Chapter 2 - The House With Too Many Rooms
Emma refused to get into my car.
I couldn’t blame her.
From her perspective, a stranger had appeared wearing a suit that probably cost more than everything she owned, surrounded by men in black coats and expensive vehicles, and announced that he intended to solve her life.
Children who had been abandoned learned suspicion faster than multiplication.
“I can walk,” she said.
“It’s four miles.”
“I walk farther.”
That sentence bothered me more than it should have.
Joshua stood beside the open SUV door.
“You can sit with me.”
Emma looked at him.
Then at me.
“You promise Greg isn’t there?”
“He isn’t.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
She finally climbed inside.
I sat across from them while Marcus drove.
Joshua talked nonstop, partly because he was five and partly because he sensed silence frightened Emma.
He told her about his bedroom.
His dinosaurs.
His terrible drawing of a dragon that he insisted was excellent.
Our elderly Labrador, Charlie.
The pancake chef who came on Sundays.
Emma listened as if Joshua were describing another planet.
“You have a chef?”
“Daddy burns pancakes.”
“I burned them once,” I said.
“Three times.”
“Traitor.”
Joshua giggled.
Emma almost did.
Then she looked out the window and became quiet again.
My house stood in the West Hills behind tall gates and enough trees to make the city disappear.
It wasn’t a mansion I had built for myself.
Sarah had chosen it.
She had loved the windows.
The garden.
The ridiculous amount of space.
After she died, the house stopped feeling impressive.
It simply became large.
Too large.
Joshua ran inside.
Emma remained on the front step.
My housekeeper, Rosa, approached.
She had worked for me fourteen years and possessed the rare ability to tell me exactly what she thought without fearing the consequences.
Her eyes settled on Emma.
Then narrowed at me.
“Who is this?”
“Emma.”
“That explains nothing.”
“I’ll explain later.”
Rosa crouched.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Emma stared at her.
“Are you a police lady?”
“No.”
“A social worker?”
“No.”
“What are you?”
Rosa smiled.
“The woman who tells Mr. Anderson when he’s wrong.”
Joshua shouted from inside.
“She does!”
I sighed.
Emma smiled again.
Progress.
Within an hour, a pediatrician I trusted had arrived, along with Natalie Brooks, a child welfare specialist my attorney contacted through official channels.
That part mattered.
There were lines even I refused to cross.
Emma needed protection, but she also needed documentation, medical care, and a legal path out of whatever nightmare Greg had created.
Natalie was in her forties, wore sneakers instead of heels, and spoke to Emma without using the artificial sweetness adults often used with children.
“I’m not taking you anywhere tonight,” she said after introducing herself.
Emma studied her.
“Promise?”
“As long as you’re safe here, yes.”
Emma looked at me.
“Is he safe?”
Natalie glanced over.
“I’m still deciding.”
Rosa laughed from the doorway.
I didn’t.
Ten minutes later, Natalie was interviewing me in my library.
“You understand your reputation creates complications.”
“My reputation didn’t leave her in a park.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“Then say what you mean.”
She crossed one leg over the other.
“You may have influence. I don’t care. Emma’s welfare comes before your feelings.”
I stared at her.
Then nodded.
“Good.”
She seemed surprised.
“I expected more argument.”
“Would it help Emma?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t care.”
Something changed in her expression.
Not trust.
But perhaps the possibility of it.
The doctor found dehydration, mild malnutrition, several old scrapes, and a respiratory infection beginning from exposure.
Nothing life-threatening.
That should have relieved me.
Instead, I became angrier.
Because it meant Emma had been suffering slowly.
Quietly.
One cold night at a time.
Rosa gave her a bath.
She emerged wearing Joshua’s old blue pajamas, sleeves rolled at the wrists.
Joshua objected.
“Those have rockets.”
“So?”
“They’re mine.”
“You haven’t worn them in two years.”
He considered this.
“Emma can have them.”
“Very generous.”
He whispered to her, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “There are planets on the butt.”
For the first time, Emma laughed.
A real laugh.
It lasted maybe three seconds.
Then she covered her mouth as if laughter required permission.
That broke my heart more effectively than tears could have.
Later, after Joshua went to bed, I found Emma standing in the hallway.
“There are too many doors,” she said.
She was staring down the second floor where guest rooms stretched in both directions.
“That’s true.”
“How do you know which one is yours?”
“I’ve lived here a long time.”
“What if I forget?”
“We’ll put something on your door.”
“Like what?”
“What do you like?”
She thought seriously.
“Stars.”
“Stars it is.”
Rosa found glow-in-the-dark stickers in Joshua’s craft drawer.
Emma watched us put them around the guest-room door.
She touched one.
“Do they stay?”
“For a while.”
“I mean the room.”
I understood.
“Yes.”
“For tonight?”
“For as long as you’re allowed to be here.”
Her face fell slightly.
I hated that answer.
But Natalie had warned me against making promises I couldn’t legally guarantee.
Emma climbed into bed.
Then immediately climbed back out.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Can I keep some food?”
“There’s food downstairs.”
“What if someone eats it?”
“We have enough.”
She didn’t move.
I went downstairs, made a small basket with crackers, fruit, cereal bars, and bottled water, and placed it beside her bed.
Only then did she relax.
I turned off the lamp.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you helping me?”
I leaned against the doorway.
“Because you helped Joshua.”
“What if I hadn’t?”
That stopped me.
