
“Tell me what happened in 2009.”
Jeremy stared at the floor.
Then he said something I didn’t expect.
“You were pregnant.”
I blinked.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes.”
“Caleb wasn’t born until 2010.”
“I know.”
“I got pregnant with Caleb in 2009, but not February.”
“I wasn’t talking about Caleb.”
The room went quiet.
I stared at him.
“What?”
Jeremy’s voice cracked.
“You were pregnant before Caleb.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Jill.”
“No.”
“You were.”
“I have never been pregnant except with Caleb.”
Jeremy looked like he wanted to come closer but knew better.
“You lost the baby.”
I laughed because the alternative was screaming.
“No.”
“At eleven weeks.”
“No.”
“February 19, 2009.”
“Stop.”
“You hemorrhaged.”
“Stop.”
“I took you to Vanderbilt.”
“STOP.”
The word exploded through the house.
Upstairs, something moved.
We both froze.
Caleb’s door didn’t open.
Jeremy lowered his voice.
“You almost died.”
I stared at him.
There are things your body knows before your mind does.
A hospital smell.
Bright ceiling lights.
A woman’s hand around mine.
Blood.
I grabbed the kitchen counter.
For half a second, something flashed behind my eyes.
A bathroom floor.
Red on white tile.
Somebody saying my name.
Then it disappeared.
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
Jeremy stepped forward.
I raised one hand.
“Stay there.”
He stopped.
“Why don’t I remember?”
His face crumpled.
“Because you didn’t want to.”
“That’s not how memory works.”
“You were sedated. You lost a lot of blood. Afterward you…”
He swallowed.
“You weren’t yourself for weeks.”
“I went to work.”
“No.”
“I remember going to work.”
“You went back almost a month later.”
“No.”
“Your mother stayed with us.”
My mother.
A memory surfaced.
Mom sleeping on our couch.
I had always remembered it as the winter I had pneumonia.
Hadn’t I?
“You told me I had pneumonia.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“No. Your mother did.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked her to.”
My knees weakened.
I sat down.
“What does this have to do with Lacey?”
Jeremy said nothing.
“What does my miscarriage have to do with Lacey?”
“Everything.”
I stared at him.
He walked to the cabinet.
He reached above the refrigerator and pulled down an old blue cookie tin.
I knew that tin.
His mother had given it to us.
I thought it contained appliance manuals.
Jeremy set it on the table.
His hands were trembling.
“What is that?”
“The part I should’ve shown you years ago.”
He opened it.
Inside were envelopes.
Hospital papers.
A photograph.
And a small silver bracelet.
I recognized the bracelet immediately.
Mine.
I hadn’t seen it since I was twenty-two.
My initials were engraved inside.
JLT.
“My God.”
I picked it up.
“Where did you get this?”
“Lacey.”
My fingers tightened.
“Why did she have my bracelet?”
“You gave it to her.”
“No.”
“That night.”
“I wouldn’t give Lacey anything.”
“You did.”
He slid the photograph toward me.
It showed two women sitting beside each other on a hospital bed.
One was Lacey.
The other was me.
My hair was messy.
My face was swollen from crying.
Lacey had one arm around my shoulders.
I was holding her hand.
I stared at the picture.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“I know.”
“Who took it?”
“I did.”
I flipped it over.
My handwriting was on the back.
I would have known it anywhere.
Lacey—
If I ever forget what you did for me tonight, remind me.
I owe you more than an apology.
—Jill
I dropped the photograph.
“What did she do?”
Jeremy sat across from me.
“After we fought that night, you drove to Nashville because you wanted to apologize to her.”
“For stealing you?”
“Yes.”
“Four years later?”
“You’d been thinking about it since we got married.”
I couldn’t remember that.
But somehow it sounded like me.
“What happened?”
“You found her.”
“Where?”
“At a restaurant where she worked.”
“And?”
“You started bleeding.”
The kitchen blurred.
“She drove me to the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she call you?”
