“Did your mother send you here?”
Lily nodded. “Not today. She didn’t know I came today. But she told me before, if anything happened to her, I should find the man in the newspaper.”
She pulled a folded clipping from her pocket. It was soft from being opened many times. Lucas recognized the photograph immediately: himself at a charity gala two years earlier, standing beside a senator and a hospital director. His name and the address of Marchetti Tower were printed beneath it.
“My mom kept it in her drawer,” Lily said. “I wasn’t supposed to look.”
Lucas held the clipping between his fingers.
Emma had kept his photograph.
For seven years, he had told himself she had vanished because she finally understood what his life was. He had told himself she hated him. He had told himself that was better for her.
But she had kept his face in a drawer.
“Where do you live?”
“Queens. Apartment 4B. Near the train.”
“How did you get here?”
Lily looked down. “Subway.”
Margaret turned sharply toward the window, one hand over her mouth.
Lucas kept his voice steady. “Alone?”
“I saved my candy money. And I remembered the stops because Mommy took me once to see the big library lions. I asked a lady where to get off.”
He stood so quickly the chair slid back.
“Margaret, call Marcus. Bring the car around. We’re going to Queens.”
Lily finally looked scared. “You’re going to see my mom?”
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“Don’t make her cry.”
Lucas stopped.
Seven years of anger, pride, grief, and false certainty moved inside him like something cracking under ice. He crouched in front of Lily until their eyes were level.
“I’ll try.”
She studied him with solemn doubt. Then she held out the sandwich.
“Can I bring this? Mommy didn’t eat breakfast.”
Lucas looked at Margaret, who was already crying silently.
“Yes,” he said. “Bring it.”
The drive to Queens took place under a sky the color of wet steel. Lily fell asleep within minutes, curled against the leather seat, her small hand clutching the corner of Lucas’s coat. Marcus drove without speaking. He had worked for Lucas long enough to know silence was sometimes a form of loyalty.
Lucas watched Lily in the reflection of the window.
The tilt of her mouth was Emma’s. The stubborn chin was his.
The thought came slowly, then all at once.
My daughter.