Because there was only one acceptable answer.
“I should still help you.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
I started closing the door.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Greg gets mad when people ask questions.”
I opened the door again.
“What does that mean?”
She pulled the blanket higher.
“He said Mama left him things.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he hurt you?”
Her eyes darted away.
Not an answer.
Not exactly.
But enough to make every muscle in my body tighten.
“He yelled.”
“Did he hit you?”
“No.”
Relief came too quickly.
Then she added, “He grabbed sometimes.”
I forced myself to stay calm.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Are you mad?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened.
“Not at you.”
She studied my face.
Then whispered, “Okay.”
I closed the door.
Marcus was waiting downstairs.
One look told me he had news.
“Office.”
We went inside and shut the door.
“What did you find?”
“Gregory Mason, thirty-eight. Several addresses over the last decade. Petty theft charge eight years ago. Fraud investigation that never went anywhere. Worked at three tire shops, two garages, currently unemployed.”
“And Emma?”
Marcus placed a folder on my desk.
“Her mother was Rebecca Carter. Thirty-one when she died. Cancer.”
I sat down.
“Family?”
“Rebecca’s parents are deceased. No siblings. Emma’s father isn’t listed on the birth certificate.”
“Greg?”
“Never married Rebecca. No legal guardianship.”
“So he had no right to abandon her because he had no right to be responsible for her in the first place.”
“Exactly.”
“Where is he?”
Marcus hesitated.
“What?”
“He left Portland in July.”
My jaw tightened.
“Where?”
“Seattle first. Then Spokane. There are card charges in Boise.”
“He left the state?”
“Yes.”
“After leaving Emma here.”
“Yes.”
My hands flattened against the desk.
Marcus continued.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“Rebecca had a small life-insurance policy.”
“How small?”
“Sixty thousand.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Emma.”
I looked up.
Marcus slid another paper toward me.
“The payout was deposited into an account opened two weeks after Rebecca died.”
“In Emma’s name?”
“Joint custodial account.”
“With whom?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately.
He didn’t need to.
“Greg.”
“He apparently presented paperwork claiming he was her appointed guardian.”
“Was it real?”
“No.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“He forged documents.”
“Looks that way.”
“How much is left?”
“Less than eight thousand.”
I stared at him.
Sixty thousand dollars.
A dead mother’s last attempt to protect her child.
Gone.
While Emma searched for crackers near a fountain.
“Find him.”
“We are.”
“No. I mean find him tonight.”
Marcus shifted his weight.
“Daniel, before you decide—”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
“You think I’m going to do something stupid.”
“I think you’re furious.”
“I am.”
“And furious men make expensive mistakes.”
I stood.
“Greg abandoned a six-year-old in a city park and stole money her dying mother left to keep her alive.”
“I know.”
“She slept outside while he spent it.”
“I know.”
“She apologized for eating a cookie.”
Marcus was silent.
That was the detail.
The one that finally changed his face.
I walked toward the window.
Portland glowed below us.
Thousands of lights.
Thousands of homes.
Somewhere out there, people were sitting at dinner tables, complaining about rain and traffic and homework.
And for months, Emma had been sleeping behind a maintenance building.
My phone buzzed.
Natalie.
I answered immediately.
“Emma’s asleep,” she said.
“I know.”
“I need to tell you something before I leave.”
“What?”
“She asked whether she could hide under the bed if someone came to take her.”
I closed my eyes.
Natalie continued softly.
“Daniel, whatever happens next, don’t make this about punishing Greg.”
I looked at Marcus.
He knew exactly what she was saying.
“Make it about Emma.”
After she hung up, I stayed silent.
Marcus finally asked, “What do you want me to do?”
I looked toward the ceiling.
Toward the guest room with stars around the door.
“Find Greg.”
“And then?”
“Nothing.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing?”
“We give everything to Natalie, my attorney, and the police.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
That was the truth.
“But Emma needs a future more than I need revenge.”
Marcus nodded.
His phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
Then looked at me.
“We found him.”
“Where?”
“Not Boise.”
A pause.
“He came back to Portland this afternoon.”
Something cold moved through me.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Marcus looked at the staircase.
“But Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“He checked into a motel under a false name.”
My eyes narrowed.
“And twenty minutes ago, someone matching his description asked a bartender whether anyone had seen a little girl named Emma.”
Upstairs, the house was silent.
Emma was finally sleeping somewhere warm.
And the man who had abandoned her had returned.
Not because he missed her.
Men who missed children did not wait four months.
I looked at Marcus.
“Double security.”
He nodded.
“And nobody tells Emma yet.”
Another nod.
I walked upstairs.
Outside her room, one of the glow-in-the-dark stars had fallen onto the carpet.
I picked it up.
Pressed it back above her door.
Then I heard a tiny voice.
“Daniel?”
Emma was sitting up.
“You okay?”
“Is somebody coming?”
I entered.
“No.”
She watched me carefully.
“You promise?”
I sat at the edge of the bed.
For years, people had believed my promises because they feared what happened if I broke them.
Emma needed a different kind of promise.
“One day,” I said quietly, “you’re going to sleep without wondering who’s coming through the door.”
She stared at me.
“When?”
I looked at the stars glowing above us.
“As soon as I can make it true.”
What I did not tell her was that Gregory Mason was back in Portland.
May you like
Or that before the next sunset, he would try to convince the city that Emma belonged to him.
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