Харлан Кобен - Run Away

And the first thing she’d do is ask about Paige.

He had some questions about that too.

Simon had called Elena after leaving Sadie Lowenstein’s and filled her in on Paige’s interest in genetics and ancestry. Elena usually played it close to the vest, but this meant something to her. She’d peppered him with follow-up questions, only some of which he could answer.

When Elena ran out of questions, she asked for Eileen Vaughan’s phone number. Simon gave it to her.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Maybe nothing. But not long before he was killed, Damien Gorse also visited one of those DNA sites.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Let me run down a few things before we get into that. Are you going to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

Elena promised to meet him there and then she hung up.

The children seemed okay. Anya was home with Suzy Fiske, and Simon thought that was probably best for now. Sam had befriended some medical residents who were working the floor — Sam was good at that, always able to make friends quickly — and he was in their lounge right now, trying to study for his upcoming physics exam. He’d always been not only a smart kid but an industrious one. Simon, who’d been a do-enough-to-get-by student, was constantly amazed by his son’s work ethic — up early in the morning, exercising before breakfast, getting his homework done days ahead of time — and unlike most fathers, Simon sometimes worried that he should encourage his son to ease off the gas pedal a bit and smell the roses. Sam was almost too driven.

Not now, of course. Now it would hopefully be a nice distraction.

No change.

So block — though right now, he was blocking on more than Ingrid’s condition.

Simon didn’t consider himself to be an overly imaginative guy, but whatever imagination he had, it had shifted into overdrive after hearing about the DNA test, careening him down this dark, ugly road, one with barbed wire and land mines, one he’d never wanted to travel, but there seemed to be no other choice at the moment.

Eileen Vaughan’s words kept echoing: “ Problems at home. ”

Yvonne slipped into the room. “Hey,” she said.

“Is there any chance Paige isn’t my child?”

Boom. Just like that.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Simon turned toward her. Yvonne was pale, shaking.

“Is there any chance I’m not Paige’s biological father?”

“My God, no.”

“I just need to know the truth.”

“What the hell, Simon?”

“Could she have slept with someone else?”

“Ingrid?”

“Who else would I be talking about?”

“I don’t know. This is all such crazy talk.”

“So there’s zero chance.”

“Zero.”

He turned back toward his wife.

“Simon, what’s going on?”

“You can’t say for sure,” he said.

“Simon.”

“No one can say for sure.”

“No, of course no one can say for sure.” A hint of impatience had crept into Yvonne’s voice. “I can’t say for sure you haven’t fathered any other children either.”

“You know how much I love her.”

“I do, yes. And she loves you just as much.”

“But I don’t know the whole story, do I?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do. There’s a part of her that’s hidden. Even from me.”

“There’s part of everybody that’s hidden.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then I don’t get what you do mean.”

“Yeah, Yvonne, you do.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from my search for Paige.”

“And now you think, what, that you’re not her father?”

Simon swung his body now, faced her full. “I know everything about you, Yvonne.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.”

Yvonne said nothing. Simon looked back at Ingrid in the bed.

“I love her. I love her with all my heart. But there are parts of her I don’t know.”

She still said nothing.

“Yvonne?”

“What do you want me to say? Ingrid has an air of mystery, I’ll grant you that. Guys went gaga over it. And hey, let’s be honest. It’s one of the things that drew you to her.”

He nodded. “At first.”

“You love her deeply.”

“I do.”

“And yet you’re wondering if she betrayed you in the worst way possible.”

“Did she?”

“No.”

“But there’s something.”

“It has nothing to do with Paige—”

“What does it have to do with?”

“—or her getting shot.”

“But there are secrets?”

“There’s a past, sure.” Yvonne raised her hands, more in frustration now than confusion. “Everyone has one.”

“I don’t. You don’t.”

“Stop it.”

“What kind of past does she have?”

“A past, Simon.” Her tone was impatient. “Just that. She had a life way before you — school, travel, relationships, jobs.”

“But that’s not what you mean. You mean something out of the ordinary.”

She frowned, shook her head. “It isn’t my place to say.”

“Too late for that, Yvonne.”

“No, it’s not. You have to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Good. We’re talking about ancient history.”

Simon shook his head. “Whatever’s happening here — whatever changed Paige and led to all this destruction — I think it started a long time ago.”

“How can that be?”

“I don’t know.”

Yvonne moved closer to the bed. “Let me ask you this, Simon.”

“Go ahead.”

“Best-case scenario: Ingrid comes out of this okay. You find Paige. Paige is okay. She gets clean. I mean, totally clean. Puts this whole ugly chapter behind her.”

“Okay.”

“Then Paige decides to move away. Get a fresh start. She meets a guy. A wonderful guy. A guy who puts her up on a pedestal, who loves her beyond anything she can imagine. They build a great life together, this guy and Paige, and Paige never wants this wonderful guy to know that at one time, she was a junkie and maybe worse, living in some crack den, doing God knows what with God knows who to get a fix.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Paige loves this guy. She doesn’t want to see the light in his eyes dim. Can’t you understand that?”

Simon’s voice, when he finally found it, was barely a whisper. “My God, what is she hiding?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Like hell it doesn’t.”

“—just like Paige’s drug past wouldn’t matter.”

“Yvonne?”

“What?”

“Do you really think this secret would change how I feel about Ingrid?”

She didn’t reply.

“Because if that’s the case, then our love is pretty weak.”

“It’s not.”

“But?”

“But it would change the way you see her.”

“The dim in the eyes?”

“Yes.”

“You’re wrong. I’d still love her just as much.”

Yvonne nodded slowly. “I believe you would.”

“So?”

“So her distant past has nothing to do with this.” Yvonne held up her hand to stop his protest. “And no matter what you say, I promised. It’s not my secret to tell. You have to let it go.”

Simon wasn’t going to do that — he needed to know — but just then he felt Ingrid’s hand tighten over his like a vise. His heart leapt. He spun his head back toward his wife, hoping maybe to see her eyes open or a smile break out on her face. But her entire body convulsed, went rigid, began to spasm. Her eyes didn’t open — they fluttered uncontrollably so that he could only see their whites.

Machines began to beep. An alarm sounded.

Someone rushed into the room. Then someone else. A third person pushed him aside. More people flooded the room, surrounding Ingrid’s bed. The movement was constant. They were calling out urgent instructions, using unintelligible medical jargon in borderline-panic tones, as someone else, the sixth person to enter the room, gently but firmly pushed him and Yvonne out.