Sophie’s eyes sharpened. “You said you didn’t know her.”
“I didn’t.”
“Now you say your daughter was friends with her.”
“I didn’t know Elaine existed until tonight.”
Sophie looked at Arthur. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you all trying to find out if I’m related to you?”
“Yes,” Margaret answered.
Sophie took a step backward.
“I don’t want this.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Margaret said.
“I came here to work.”
“I know.”
“You grabbed me in front of everyone.”
“I know.”
“You told the room I might be connected to your dead daughter.”
“I said the necklace belonged to her.”
“You said you gave it to her.”
“I did.”
“Then maybe my mother bought the same kind.”
“It’s a unique piece.”
“Everything can be copied.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like this is a reunion.”
Margaret nodded, accepting every word. “You’re right.”
Sophie looked as if she had expected an argument. “You’re not going to tell me I owe you a conversation?”
“No.”
“Or that I should trust you?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to know the truth. But I won’t make you give it to me.”
Sophie glanced at the pendant beneath her collar. “I’ll ask my mother’s sister.”
“Do you have an aunt?”
“My mother had one sister. She lives in New Jersey.”
“Could we speak with her?”
“I said I’ll ask her.”
“Of course.”
Sophie returned to work.
This time, Margaret stayed where she was.
The gala ended without the speech Margaret had planned. Instead, she thanked the staff privately and left through the side entrance.
A line of taxis waited along the curb. Rain had started, fine and silver beneath the streetlights.
Claire walked beside her. “Do you want to go home?”
“I want to know whether Evelyn had a child.”
“Then we’ll find out.”
“What if Sophie doesn’t want to see me?”
“Then you’ll respect that.”
“What if she is my granddaughter?”
“Then she’ll still be allowed to decide what happens next.”
Margaret watched the hotel doors. Through the glass, Sophie carried a tray toward the kitchen.
“She looks like Evelyn,” Margaret said.
“You said that already.”
“Her eyes.”
“Maybe.”
“I used to think I remembered my daughter’s face perfectly.”
“You do remember her.”
“But I can’t tell if Sophie resembles her or if I need her to.”
Claire opened the car door. “You don’t have to solve it tonight.”
“I’ve spent twenty years believing I did.”
“Then one night won’t be enough to undo it.”
The next morning, Margaret met Arthur at the foundation office. The conference room looked out over Midtown Manhattan.
A row of framed photographs hung along the wall. Evelyn appeared in two of them: one at a scholarship ceremony, another at the foundation’s first clinic opening.
Margaret had selected the photographs herself.
Arthur placed a folder on the table. “I spoke with the medical examiner’s office. The original identification documents are archived.”
“How long to retrieve them?”
“Several days.”
“Anything else?”
“The hospital admitted a woman under an unidentified name on the night of the accident.”
Margaret’s head lifted. “What?”
“The record is incomplete. The patient was transferred to another hospital within hours.”
“Was it Evelyn?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why wasn’t it in the police report?”
“The first hospital’s records were separate. They didn’t have a confirmed identity.”
“Who transferred her?”
“An ambulance service that no longer exists.”
“Find the company’s records.”
“I’m working on it.”
Margaret stood. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because the police believed Evelyn had died at the scene.”
“Did she?”
“We don’t know.”
“What about the body I identified?”
Arthur took a breath. “The body was badly burned. The fingerprints were recorded as matching, but the archived prints weren’t attached.”
“You told me they matched.”
“That’s what the report says.”
“Did you verify it?”
“No.”
Margaret sat down again.
Arthur slid a second page across the table. “There’s a note from a nurse at the first hospital. She wrote that the patient had a daughter.”
Margaret stared at the line.
“Where is the child?”
“The note says the child was stable and transferred with the patient.”
“Was the child Evelyn’s?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why wasn’t the child listed in the case file?”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret’s fingers pressed against the paper. “You’re telling me the investigation may have misidentified my daughter.”
“I’m telling you there are gaps.”
“Gaps big enough for a daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Could Evelyn have survived?”
“It’s possible.”
“Could she have died later?”
“Yes.”
“Could she have had a child who survived?”
“Yes.”
