Chapter 2: The Call From the Dead
My phone kept ringing.
Nobody at the table moved.
On the screen, beneath the name that had been burned into my memory for fourteen years, the words were impossible to mistake.
*Dad.*
My father was dead.
I had stood beside his coffin.
I had watched them lower it into the ground on a freezing morning while rain tapped against black umbrellas.
I had been seventeen.
There had been a funeral home, a priest, flowers, casseroles, neighbors whispering in the driveway, and my mother gripping my hand so tightly my fingers had gone numb.
My father had been dead for fourteen years.
Yet his name was glowing on my phone.
“Answer it,” Daniel whispered.
Michael didn't say anything.
I looked at him.
He looked at the phone.
For the first time since he had walked into the restaurant, I saw something crack across his face.
Fear.
Not anger.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“Michael,” I whispered, “what is this?””
He stood motionless.
The phone rang again.
I pressed accept.
“Hello?””
Silence.
Then static.
I swallowed.
“Dad?””
A man's breathing came through the speaker.
Slow.
Ragged.
Close.
My entire body went cold.
Then a voice said, “Emily.””
I dropped the phone.
It hit the table but stayed connected.
The voice came through again.
“Don't trust your husband.””
Daniel covered his mouth.
Michael shut his eyes.
I stared at him.
“You know who's calling.””
He opened his eyes.
“Yes.””
The voice on the phone spoke again.
“Emily, listen to me.””
My hand shook as I picked up the phone.
“Who are you?””
A pause.
Then:
“Someone who should have called you a long time ago.””
“Are you my father?””
Michael pushed his chair back.
“Give me the phone.””
I pulled it away.
“No.””
“Emily.””
“You knew this would happen.””
His jaw tightened.
“You don't understand.””
“Then explain it.””
“Not here.””
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“That's your favorite answer.””
The voice on the phone suddenly said, “He's lying.””
Michael went pale.
Daniel whispered, “Oh God.””
I looked between them.
“Both of you know.””
Neither answered.
The caller said, “Get out of the restaurant.””
Michael stepped toward me.
“Emily, hang up.””
“Why?””
“Because whoever this is wants you frightened.””
The caller interrupted.
“Michael knows exactly who I am.””
Michael's face hardened.
“Put the phone down.””
I pressed it against my ear.
“Tell me who you are.””
The voice breathed for a moment.
Then:
“I'm the man your husband was supposed to kill.””
The restaurant noise vanished.
I couldn't hear the silverware anymore.
Couldn't hear the music.
Couldn't hear the conversations.
Only those words.
Your husband was supposed to kill.
I stared at Michael.
He said nothing.
“Michael?””
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Daniel pushed his chair back.
“I warned you.””
I turned toward him.
“Warned me about what?””
Daniel looked at Michael.
“He didn't tell you?””
“Tell me what?””
Michael suddenly grabbed Daniel by the collar.
Several nearby diners turned to look.
“Enough,” Michael hissed.
Daniel didn't fight him.
“Let her hear it.””
Michael released him.
The caller spoke softly.
“Your father discovered everything.””
My throat tightened.
“What did he discover?””
“That Michael wasn't working for him.””
I looked at Michael.
“What does that mean?””
The voice continued.
“He was working against him.””
Michael slammed his palm onto the table.
“Stop.””
The caller laughed quietly.
“You still think you can control the story.””
Michael leaned over the phone.
“You're dead.””
My heart stopped.
The caller said nothing.
Then Michael added, “I watched them bury you.””
The line went silent.
I looked from Michael to Daniel.
My voice barely worked.
“Who did you bury?””
Michael didn't answer.
I felt something inside me break.
Fourteen years of memories were suddenly shifting.
The fire.
The settlement.
The photographs.
My father's letter.
Michael's lies.
Daniel's fear.
And now a man claiming to be alive after I had seen his coffin.
“Michael,” I said, “whose funeral did I attend?””
His face changed.
I knew then.
The answer was going to destroy something.
Maybe my marriage.
Maybe my family.
Maybe everything I believed about my childhood.
Michael sat down slowly.
“Your father's.””
“Was it?””
He looked at me.
“Yes.””
