Chapter 3 - The Red Blanket
Claire spent the next forty-eight hours in intensive care.
Severe pneumonia.
Malnutrition.
An untreated infection.
Anemia.
Dehydration.
The doctor listed each condition while Richard stood perfectly still.
"Can you help her?"
Dr. Lewis removed his glasses.
"Yes. But she is much sicker than she realizes."
Richard looked through the glass wall.
Claire seemed impossibly small beneath the hospital blankets.
"Money is not an issue."
"This isn't about money."
"Everything becomes about money if you need enough specialists."
"Mr. Hale."
Richard stopped.
Dr. Lewis spoke gently.
"She needs time."
Richard hated those words.
He had already lost twenty years.
Emma arrived an hour later.
She stood outside Claire's room and couldn't enter.
Richard found her there.
"She's awake."
Emma hugged herself.
"What do I say?"
Richard understood.
This wasn't like meeting a stranger.
It was worse.
This stranger had sung Emma to sleep.
Held her when she was sick.
Disappeared when she was two.
Emma had spent twenty years constructing a mother from photographs and stories.
Now that mother was ten feet away.
"What if she looks at me and feels nothing?"
Richard touched her shoulder.
"Then we give her time."
Emma laughed painfully.
"That's rich coming from you."
He almost smiled.
Together they entered.
Claire turned her head.
Her eyes moved from Richard to Emma.
Emma stopped near the foot of the bed.
Claire stared at her for a long time.
"You look familiar."
Emma swallowed.
"I'm Emma."
Claire's eyes filled instantly.
"My daughter?"
"Yes."
Claire covered her mouth.
Emma began crying.
"I'm sorry," Claire whispered. "I should remember."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I left you."
"You didn't."
"I wasn't there."
"You didn't choose that."
Claire looked helplessly at Richard.
"What was she like?"
Richard almost laughed.
"Stubborn."
Emma wiped her tears.
"Thanks."
"Bossy."
"Wonderful."
"She bit a pediatrician when she was three."
Claire suddenly frowned.
"No."
Richard went silent.
Claire's brow tightened.
"She hated doctors because..."
Her breathing changed.
Emma stepped closer.
Claire stared at her.
"You had a red blanket."
Emma froze.
Richard's eyes widened.
Claire continued slowly.
"Small white rabbits on the corners."
Emma's knees weakened.
That blanket had never appeared in photographs.
Richard had packed it away after Claire disappeared.
"You remember that?" Emma whispered.
Claire began sobbing.
"I remember rocking you."
Emma rushed forward.
She stopped before touching Claire.
"Can I hug you?"
Claire opened her arms.
Emma folded into them.
Richard turned away because watching them hurt too much.
Behind him, Claire whispered into her daughter's hair.
"My baby."
For the first time in twenty years, Emma heard her mother say it.
Later that afternoon, Dr. Lewis asked Richard to meet privately.
"The memory issues appear consistent with traumatic brain injury."
"Can they improve?"
"Some memories may return. Some may not."
"What happened after the crash?"
"We don't know yet."
Richard hired a neurologist.
Then a second.
Claire remembered fragments.
Cold water.
Trees.
A roadside clinic.
A woman named Ruth helping her.
Months disappearing.
Years blending together.
Sometimes she remembered something and immediately panicked.
Richard never pushed.
On the fifth day, Claire asked for the old photograph.
Richard placed it in her hands.
She smiled weakly.
"I carried this?"
"Always."
"Why?"
"You said it reminded you that we loved each other before I had money."
Claire studied young Richard.
"You were handsome."
"Were?"
She gave the faintest laugh.
It was the first time he had heard it in two decades.
Richard closed his eyes.
"Do that again."
"What?"
"Laugh."
Claire looked at him strangely.
He opened his eyes.
"I forgot how much I missed it."
Her smile faded.
"Richard."
"Yes?"
"Did you remarry?"
"No."
"Why?"
His answer was simple.
"I was married."
Claire stared down at the photograph.
"You believed I was dead."
"I believed everyone else believed you were dead."
She looked at him.
"That's not an answer."
Richard sat beside the bed.
"I tried once. Years later. Went to dinner with someone."
Claire raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
"I talked about you for forty minutes."
Despite herself, Claire laughed again.
That evening, Richard returned home for the first time since finding her.
He entered his study.
Someone was waiting.
Evelyn.
His sister stood near the fireplace.
"I heard."
Richard stopped.
"Heard what?"
"Claire."
Her face was pale.
Richard watched carefully.
"You don't seem surprised enough."
Evelyn's eyes hardened.
"Don't start."
"Did you know she was alive?"
"No."
Richard approached.
"Look me in the eye."
"I said no."
"Then why are you scared?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
Evelyn grabbed her bag.
"I came to tell you to be careful."
"Of Claire?"
"Of what she remembers."
Richard stared.
"What does that mean?"
Evelyn realized too late what she'd said.
"Nothing."
Richard blocked the doorway.
"What does Claire remember that scares you?"
Evelyn's voice sharpened.
"Move."
"Not until you answer me."
She stared at him.
Then said something that made the room feel cold.
"The crash wasn't as simple as you were told."
Richard's entire body went still.
"What?"
Evelyn looked toward the hallway.
"I can't do this."
Richard grabbed her arm.
"Evelyn."
She pulled free.
"You want the truth?"
Her eyes filled unexpectedly.
"Ask yourself why Claire's car left the road the same week your father changed his will."
Then she walked out.
Richard stood alone.
May you like
Upstairs, in a locked cabinet he had not opened in years, lay his father's final estate documents.
And suddenly Richard knew exactly where he was going.
