Chapter 7 - The Girl at the Window
When Nathan opened the front door of his penthouse, the apartment was completely silent.
The floor-to-ceiling windows were covered in condensation from the morning fog rolling off Mt. Washington.
Laura was asleep on the armchair in the study, a wool blanket pulled over her shoulders.
Nathan walked down the long, carpeted corridor toward the guest suite.
The door was open three inches.
He pushed it open with a single knuckle, making no sound.
The large king bed was empty.
The goose-down duvet had been smoothed out with military precision, pulled tight across the mattress with hospital corners so sharp they could cut paper.
The pillows were arranged symmetrically against the headboard.
Not a single wrinkle marred the fabric.
Nathan’s heart skipped a beat in sudden terror.
"June?" he called out hoarsely.
No answer.
He rushed into the master bath.
Empty.
He ran back toward the main living area, his shoes slipping slightly on the slick marble.
Then he saw her.
In the furthest corner of the living room, hidden behind a large potted fiddle-leaf fig beside the window, was a small, curled-up figure.
June was sitting directly on the cold marble floor.
Her knees were pulled tightly against her chest, her chin resting on her denim jeans.
She had lined up her worn shoes side by side against the wall, perfectly parallel to the baseboard.
Beside her rested the empty soup bowl from the night before, washed clean in the bathroom sink, accompanied by a folded paper towel.
She hadn't slept in the bed.
She had spent the night curled on the hard floor behind a plant, hiding like an animal that expected to be driven out at dawn.
Nathan stopped five paces back, his chest constricting until he could hardly draw breath.
"June," he said gently, keeping his voice as low and soft as possible.
Her shoulders jerked.
She looked up quickly, her gray eyes widening in immediate alarm.
She scrambled to her feet, her hands automatically pressing against her thighs in that horrifying, rehearsed posture of an obedient orphan.
"I cleaned the bowl," she blurted out, her voice thin and ragged from sleep.
"I washed it with soap in the small room."
"I dried it with the paper."
"I didn't touch the big television."
"I didn't touch the books on the shelf."
"And I made the bed really tight so nobody has to wash the sheets."
Nathan walked slowly toward her and knelt down on the cold floor, just as he had done the evening before.
"June," Nathan said, looking directly into her wide, frightened eyes.
"You didn't have to clean the bowl."
"I always clean the bowl," she whispered.
"The people in Altoona told me that children who don't help with dishes don't get breakfast."
"The people in Altoona were wrong," Nathan said.
"And you don't have to sleep on the floor."
"The bed was too soft," June said, her lower lip trembling slightly.
"It smelled like money."
"I thought if I got my skin on it, you would have to throw the blankets away."
"Because I'm dirty."
Nathan felt a searing heat behind his eyes.
He reached out, his hand open, waiting for her permission.
She didn't pull away, though she watched his fingers with an agonizing, vigilant stillness.
He placed his hand softly against her shoulder.
"You are not dirty, June."
"You are the most precious person that has ever walked into this apartment."
"Do you understand me?"
"This whole building, all the money, all the trucks you saw my name on... none of it means anything."
"None of it is worth one single hair on your head."
June looked down at her mismatched shoelaces.
"Are you going to send me back now?"
Nathan blinked.
"Send you back where?"
"To the center."
"The lady said the papers were only for temporary."
"Temporary means you look at me for one day, and then if I'm too much trouble, you sign the yellow form and Mrs. Gable comes in the brown car."
"I've been on six temporary visits, Mr. Cole."
"Nobody keeps me after the first night."
"Because at night, I wake up."
"I make noises."
"A family in Greensburg said I cried too loud in my sleep and made their baby nervous."
Nathan took her small, cold hands into his own.
They were so small, his large, calloused palms engulfed them completely.
"Listen to me very carefully, June," Nathan said, his voice dropping into an unshakeable, steady rhythm.
"Nobody is bringing a brown car."
"Nobody is signing a yellow form."
"Mrs. Gable is never coming back to take you anywhere."
"And if you wake up crying, I will sit on the floor beside you until you go back to sleep."
"If you scream, I will listen."
"If you break every piece of glass in this house, we will buy new glass."
"You are not a visitor here."
"This is your home."
June stared at him, trying to comprehend words that contradicted nine years of survival instincts.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because of my mommy?"
Nathan took a deep breath.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small silver bracelet he had retrieved from Gable's desk the night before.
It was clean now.
Laura had polished the tarnish off the silver with jewelry cleaner while June slept.
The engraving gleamed under the soft morning light.
Clara Vance — 11.04.2017 — Forever Our North Star.
Nathan turned it over.
On the back, inscribed in microscopic letters that only someone who knew where to look could find, was a second line of text.
Nathan had had it engraved himself ten years ago, on the day he bought the ring he never had the chance to give Clara.
It read: N.C. to C.V. — Till the Rivers Run Dry.
June gasped.
She reached out, touching the cold silver with the tip of her forefinger.
"The letters on the back..." she murmured.
"Mommy said the letters on the back were a secret code."
"She said only the man who gave it to her knew what they meant."
Nathan looked at her, his vision blurring with tears.
"N.C.," Nathan whispered.
"Nathan Cole."
"To Clara Vance."
"Till the rivers run dry."
June looked up from the bracelet, her eyes meeting his with a sudden, electrifying intensity.
"You're the man from the code?"
"I am," Nathan said, his voice breaking.
"And I didn't just love your mommy, June."
"I am your father."
The living room fell into an absolute, suffocating silence.
The fog outside the window began to thin, revealing the silver thread of the Monongahela River winding through the valley below.
June did not jump into his arms.
May you like
She did not smile.
She stepped back three inches, her back hitting the windowpane, her hands dropping to her sides as a profound, terrifying confusion washed over her small face.
