Myra is working the front desk at the inn, checking in a new guest. She starts back for the lobby, when something catches her eye. The door to Elizabeth and Theo’s room is open. She steps cautiously toward it. Don’t be silly, she thinks. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything has her on edge lately. Maybe she should take Gwen up on her offer to try yoga class.
She knocks on the hollow door. “Elizabeth?” she says.
No answer. She peers around the corner and shivers at the chill in the room. The window is open. Wind bellows through the screen.
She checks her watch. Theo and Elizabeth are still on their walk. It’s just so strange she left the window open. As she takes a step into the room, her gaze trails to the nightstand just under the window. A shiny pocketknife, blade ejected, lies there, as if on display. She stumbles backward, into the hall, and runs into Schumer.
“Someone was here,” she whispers. “Broke in the window and left a knife on the bedside table.”
He rushes inside, tears open the closet door. “No one’s here now. Might wanna consider evacuating. This is going to scare the crap out of the guests.”
Myra shivers violently, though she can hardly feel it. A scream sticks in her throat.
Detective Marlow had said they’d be cautious. “But don’t get too worked up,” she’d said. Myra scoffs. She is bitter and can’t hide it. Her chest has broken out in angry red splotches.
“Don’t worry Myra,” they said. “We’ve got it under control,” they said.
Herb wraps a blanket around her shaking body. Police trample through Elizabeth’s room. They tear it apart, dusting for fingerprints. Herb rubs her shoulders. “Myra?”
“Yes,” she says, startled. “What?”
“Sarah wants to speak with us alone.”
She follows Herb through the crowded lobby. Myra catches Kenneth’s eye as he leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. A detective sends him back to his room.
“I’m sorry,” he says, as he trails down the hall. “This is awful.”
Sarah ushers them outside, through the gravel. Icy water sloshes into Myra’s crocs and awakens her senses. She concentrates on stepping around larger chunks of stone and grips Herb’s hand. They move swiftly, past the whispers and craning necks, into the quiet of their home.
Myra slumps into a chair at the dining room table. Herb rakes his fingers through his silver hair. He looks at her. His wrinkles seem deeper, eyes more resigned. He shakes his head.
“I need you to listen to me,” says Sarah, sitting across from Myra. “It’s very possible Elizabeth is the one who slashed that painting. How else would she get the knife? It’s so unlikely that someone would climb in the window and leave it there.”
The room goes silent. The detective exchanges a glance with Herb. They are waiting for Myra to explode, burst into tears, lose her mind.
Instead, Myra laughs. She takes in their wide eyes, and she laughs from deep in her gut. She laughs and laughs till she can hardly breathe. “Do you really believe she’d be stupid enough to leave that knife sitting there for us all to see? And besides, what would ruining a painting accomplish? Even if she was some sort of … imposter. That doesn’t even make sense. Don’t you see? Plus, it’s our pocketknife. Someone had to have taken it from our office. It’s a weird coincidence. You must see that. How would he get into our office without anyone seeing?”
“We aren’t saying Elizabeth Lark is not Charlotte. Not yet.” Sarah speaks slowly. “What if she did damage the painting herself? And you did waive the fingerprinting and the DNA test.”
White-hot rage threatens to boil from Myra’s gut and out her mouth. She presses her lips into a straight line.
Sarah reaches for Myra’s shoulders but stops in midair, as if she can feel the heat emanating from her. “Okay. Let’s say someone stole the knife and left it in her room. God only knows. But we’ve got to do that DNA test.”
Myra blows a scalding breath through her teeth. She can’t stop trembling, can’t look at Herb or Sarah.
“Have you checked the safe, Myra?” Herb asks tentatively.
“Of course not. She would never—”
“Because she and Theo were in the lobby when I dropped a couple of grand in cash in it—”
“Oh, Herb. Come on.” The blood rushes to her cheeks.
Sarah puts her hand up as Herb begins to speak. “Stop,” she mouths. “We should definitely check the safe,” she says aloud.
