Clara didn’t wake while I was there. I stayed for half an hour, then kissed her papery forehead and told her to say hello to Richard for me. Then I let myself into the hallway.
Pots bang in the kitchen; someone is obviously packing up the lunch dishes. Doing my job, probably a lot better than I did it. I think of Anna and Luke. Rosie told me on the phone that Anna had received seven stitches in her hand but she would be fine. I glance toward her room and shift my stance, wondering if I should pop my head around the door. She won’t remember me, of course. But we’d had a rapport once. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll still have it.
Before I can decide one way or another, her door opens and her father walks out. “Hello,” he says. “It’s Eve, isn’t it?”
I hesitate on the spot. “Er, yes. That’s right.”
“I’m Anna’s dad. Peter.”
“I remember,” I say. “How’s Anna?”
“Not great, today.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Actually, I was hoping I would run into you,” he says. “Denise told me you aren’t working here anymore.”
“No, I’m just … visiting.”
“Have you got a minute?” he asks. “Could we talk?”
“Sure,” I say, surprised. “In the parlor?”
“After you.”
In the chairs by the window, he pulls Anna’s notebook from his bag. “I was going to give this back to Anna today. It just felt like the right thing to do. Then I realized, if she reads it, it will just remind her of a promise she can’t keep. So I kept it.” He looks at it sadly. “But I’m starting to wonder if Anna should be kept from this man.”
“Why is she kept apart from him?” I ask. There’s a note of begging in my voice. “Can you tell me?”
His gaze drops away. “I don’t see why it’s such a secret. Anna was pregnant.”
My mouth opens. I start to say something, but the words get stuck, and I can’t seem to project them.
“No one realized, not even Anna, until she was nearly halfway through the pregnancy. When Jack found out, he sat down with her and told her—then he marched into Eric’s office to unleash.” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “While Jack was with Eric, Anna took herself to the top floor of this building and jumped off the roof.”
I close my eyes. The final piece of the puzzle.
“Jack blames himself for leaving her alone after giving her that news, and he’s adamant he’s going to protect her from now on. He became the man of our house when I left his mother, so it’s tough for me to come in now and tell Jack what’s right for his sister.” His face is pained, like he might cry. “But then I read this notebook, and it says she wants to live out the rest of her days with this man, no matter what comes—”
“And instead she’s kept behind a locked door.”
He nods. “If it were up to me, I’d want Anna to squeeze every minute of joy out of the days she has left. If that meant unlocking the doors, that’s what I’d do. But I’ve tried talking to Jack, and it’s falling on deaf ears.”
I think about what Peter said, but it doesn’t make any sense. Anna could take birth control. The upstairs has already been blocked off for residents. Then I think about it again. Jack blames himself. Jack is adamant he won’t let anything like that happen again. That makes more sense. Suddenly I realize I might be the only person who can get through to him.
“Would it be all right with you, Peter,” I ask, “if I talked to Jack?”
*
The drive to Philly takes over an hour, but it feels like five minutes. As we drive, Peter tells me about his son. He uses all the adjectives of a proud parent—“intelligent,” “funny,” “calm”—but also a few other words like “headstrong” and “stubborn.” And “protective”—that’s the one that frightens me the most.
When we pull into the driveway, Jack is out front, shoveling snow. Hearing the car, he turns. He looks at me for a moment; then his gaze shifts to his dad. It’s accusatory. What have you done now?
“You remember Eve,” Peter says.
“Yes,” Jack says warily. “Hello, Eve.”
“Eve is here to talk to you about Anna.”
“Is she all right? I heard she cut her hand—”
“Physically, she’s fine,” I tell him. “It’s her emotional health I’m worried about.”
There is a moment’s silence. A gust of wind flutes past, chilling me to the bone.
“I’m sorry, aren’t you the housekeeper?” Jack asks.
“Yes, but I’ve spent a great deal of time with Anna over the recent months, and I care about her very much. Could I—?” I shiver and glance toward the door. “Could I come inside?”
“What’s this all about?” Jack asks, more to Peter than to me. Irritation, it seems, has taken the place of bafflement.
“I told you,” Peter says. “It’s about Anna. Come inside, Eve. This way.” Peter ushers me into the house while Jack reluctantly plants his shovel in the snow.
The house is magnificent. We walk into a high-ceilinged foyer with a marble floor. It reminds me more of a shopping mall than a house. Peter takes my coat and Jack shuts the door with a thud.
“All right,” Jack says. “Let’s get this over with.”