Chapter 1 - “A sailboat?”
“Two.”
“White?”
“One white. One navy.”
I smiled faintly.
“Caroline hated navy sails.”
“Why?”
“She said boats were supposed to look hopeful.”
Hannah was quiet.
That was another thing I had learned about her. She never rushed to fill silence.
Most people around me did.
Men who worked for me talked too much because silence made them nervous. Lawyers explained things twice. Accountants buried uncomfortable numbers inside paragraphs.
Hannah simply waited.
“Lucy at school?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What does she think you do here?”
Hannah laughed softly.
“She thinks I help a grumpy king find his coffee.”
I turned toward her voice.
“Grumpy?”
“That was her word.”
“And king?”
“That part was mine.”
I almost laughed again.
Then the warmth disappeared.
“Hannah.”
“Yes?”
“I want another examination.”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“Not from Hale.”
“I assumed that.”
“I need someone he doesn’t know.”
“That may be difficult.”
“Not impossible.”
“No.”
I heard her shift in the chair.
“There was a doctor at the clinic where I trained,” she said. “Dr. Miriam Lang. Neuro-ophthalmology. She teaches part-time now, I think.”
“You trust her?”
“I trusted her enough to learn from her.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
Her honesty was becoming irritatingly useful.
“Can you contact her without using the house telephone?”
“Yes.”
“Do it.”
Hannah hesitated.
“Mr. Mercer, there’s something else.”
I waited.
“You should consider stopping the drops until someone identifies them.”
My jaw tightened.
“Hale says they control inflammation.”
“Then we should confirm that.”
“We?”
She caught herself.
“You should.”
I turned toward the Sound again.
Five years of darkness had trained me to notice tiny changes in people’s voices.
Hannah was frightened.
Not dramatically.
Not enough to make her reckless.
But frightened enough that she had already started questioning things she wished she hadn’t noticed.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“That I don’t know enough yet.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She sighed.
“I’m thinking that regular long-term medication without updated imaging is unusual.”
“Unusual isn’t criminal.”
“No.”
“Or proof of anything.”
“No.”
“And pupil response does not mean I can see.”
“No.”
Her answers were calm.
That helped.
Hope was dangerous when it became certainty too early.
“Contact Lang.”
“I will.”
“And Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“If there is nothing to find…”
“I’ll tell you.”
“No comforting version?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She stood.
Before leaving, she said, “The sunlight moved.”
I tilted my head.
“Where?”
“Across the water. It’s wider now.”
I said nothing.
But after she went inside, I sat there for nearly an hour imagining silver water.
For the first time in five years, darkness contained color.
It existed only in memory.
But it existed.
Two days later, Hannah knocked on the library door at 9:14 in the evening.
I knew the time because the grandfather clock in the eastern hall had just finished chiming.
“Come in.”
Her steps crossed the carpet.
“She agreed.”
“Lang?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
I frowned.
“At the house?”
“No. She doesn’t want to examine you here.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t give her your name at first. I described the injury and the pupil response. She said she’d want proper imaging.”
“And after you told her who I was?”
There was a pause.
“She got quieter.”
That interested me.
“She knows Hale?”
“Professionally.”
“What does that mean?”
“She wouldn’t explain by phone.”
Of course she wouldn’t.
People protected themselves with ambiguity.
It was practically a New York profession.
“How do we get there without Hale knowing?”
“I drive.”
I turned toward her.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never driven me anywhere.”
“You’ve never asked.”
There was something almost amused in her voice.
I leaned back.
“What about Daniel?”
Daniel Cross had handled nearly every aspect of my public life since the explosion. Business meetings, property negotiations, transportation, security.
Before Caroline died, Daniel had been my closest friend.
Afterward, he became something closer to a brother.
“Daniel will notice if I disappear.”
“Then tell him you’re going somewhere.”
“That usually leads to him asking where.”
“Tell him the truth.”
I was silent.
Hannah continued carefully.
“You trust him.”
“I do.”
“Then perhaps this isn’t something you should hide from him.”
The answer annoyed me because she was probably right.
Daniel arrived at eight the next morning.
He came through the library doors carrying the smell of rain and expensive coffee.
