He remembered the sentence from the grocery-store café.
This time he did not try to correct her.
Carmen spent the morning tracing the name Rebecca.
The hospital records from Elelliana’s mother’s delivery contained an emergency contact: Rebecca Hale. Same phone number Elelliana had used after the fire. Same address she had visited.
“She is your mother’s sister?” Carmen asked.
Elelliana nodded.
“Have you met her before last week?”
“No.”
“Did your mom talk about her?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did she say?”
Elelliana looked toward the twins.
“That Aunt Rebecca had a nice house and a garden and didn’t like noise.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
Carmen asked gently, “What happened when you went there?”
Elelliana’s fingers twisted in the sleeve of the coat.
“I knocked. She opened the door. I said Mom told me to bring her the letter if anything happened.”
“And then?”
“She looked at me for a long time.”
“Did she ask where your mom was?”
“No.”
“Did she ask about the babies?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
Elelliana’s voice became almost inaudible.
“She said I had the wrong house. I told her Mom’s name. Then she said she never knew anybody with that name.”
Nathan had to look away.
An adult could misunderstand a child at a doorway. An adult could panic. But Rebecca had heard her own sister’s name and looked at two newborn babies in the arms of an eight-year-old.
Someone had known.
The question was why she chose denial.
