Chapter 4: The Name on the Photograph
“Who is the other girl?””
Mae's question hung in the bright bedroom.
David stood beside the dresser, his hand still extended toward the photograph. Sunlight fell across his face, revealing the tension around his mouth and the tiny muscle jumping in his jaw.
For once, my husband had no answer ready.
I took the photograph from Mae gently.
“Let me see the back.””
The paper felt brittle beneath my fingertips. Someone had written two names in faded blue ink, but the crease running down the center had obscured part of the second one.
The first name was clear.
*REBECCA.*
Beneath it, in smaller handwriting, were the words:
*For the girls, so neither of you ever forgets.*
I read the sentence twice.
Then I turned the photograph toward David.
“Who wrote this?””
He stared at the handwriting.
“I don't know.””
“You're looking at it as if you do.””
“Natalie, I need you to calm down.””
“Stop telling me how to feel!””
My voice startled Mae. She immediately pulled her robe tighter around herself.
I lowered my tone.
“I'm sorry, Mae. I'm not angry with you.””
She nodded, but her eyes remained on David.
“I'm beginning to think I should have stayed outside,” she whispered.
“No,” I said firmly.
“You're staying here until we understand what's happening.””
David rubbed his wedding ring with his thumb.
I caught the movement.
“Answer the question,” I said.
“Who is the other girl?””
He finally looked at me.
“I don't know who she is.””
“Then why are you frightened?””
“Because you're making conclusions before we have facts.””
I held up the photograph.
“Two girls. One woman. My childhood dress.
Rebecca's name. A second keepsake box that looks almost exactly like mine. How many facts do you need?””
David opened his mouth, then stopped.
Mae slowly sat on the edge of the bed.
“I remember a voice,” she said.
Both of us turned toward her.
“What voice?”” I asked.
She pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“A woman's voice. I can't remember her face. I can't even remember whether she was standing beside me or speaking from another room.””
Her breathing became shallow.
“But she kept saying something about two girls.””
My heart began pounding.
“What did she say?””
Mae closed her eyes.
“Something like... one must never be left alone.””
I gripped the photograph.
David took a step toward her.
“That's enough for now.””
Mae looked up sharply.
“Why do you keep deciding when I'm allowed to speak?””
He stopped.
“I don't.””
“You do. Every time I start remembering something, you tell me to stop.””
David's face hardened.
“I am trying to help you.””
“Then help me understand why you look like you know something about me.””
The accusation landed with such quiet force that I almost stepped back.
David looked toward the windows.
I had seen him angry. I had seen him exhausted, disappointed, and afraid for people he loved.
But I had never seen him look so completely trapped.
I placed the photograph on the dresser.
“I'm calling my grandmother.””
David turned immediately.
“No.””
The speed of his response shocked me.
I stared at him.
“Why?””
He seemed to realize his mistake.
“It's late enough that we should wait until tomorrow.””
“It's three in the afternoon.””
He said nothing.
“My grandmother was the last person who had any answers about Rebecca. She gave me that box. She kept the photograph. If anyone can explain this, she can.””
I reached for my phone.
David stepped between me and the dresser.
“Please, Natalie. Don't call her yet.””
“Move.””
“Listen to me.””
“No. You listen to me. I spent half my childhood believing Rebecca had abandoned me.
I spent the other half being told that the subject was closed. I'm not doing that again.””
His shoulders dropped slightly.
“I know.””
“Then move.””
For several seconds, we stared at each other.
Finally, he stepped aside.
I dialed my grandmother's number.
It rang four times.
Then her familiar voice answered.
“Natalie, sweetheart?””
The sound nearly undid me.
“Grandma, I need to ask you something.””
“What's wrong?””
I looked at David.
He was staring at the floor.
“Do you remember the photograph of me and Rebecca? The one you gave me with the wooden box?””
Silence.
Not the ordinary pause of someone searching their memory.
A deep, deliberate silence.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Grandma?””
“Where did you find that photograph?””
“I already had it.””
“Then why are you asking?””
“Because I found another one. It has two little girls in it.””
The silence returned.
I heard a chair scrape faintly across the other end of the call.
Then my grandmother spoke.
“Is David with you?””
My stomach dropped.
“Yes.””
“Put him on the phone.””
I turned toward my husband.
“Grandma wants to speak to you.””
David closed his eyes.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then he took the phone from my hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Carter.””
I watched his face while my grandmother spoke.
He listened without interrupting. His expression changed only once, when she said something that made his fingers tighten around the phone.
Finally, he answered.
“No. She doesn't know.””
My heart stopped.
David looked at me.
He knew I had heard.
My grandmother's voice became louder through the speaker.
“David, you promised me you would never let her discover it this way.””
He swallowed.
“I didn't plan for this to happen.””
“You brought that woman into your house.””
“I couldn't leave her there.””
“Then you should have called me first!””
Mae rose slowly from the bed.
I stared at David, unable to process the words.
My grandmother knew Mae.
Or at least, she knew enough about her to be terrified.
I reached for the phone.
“Grandma, what are you talking about?””
David pulled it away from his ear and handed it to me.
My grandmother's breathing sounded uneven.
“Sweetheart, I need you to listen carefully.””
“Tell me who the other girl is.””
A long pause followed.
Then she whispered, “Her name was Elizabeth.””
I had never heard that name associated with Rebecca.
“Who was Elizabeth?””
My grandmother began to cry.
“She was the little girl your mother was never supposed to lose.””
The room seemed to tilt.
I turned toward Mae.
She stood beside the bed, one hand pressed against her mouth, her eyes wide with confusion.
“Grandma,” I whispered, “what does that have to do with her?””
My grandmother answered in a voice so quiet I almost missed it.
“Because, Natalie, Elizabeth was your mother's other daughter.””
David abruptly looked up.
Mae staggered backward.
And before I could ask another question, my grandmother said something that made every hair on my arms rise.
“Whatever you do, don't let Mae open the envelope inside that box until I get there.””
I looked at the wooden box on the dresser.
The envelope was already visible beneath the folded paper.
I reached for it.
David caught my wrist.
“Don't.””
I stared at his hand around mine.
Then at his frightened face.
For the first time, I understood that whatever had happened twenty-three years ago wasn't merely a family tragedy.
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Someone had spent decades making sure I never learned the truth.
And my husband had just admitted that he knew enough to be afraid of it.