“She did.”
I looked at the picture again.
“Then why was she there?”
“Because you begged her not to leave.”
A strange ache moved through my chest.
Twenty-two-year-old me.
Terrified.
Bleeding.
Clinging to the woman whose heart I’d helped break.
“Why did you give her eight thousand dollars?”
Jeremy’s eyes dropped.
“Because she saved your life.”
“That’s not a reason to secretly empty our savings.”
“It wasn’t payment.”
“Then what was it?”
“After your surgery, Lacey got fired. She’d left work without permission to take you to the hospital. She couldn’t make rent.”
“So you gave her eight thousand dollars?”
“You told me to.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I know.”
I put both hands against my temples.
None of it explained the marriage.
None of it explained Caleb.
“Okay.”
I breathed slowly.
“Fine. Suppose every word you’re saying is true. Why marry her three years ago?”
Jeremy didn’t answer.
“Why does she know something about Caleb?”
Silence.
“Why did she say he has a right to know?”
Jeremy looked upstairs.
I followed his eyes.
And suddenly I understood something.
Whatever he was protecting wasn’t about Lacey.
It was about Caleb.
“Is Jeremy Tolley Caleb’s father?”
The question sounded ridiculous even as I said it.
Jeremy looked hurt.
“Yes.”
“Biologically?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
He closed his eyes.
I slammed my palm on the table.
“What?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Stop telling me to keep my voice down!”
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Jeremy lowered his voice.
“Caleb has a sister.”
I stared at him.
Then laughed once.
A terrible little sound.
“Of course he does.”
“Jill—”
“How old?”
Jeremy didn’t answer.
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
My body went numb.
“Sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“The same age as Caleb?”
“Four months older.”
I stared at him.
“Is Lacey her mother?”
“Yes.”
My mouth went dry.
“And you’re her father.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“No.”
That stopped me.
“Then why does any of this concern Caleb?”
Jeremy looked at me.
“Because Caleb isn’t related to her through me.”
The sentence took a moment to settle.
When it did, I felt something cold move through my chest.
“Then through who?”
Jeremy didn’t answer.
I stood slowly.
“Through who, Jeremy?”
Before he could speak, Caleb’s voice came from the staircase.
“Through Mom?”
We both turned.
Caleb stood halfway down the stairs.
Barefoot.
Pale.
Watching us.
Nobody moved.
His eyes went from Jeremy to me.
Then to the photograph on the table.
“What are you talking about?”
“Caleb,” Jeremy said.
“Go upstairs.”
“No.”
“Son—”
“Don’t call me son and then tell me to leave.”
My heart broke a little at the way he said it.
I walked toward him.
“Baby, please.”
“You said I had a sister.”
I stopped.
He’d heard enough.
Maybe everything.
“Who is she?”
Jeremy and I looked at each other.
Caleb saw it.
His voice rose.
“Who is she?”
“Caleb—”
“What’s her name?”
Jeremy closed his eyes.
And before either of us could answer, my phone rang on the table.
Dana Burcham.
I stared at it.
Then answered.
“Dana?”
She was crying.
“Jill, I’m sorry.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“It’s Lacey.”
Jeremy was beside me instantly.
“What about her?”
Dana took a shaking breath.
“She’s back in surgery.”
Jeremy grabbed his keys.
But Dana wasn’t finished.
“Jill, she made me promise that if anything happened tonight, I had to give you something.”
“What?”
“A box.”
“What box?”
“The one she’s kept since 2009.”
Jeremy stopped moving.
His face went white.
“What box?” I repeated.
Dana whispered, “The one with your daughter’s name on it.”
I couldn’t feel my legs.
Behind me, Caleb whispered, “Your daughter?”
Jeremy reached for the phone.
I pulled it away.
“Dana.”
My voice barely worked.
“What is my daughter’s name?”
There was silence on the line.
Then Dana said the name.
And suddenly, for the first time in seventeen years, I remembered the sound of a newborn baby crying.
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