“Then why is someone calling me?””
“I don't know.””
The caller spoke immediately.
“He does know.””
Michael looked toward the ceiling.
“Leave her alone.””
“It's too late.””
Then the call ended.
I sat frozen, staring at the black screen.
Daniel was crying.
Actually crying.
He wiped his face with both hands.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
I looked at him.
“For what?””
He couldn't meet my eyes.
“Your father trusted mine.””
“And?””
“And my father betrayed him.””
Michael said, “Not tonight.””
Daniel looked up.
“I've spent fourteen years carrying this.””
“You've spent fourteen years hiding it,” Michael snapped.
Daniel stood.
“No. You spent fourteen years threatening anyone who came close to the truth.””
A woman at the next table glanced over.
Michael lowered his voice.
“You have no idea what I protected her from.””
I stood too.
“Stop deciding what I can handle.””
They both looked at me.
My hands were shaking, but my voice wasn't.
“I have spent my entire life being told what happened to my family.””
I pointed at Michael.
“You told me my father died because the factory accident spiraled out of control.””
Then at Daniel.
“You told me you had never met my husband.””
Daniel lowered his eyes.
“And now some dead man is calling my phone.””
I lifted it.
“So somebody is going to start telling me the truth.””
Nobody spoke.
I picked up my purse.
Michael caught my wrist.
“Don't leave.””
I pulled away.
“You don't get to tell me where to go.””
“Emily.””
“No.””
He looked at me.
For one second, I saw the man I had married.
The man who had held me when my mother died.
The man who had driven six hours through a snowstorm because I wanted to see the ocean.
The man who had kissed my forehead every night before turning off the light.
Then I remembered the photographs.
The letter.
The lie.
And I realized I no longer knew which version of him had been real.
“Did you know my father was alive?””
Michael's silence was answer enough.
My stomach turned.
“You knew.””
His eyes filled with something I couldn't name.
“He wasn't supposed to contact you.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
“Emily—”
“Did you know?””
“Yes.””
The word landed harder than a slap.
Daniel closed his eyes.
I stared at Michael.
“How long?””
He didn't answer.
“How long have you known my father was alive?””
“Since before I met you.””
The room seemed to tilt.
I grabbed the edge of the table.
Daniel whispered, “Michael…”
“Don't.””
I looked at Michael.
“You married me knowing my father was alive.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
He stood slowly.
“Because I was trying to keep you alive.””
I let out a broken laugh.
“You expect me to believe that?””
“Yes.””
“After everything?””
“Yes.””
“Then tell me why.””
Michael reached into his coat again.
This time he pulled out a second photograph.
He placed it on the table.
I stared at it.
My father's factory.
The night of the fire.
Flames pouring through the windows.
Smoke covering the sky.
And standing in the foreground—
Michael.
Daniel.
And my father.
Alive.
Not injured.
Not trapped.
Standing beside a black car.
I looked closer.
My father's hand was resting on Michael's shoulder.
They weren't fighting.
They weren't running.
They looked like they were saying goodbye.
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Three words.
*He chose me.*
My fingers went cold.
“Who wrote this?””
Michael said nothing.
Daniel stepped closer.
“That handwriting…”
He stopped.
I looked at him.
“What?””
Daniel stared at the photograph.
Then at Michael.
“That was your father's handwriting.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
Michael's face had gone completely blank.
Daniel whispered, “Emily…”
“No.””
I backed away.
“My father didn't choose Michael.””
Daniel looked at me.
“He did.””
The restaurant door opened.
A man in a dark baseball cap stepped inside.
He scanned the room once.
Then his eyes locked onto me.
Michael saw him too.
Every muscle in his body tightened.
“Get behind me,” he said.
I didn't move.
The stranger reached into his jacket.
Daniel whispered, “That's him.””
Michael turned sharply.
“You're sure?””
Daniel nodded.
“He's the one who was there the night your father disappeared.””
The stranger stopped three tables away.
He slowly removed his cap.
And I recognized his face.
I had seen it once before.
Fourteen years ago.
At my father's funeral.
The man looked directly at me.
Then he said,
May you like
“Emily, your father never died.””
And behind him, the restaurant door clicked shut.
