CHICAGO
May 1982
FRANK AND MARLA REMAINED ON THE COUCH AS GRETA TOLD HER story. Marla leaned forward when she asked her next question.
“Angela Mitchell was never killed by her husband?”
“No,” Greta said. “But he would have killed her if she hadn’t left.”
Marla took a quick glance at her husband, then back to Greta. “What happened to her?”
Greta hesitated.
“Where is she, Greta? And what does it have to do with our adoption?”
Greta shook her head, looked over at Frank as well.
Frank nodded. “We need to know everything, Greta. I made a promise to help you, but we both have to hear the whole story.”
Greta took another sip of coffee and then gently replaced the cup on the saucer. “After Angela told me, I knew there was no turning back.”
* * *
Two days after Angela appeared in her driveway, Greta drove to the reservoir that sat a mile from the farmhouse. Angela followed in her own car. They waited until dusk, until the summer sky was brushed lavender and the clouds caught the remnants of the setting sun on their underbellies and blushed a cherry red. It was just dark enough to provide cover, but light enough to guide their actions. Greta parked a hundred yards from the reservoir, and then climbed into the passenger seat of Angela’s car for the last leg of the journey. Angela pulled her car over the long grass and to the edge of the drop-off that led to the water. They both got out.
Greta looked around to make sure they were alone; then she reached through the driver’s-side window to make sure the car was in neutral. They positioned themselves behind the rear bumper, dug their heels into the ground, and pushed. When the front wheels crested the bank, gravity took over. Greta and Angela watched as the car careened into the reservoir and disappeared beneath the water. They waited for ten minutes as the water bubbled while the car released trapped air from below. When it became too dark to see the disturbance on the surface, they walked to Greta’s car.
On the way back to the farmhouse, Greta looked over at Angela.
“How far along are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Have you been vomiting?”
“Yes,” Angela said, “for a couple of weeks. I thought it was nerves until the doctor called.”
“Okay,” Greta said. “Probably a month or two. That means you’re due in the spring. We’ll have no problem delivering in my house. I’ve done it dozens of times. Our issue will be keeping you and the baby hidden. We’ll have to file the proper documentation. And even if we skip that process, eventually there will be school registration and life in general. I can keep you hidden. For a while, anyway. Everyone thinks you’re dead. But after you deliver, we’ll have to figure out a long-term plan. Hiding a child is nearly impossible.”
“He can never know he has a child, Greta. Promise me you’ll find a way.”
Greta nodded her head slowly. She had no idea how she could agree to something so impossible, but still she said, “I promise.”