Chapter 2 - THE GREEN COAT
“Do we count?” Vincent asked.
Sophie shook her head against his chest.
“Dad used the timer.”
Vincent reached into his pocket with one hand.
Five minutes.
He set the timer without letting go of her.
Then he sat on the edge of the leather sofa because kneeling on the rug while holding a seven-year-old suddenly seemed more awkward than negotiating with twelve angry men over a trucking contract.
Sophie climbed beside him.
She tucked herself against his ribs.
The green coat lay on the carpet at their feet.
For the first minute, neither spoke.
Vincent could hear the rain against the windows.
The fire cracking.
Sophie breathing.
That was all.
Then she whispered, “You smell like Grandpa’s chair.”
Vincent looked down.
“What does that mean?”
“Leather and coffee.”
He almost smiled.
“Is that good?”
“I think so.”
At two minutes, Sophie's fingers loosened around his shirt.
At three, she stopped trying to hide the tears wetting his chest.
At four, Vincent realized his hand had been moving slowly up and down her back the way his mother used to calm Charlie during thunderstorms.
He had not thought about that in years.
At four minutes and fifty-eight seconds, the library door opened.
“Sophie?”
Mara Ellis froze.
She stood in the doorway wearing the dark dress she used while supervising formal dinners, her brown hair coming loose from the neat twist at the back of her head.
Her face went white.
Sophie immediately sat up.
“Mom—”
“What are you doing?”
The fear in Mara’s voice was stronger than anger.
Vincent noticed.
Sophie did too.
“I just needed five minutes.”
Mara crossed the room.
“You do not come into Mr. Rowan’s library without permission.”
“I know.”
“You know better than this.”
Vincent stood.
“She asked permission.”
Mara looked at him.
“With respect, Mr. Rowan, she should not have been here to ask.”
The timer sounded.
A small electronic chime.
Everyone stopped.
Sophie wiped her cheek with her sleeve.
“That’s five.”
Vincent turned it off.
“How do you feel?”
She thought about it.
“Not fixed.”
“No.”
Vincent knew something about things that could not be fixed.
“But less squishy inside.”
He nodded solemnly.
“That sounds useful.”
Mara closed her eyes for a second.
When she opened them, some of the panic had gone.
“Sophie, please wait by the door.”
The girl obeyed.
She picked up the green coat.
It slipped from her hands.
One sleeve landed across Vincent’s shoe.
He bent to pick it up.
Then stopped.
Near the cuff was a dark wooden button.
Three of the coat’s buttons were brown plastic.
The fourth was wood, held in place with faded red thread.
Vincent stared.
He knew that button.
Or rather, he knew the person who had sewn it.
His mother.
She had repaired everything with red thread because she claimed black thread disappeared whenever she needed it.
Vincent turned the cuff over.
There were two tiny initials stitched inside.
C.R.
Charlie Rowan.
The room seemed to lose its air.
“Where did you get this?”
Sophie looked confused.
“It’s Daddy’s.”
Vincent looked at Mara.
She had gone completely still.
“Mara.”
“It belonged to Daniel.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“It belonged to my brother.”
Sophie looked between them.
“Your brother knew Daddy?”
Vincent did not answer.
He could not.
Charlie had worn that coat at nineteen.
Vincent remembered because he had mocked him for buying something that made him look like a high-school history teacher.
Charlie wore it anyway.
Two winters later, Charlie was dead.
The coat had disappeared.
Vincent had assumed their mother donated it.
Mara reached for Sophie’s hand.
“We should go.”
“No.”
It was not loud.
Mara stopped.
Vincent held up the coat.
“My brother died nineteen years ago. Your husband somehow ended up with his coat.”
Mara’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t know it was Charlie’s.”
“But you knew Daniel knew him.”
Silence.
That was enough.
Vincent’s disappointment came before anger.
“You have worked in my house for almost three years.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my brother.”
“No.”
“Your husband did.”
“Yes.”
“And you never thought that mattered?”
Mara glanced toward Sophie.
“It wasn’t my story to tell.”
Sophie whispered, “Mom?”
Mara softened immediately.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Vincent looked down at the coat again.
There was a tear near the inside lining.
Something white showed beneath it.
He slid two fingers into the opening.
Mara stepped forward.
“Mr. Rowan.”
Vincent stopped.
Her face told him not to continue.
That made him continue.
He pulled out an old Polaroid.
The edges had yellowed.
Three young men stood outside a brick warehouse.
Charlie was easy to recognize.
Twenty-one years old.
Thin.
Smiling with his entire face.
Beside him stood a young man Vincent had never seen.
Tall.
Dark hair.
A little nervous in front of the camera.
Daniel Ellis.
Vincent knew because Sophie had Daniel’s eyes.
The third man was older.
Already wearing expensive suits.
Already carrying the silver-headed walking cane that would later become part of his image.
Sebastian Rowan.
Vincent’s uncle.
His consigliere.
The man who had practically raised Vincent and Charlie after their father left.
Vincent turned the photograph over.
One date had been written across the back.
December 3.
Nineteen years ago.
Six days before Charlie died.
Vincent looked at Mara.
“What were they doing together?”
She said nothing.
“Mara.”
“I promised Daniel.”
“He’s dead.”
Her eyes flashed.
“That doesn’t erase a promise.”
Vincent respected the answer even while hating it.
Then Sophie spoke from beside the door.
“Mom said Daddy was never supposed to show Mr. Rowan the picture.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Vincent looked at the child.
“What else did your dad say about it?”
“Sophie,” Mara whispered.
The girl frowned, trying to remember.
“He said the man with the cane helped Uncle Charlie.”
Vincent looked at Sebastian in the photograph.
Then Sophie added one more sentence.
May you like
“And he said the same man was scared of what Daddy found.”
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