Page 189 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“When we knew Callie would be able to come stay with us, we decorated a pretty room for her. I was so excited. We let Jennifer and Jacob help us pick out clothes and toys for their new sister. We found a counselor for the children—to make certain we were doing the right thing for the little boy and girl who were already ours.” Moira shook her head as she chuckled. “The funny thing is, the kids weren’t the ones who needed the professional assistance. It was Barrett and I who struggled with the adjustment—or mostly me, I guess is a fair statement. I’d lost a baby and had so much more love to give. When I asked my father to intervene and get me the beautiful blond child we’d all seen on the television, I was naive to the struggles she would have.”

He frowned. “Did Callie have behavior problems?”

“Oh, no, honey.” Moira shook her head sadly. “That poor angel baby has never given us a moment of trouble. She was always socareful to be good. Too good. She was such a darling little girl without even trying, but we would watch her strive to be perfect—to never make a single mistake.”

“Do you think she was abused?”

“No. We worried she might have been at first. She watched us all like a hawk, and for weeks, she was quiet as a mouse. Time passed—three or four months—and she finally started relaxing a little—enjoying her brother and sister’s company. She would love when Jennifer read to her or when Jacob would set her on the back of his bike and ride her around in the driveway. Occasionally Barrett or one of the kids could get her to laugh. What a rare, precious sound.” Moira’s small smile faded. “I’d thought we were finally on the right track. I’d assured myself that Callie had just needed some time to adjust, but then we started finding her asleep by the front door when we would come downstairs in the mornings. We would ask her why she didn’t want to sleep in her bed, and one day she finally answered. She told us that if she slept by the door, she would know if one of us was going to leave her.”

Nate clenched his jaw against the swift flood of anger, hurting for the poor child who feared that no one would stay.

“School was another issue for her. We started Callie after the New Year—1996. For most of that winter and spring, I spent my days sitting outside her classroom door where she could see me. The administration disapproved, but her counselor didn’t. We threatened the school district with a lawsuit and they relented. The only thing I cared about was helping Callie. Eventually she realized that when I dropped her off in the mornings, I was going to come back and pick her up in the afternoons. It took a long time for me to accept that love and attachment meant fear and pain for Callie.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Can you imagine the burden of believing that love equals loss?”

He found it a bit of a miracle that he and Callie’s relationship had come as far as it had—that despite her fears, she was willing to try with him and let him in. “She does love you.”

Moira nodded. “Yes, she does. But it has never been and will probably never be an open love—the way Jennifer and Jacob are free with their affections. Callie has always held herself back, keeping an emotional distance and finding reasons for why she can’t be close to people. The idea of losing them simply hurts her too much. I’m quite certain that’s why she rarely comes home. She can’t stand to say goodbye.”

“Did she have friends growing up?”

“She did. She was well liked at school, and there were a couple of girls she would spend time with, but art has always been her companion. She participated in some sports—played tennis and ran cross-country—but those are games one wins and loses alone. Callie found solace in her artistic gifts and we let her. That seemed to be her happy place until recently. Over the last several months, I could tell something wasn’t quite right when we would speak on the phone—or when I would see her picture online or in one of those horrid magazines. Her light was fading. I think she’s been searching for something different. I’m rather certain she’s found it here on the island.”

He smiled, glad that Moira thought so. “She and my sisters are starting a business together.”

Moira grinned. “She mentioned that. There’s truly nothing my little girl can’t do. She’s so capable—so determined. She lights up the world when she takes a chance.”

Nate’s smile bloomed into a grin. “My life hasn’t been the same since she walked into my cottage.”

Moira reached for his hand. “Neither has hers, honey. And I truly can’t thank you enough for that.”

A cell phone started ringing in the kitchen.

“Oh. That’s for me. Barrett took Jennifer and the kids to the Halloween festival today. They promised to call and tell me all about it.” She stood and started toward the kitchen.

“I’m going to check on Callie.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay.” He went upstairs and slowly opened the bedroom door, studying Callie asleep and snuggled up on his pillow in the dim lamplight. He wanted to wake her up and make things right, but she needed to rest. The last couple of weeks had been rough on all of them, but it was Callie who constantly stood on pins and needles, waiting for the next surprise to rip her life apart.

He took off his holster and radio and put them on top of his old dresser before he sat in the chair tucked in the nook by the windows, replaying his conversation with Moira. Tiny Callie May Fletcher had been through hell, but the nightmare never completely ended, even after she’d been given a new name and loving family. Sighing, he stared out one of the windows facing the land instead of the Atlantic, wondering if someone in Sanderson had been the cause of all of her troubles. Callie and Moira had both asked him if he thought Samantha was dead. Although he’d said he wasn’t sure, every bone in his body screamed yes. For all intents and purposes, Samantha had been last seen alive sharing an ice cream with her daughter on Main Street. The small amount of evidence they had kept pointing him here to the island. And their new lead only strengthened his hunch to dig deeper. He pulled his phone from his pocket and searched his contacts for Sanchez’s information.

Today got away from me. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. We need to meet up again.

Sending off his text, he settled more comfortably in the chair, resting his head against the soft fabric as he thought back to the 1995 Fourth of July footage he’d watched half a dozen times over the last couple of days. He’d recognized several Sandersonians among the crowds—himself and Brad, Dad dressed in his official sheriff duds, Thomas and Leah, Gwen, John Hannigan from the Main Street Diner, Jordan Sanderson, Brad’s older stepbrother… The list was long, two decades old, and daunting.

“Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing at his forehead, focusing on his phone again and starting a list. In theory, any one of thousands of people could have hurt Samantha Fletcher that hot July day, but logic pointed him to someone who knew Carter Island well. He added Jeremy’s name at the top—local hardware store owner who’d had a brush or two with the law a couple years back when he fell off the wagon. Captain Bob had a record too—a drunk and disorderly from a winter spent up in Alaska over thirty years ago. Jordan Sanderson had some trouble back in the day as well—vandalism in the church cemetery and a slap on the wrist for petty theft good ol’ Mayor Thomas had gone out of his way to hide from his constituents. Nate paused, hesitating as he added Jordan’s name, well aware that some stupid teenager spraying green paint on a couple of graves hardly made him a violent offender. He set his guilt aside, typing in Thomas and Dad too because it didn’t seem right if he didn’t. He planned to check into everyone’s whereabouts on July 5, 1995, so he could start crossing nonviable suspects off the list and stop thinking that someone he’d known his entire life was a killer in disguise.

~~~~

Callie rolled over in the dim light and looked at the clock, realizing that her intentions for a twenty-minute catnap had turned into a solid hour and a half. She pulled back the covers and sat up, sliding her fingers through her hair as she met Nate’s gaze across the room.

“Hey, sleepy.”

She sent him a small smile, not quite sure where they stood after the way they’d left things earlier this afternoon. “Hi.”

He set his phone on the arm of the chair, walked her way, and sat next to her in the center of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“A little groggy.” She looked toward the chair again. “How long were you sitting over there?”