Chapter 5 - The Grave In The Garden
We drove back to the estate in complete silence.
The storm had worsened, lightning flashing across the Chicago skyline.
When we arrived, the engagement dinner was officially over.
The caterers were packing up.
Vanessa was standing in the grand foyer, holding a glass of scotch, her red dress perfectly unwrinkled.
She looked at my torn sleeve, then at Luca.
“Leaving your own party, darling? That’s poor form.”
Luca didn't yell.
He didn't confront her.
He just walked up to her and took the glass of scotch from her hand.
“Where is Frank?”
Vanessa smiled faintly.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“The driver you locked in the elevator,” Luca said, his voice dangerously low.
Vanessa’s smile vanished.
“He’s a delusional old man. I asked him to leave, and he got aggressive. I panicked.”
“You’ve never panicked a day in your life, Vanessa.”
Luca walked past her, heading straight for the back gardens.
I followed close behind.
The rain was torrential.
Luca grabbed a heavy flashlight from the kitchen porch and marched into the sprawling, manicured gardens behind the estate.
“Where are we going?” I yelled over the thunder.
“My mother’s rose garden,” Luca shouted back. “There’s a small memorial stone there for the baby we lost.”
We reached the far corner of the property.
The beam of the flashlight cut through the rain.
There, kneeling in the mud beside a small marble angel, was Frank.
He had a rusted iron shovel in his hands.
He had completely dug up the earth beneath the memorial stone.
“Frank!” Luca yelled.
The old man looked up, his face pale and streaked with mud.
He dropped the shovel.
“I had to show you,” Frank choked out, pointing down into the hole. “I couldn't carry it anymore.”
Luca stepped to the edge of the small grave.
He pointed the flashlight down.
I braced myself to see a tiny coffin.
But there was no coffin.
Buried in the mud was a heavy, waterproof steel lockbox.
Frank reached down, pulled the rusted latch, and threw the lid open.
Inside wasn't a baby’s remains.
It was filled with thick, bound ledger books.
And sitting right on top was a framed photograph.
Luca reached down and pulled the photograph out of the rain.
He wiped the mud from the glass.
I shined my phone’s light on it.
It was a picture of Vanessa.
But she wasn't posing with Luca’s father.
She was posing with a little boy.
May you like
A boy who looked exactly like Luca.
“That’s not your father’s child,” Frank whispered over the rain. “That’s yours, Luca. Anna didn't miscarry before the crash. She gave birth.”
