Daniel did not know the house was no longer a home. Neither did Noah.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.
When the call ended, Noah climbed onto my lap as if he were much younger. He did not cry. He simply rested his head against my shoulder and asked whether he could finish the fort.
That afternoon, while Noah played with James, Evelyn and I reviewed Daniel’s messages.
Most were predictable.
You cannot take my son.
You froze everything.
Vanessa means nothing.
Please tell me where you are.
Then Evelyn reached the final voicemail and stopped.
The recording began with several seconds of breathing.
“Claire,” Daniel said, “there are things you don’t understand about the photograph. Marcus wasn’t meeting me. He was meeting Vanessa. I went there because I was trying to stop something. Call me before you trust anyone else.”
Evelyn replayed it.
“He could be trying to confuse you,” she said.
