“How old are you,” Cloe said. “Eli.”
A pause.
“Twenty,” he said. “I’ll be twenty-one in March.”
She did the calculation before he finished the sentence. Twenty years old. She and Marshall had been married for three years when Eli was born. Not before the marriage. During it. She had been thirty-two when she found out about the second life on a public street. She had been twenty-nine when Eli was conceived.
She had been awake in that apartment, stretching every coin, sitting in hospital waiting rooms with Dave’s hand in hers.
And Marshall had been somewhere else entirely.
She stood up from the bed. She walked to the window. Mac was still in the room. She felt him watching her without turning around.
“How did you find me,” she said. Her voice was completely even. She had become very g