“It’s not just the money, Sarah. There’s a gun in that safe. I keep it in case of an emergency.”
“Go ahead and check the safe, darling.” Her eyes go steely, hard.
At this moment, the screen door whines open, clacking against the door. Herb peeks into the front room. Maybe a storm is picking up. Myra’s pulse quickens.
“That better not be some reporter,” says Herb.
Elizabeth and Theo emerge from behind the door and step into the kitchen. She drops her bag and says, “What’s going on over at the inn? The cops are everywhere.” Theo clings to his mother’s leg.
Myra rushes toward them.
Sarah puffs her chest out. “We found this in your room.” She produces the pocketknife and sets it on the table. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?”
Elizabeth picks up the knife and twirls it under the light. It falls from her fingers and hits the table with a thud. “We have to go.” Elizabeth speaks in a low, shaky voice. She grabs Theo’s hand.
Myra recognizes the wild, panicked expression on Elizabeth’s face, because she, too, has felt the weight of worry for a child: all Elizabeth wants is to protect Theo. “Someone stole that knife from our office, Herb.”
Elizabeth ignores her. She steps out the door, dragging Theo behind her. “I’m going back to the inn to make a phone call.” Tears stream down her cheeks. “Hurry up,” she tells the boy. “It’s time to go.”
Myra rushes after them. “I can’t do this again.”
Elizabeth turns around, facing Myra. “Don’t say I left you,” she says. “I protected my son. And your family.” Her hair tangles in the cold wind. Leaves rustle around them, and the ocean roars.
“You are part of this family.” Myra’s voice cracks.
“Myra—”
“Don’t say it.” She steps back as if preparing for a blow to the stomach. “We are your family.”
Elizabeth tosses her hands toward the sky, raises her chin to whatever spiritual power she does or does not believe in. Myra doesn’t have a clue what this woman—her daughter—believes in. “I’m sorry for this. Don’t you see that? I would think you’d understand.”
She should understand. Maybe it’s selfish. But she can’t stand here and let them walk away. She follows Elizabeth into the inn, down the hall to her room. Standing in the doorway, she watches Elizabeth toss her tawdry belongings into that duffel bag. “Can we talk for a few minutes, before you go?”
Elizabeth stares at her. “For just a minute.”
Myra tries to memorize her face. Her eyes are drawn to Elizabeth’s loose, torn clothing. To Theo’s threadbare pants. He wears the red shoes Myra purchased for him. They wear none of the other clothes she got them. “Is it too late?”
Elizabeth shakes her head. “I don’t have much choice.”
A weight pulls Myra down. “I meant, is it too late for us to be a family again?”
Elizabeth sits on the bed and pulls her knees to her chest. “I’ve spent my life alone. And I have pondered what it would be like to come down from that cabin. To be free.”
“You’re free now. Safe. Things are hard, but they’d be worse all on your own.”
Elizabeth focuses on Myra’s face. “I can do hard things.” She folds the clothing she and Herb bought, and neatly stacks little shirts and jeans on the bed. “C’mon, Theo.”
“But, I’m your mother. Don’t you like the things we picked out?” She stops, thinking. “Remember, we’ve paid for your brother and sister’s education. We owe you some new clothes. A home to stay in, with heat and food.” She bites her lip till it bleeds. “You are my child. And I’m nothing but a stranger to you.”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Elizabeth says. “Peter is gonna haunt me from the grave.”
“This isn’t about him. I mean you and me. Give me a chance to try. You don’t have to love me. But I gave birth to you.” A crack runs through her, and it webs like naked tree branches in a frozen winter. “I remember.”
Elizabeth tosses her duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Myra leans close to Elizabeth. She embraces her, leaving space between them. “When you were a little girl, you used to say, ‘I’ll give you a dozen pansies and a marigold’ when you wanted something.” She says, softly, “I’ll give you a dozen pansies and a marigold if you let us handle this. If you stay home.”
Elizabeth hugs back. It is electric, this fleeting moment. Myra closes her eyes and breathes it all in. “I love you.”
Elizabeth does not respond.