Page 50 of City of Liars

In the recesses of his mind, Charles thought he should be troubled that she’d blasphemed. But he didn’t care in the slightest. Lizzie had gotten up from the divan. She was touching him, comforting him. She’d said she didn’t hold him responsible for the mess their lives had become.

Slowly, carefully, he raised his head. She was looking right at him, and for the first time since their daughter had disappeared, he saw the woman he’d married in her eyes. Gently, she touched his cheeks, tracing the path of his tears.

“I—I thought you blamed me for the loss of our babies,” she said. “I thought you hated me.”

With vehemence, he shook his head. “How could you think such a thing? You wanted our children so much, Lizzie. If there was anything you could’ve done to—to keep them, I know you would have done it. I only feel sorry...that it’s all out of my control. That there’s nothing I could have done—nothing I can do—to help.”

He would have done anything for her. Faced down any dragon, suffered any blow. He would’ve reshaped the world itself, if he could. Yet here he stood, boxing at shadows, helpless to give her the only thing she wanted: a child.

A small smile curved her lips. It was nothing like the sunny, open grin she used to wear before tragedy had struck their lives, but a smile nonetheless. “You’re a good man, Charles,” she said. “Never think otherwise.” And she wrapped her arms around him.

He closed his eyes, seeking absolution. She didn’t smell like she used to, like the delicate scent of rosewater-and-lilac perfume. Her scent was earthy, undergirded with salt and sweat and grief. But it made no difference to Charles. All that mattered to him was that, in this moment, he had his wife back.

“I don’t know how to move on,” she whispered against his shoulder. “But I promise to try.”

He held her tight, meaning to tell her that they would try together and that, even without Ella, the two of them would make a new life. A beautiful one. But before he could speak, a knock sounded on the apartment door.

The staff had gone home for the evening, so, with a pang of regret, Charles pulled back from Lizzie and stood, tugging his suit into place. He strode through the sitting room into the foyer, peering through the peephole to see who stood on the other side.

To his alarm, two uniformed police officers stood there, looking blank-faced and stern. His heart lurched, thinking of the last time he’d seen officers at his door, when he’d had to go to the morgue to identify that unfortunate little girl.

Why were they here? Had they found Ella’s body, or something else…something even worse? And why now, of all times, when Lizzie had finally begun to recover? Were the two of them cursed—or damned?

He straightened his spine. Whatever they had to say, it would be a relief to have an end to this terrible limbo at last.

Drawing a deep breath, he opened the door. “May I help you?”

The taller officer smiled. It transformed his face, made his dark eyes crinkle and gleam. “Actually, Mr. Carter, I believe we can help you,” he said. “After all this time, we think a young couple in Chicago may have found Ella. Alive.”

Charles’s heart stopped lurching and began to pound. “What?” he said, glancing from one officer to the other as he ushered them inside. “I—who? How?”

The taller officer began to explain, saying something about an orphanage and a newspaper article. He pulled out a photograph and stuck it under Charles’s nose.

Struggling to focus, Charles peered down at the picture. The little girl in the photograph had light-colored curls that might well be blond, and eyes that bore a strong resemblance to the ones he saw each day in the mirror. She stood next to a gleaming piano, her lips tilted upward in a small, unsure smile.

It could be his daughter. The resemblance was there. But she’d grown so much in a year. How could he be sure?

Perhaps it was a sign from the Lord, though. Here he’d been, thinking how all he wanted was to be able to give his wife the gift of a child. And now this police officer had arrived, photograph in hand. Speechless, he touched the tip of his finger to the girl’s rounded cheek.

“What do you think, sir?” the officer asked, sounding impatient. “Is it her?”

“I think,” he began, conscious of Lizzie in the room behind him, of her short, sharp breaths. Of how much it would mean to her to have their daughter back. He spared a glance at his wife; she was shaking, tears pouring down her face again.

A sign from the Lord, he thought. A gift.

Charles tried again, his voice stronger this time. “Yes,” he said, “I think it is.”

33

Theo

Irounded on my mother. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What is my problem?” Her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Theo?”

I yanked my jacket tighter against the wind, giving myself something to do with my hands, so I didn’t strangle her with them. “I told you. Looking for the truth.”

A crafty expression crept across her face. “Ah. I get it now. Finally, your playboy ways are paying off. I take back every unflattering thing I ever said about them.”