“You summoned me before nine,” he said. “Either somebody died, somebody bought Staten Island, or you finally decided to replace that horrifying bronze sculpture in the foyer.”
“Sit down.”
“That serious?”
“Sit.”
He did.
I told him everything.
Lucy.
The flashlight.
Hannah’s training.
The missing scans.
Dr. Lang.
Daniel said nothing for nearly a minute.
Then, very quietly, “You’re sure about the pupils?”
“Hannah is.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I know.”
He stopped.
“Good.”
“You thought I’d already convinced myself?”
“I thought you might want to.”
That was why I trusted him.
Daniel had never confused loyalty with agreement.
“I’m going to Lang tonight.”
“I’ll come.”
“No.”
“Grant.”
“No entourage. No driver. No one from the office.”
“You don’t know what this means yet.”
“Exactly.”
He made a frustrated sound.
“Then at least let me follow in another car.”
“Hannah is driving.”
There was silence.
Then Daniel said, “The housekeeper?”
“Hannah.”
“I know her name.”
“Then use it.”
He paused.
Something about the exchange felt sharper than it should have.
“You trust her?” he asked.
“Enough.”
“After two years?”
“You’ve trusted people after lunch.”
“That was business.”
“So is this.”
“No,” Daniel said quietly. “This is your life.”
The words settled between us.
Eventually, I said, “If Hale is wrong, I need to know why before anyone realizes I’m asking questions.”
Daniel rose.
“I’ll pull your medical records.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“Why not?”
“Because Hale will know.”
“I can be discreet.”
“You can be discreet when buying companies. Medical records leave trails.”
Daniel muttered something unpleasant under his breath.
Then he squeezed my shoulder.
“If you need me, call.”
“I know.”
“And Grant?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t build Caroline and Emma into this.”
My chest tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if there’s a chance of getting some sight back, let it be about you. Not about what you lost.”
He left before I could answer.
That evening, Hannah drove an ordinary gray Subaru belonging to her sister.
I sat in the passenger seat wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap I despised.
“You look very inconspicuous,” Hannah said.
“I hear sarcasm.”
“You hear accurately.”
“Where’s Lucy?”
“With my sister.”
“Does she know why?”
“She thinks I’m helping the grumpy king with a secret mission.”
“That child is becoming a security concern.”
“She’s three.”
“Exactly. No professional discipline.”
The drive took forty minutes.
Without my usual driver, I became aware of things I normally ignored.
Hannah hummed under her breath at red lights.
She apologized when she braked too suddenly.
She kept the radio low.
At one point, I asked, “Why did your husband disappear?”
The humming stopped.
I regretted asking immediately.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“No. It’s all right.”
She changed lanes before continuing.
“He didn’t vanish mysteriously. He left.”
“I see.”
“He was twenty-four. So was I. We had a baby and bills and plans that were more expensive than we realized.”
“Did he stay in contact?”
“For about a year. Then less. Eventually not at all.”
“Lucy asks?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you tell her?”
“The truth she can understand. That her father lives far away and couldn’t figure out how to be part of our family.”
There was no bitterness in her tone.
That surprised me.
“You forgive him?”
“No.”
She said it so calmly I almost smiled.
“But I stopped arranging my life around being angry at him.”
That sentence remained with me long after we reached the clinic.
Dr. Miriam Lang examined me in a building near Columbia University.
She had a low voice and hands that smelled faintly of soap and latex.
She asked questions for almost an hour before beginning any tests.
“Do you perceive flashes?”
“No.”
“Light versus dark?”
“No.”
“Shapes?”
“No.”
“Dreams?”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Do you still dream visually?”
“Yes.”
“Color?”
“Yes.”
“When you imagine Caroline?”
I stiffened.
“How do you know about Caroline?”
“Your case was discussed publicly after the explosion.”
I relaxed slightly.
“Yes. I see her in dreams.”
“And your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now I’m going to shine a light.”
The examination became a series of clicks, instructions, machines, and unfamiliar sounds.
Hannah stayed near the wall.
I could tell because every few minutes she shifted and her shoe brushed the floor.
At last, Lang said, “I want retinal imaging.”
My pulse quickened.
May you like
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
