“One second.” She picked up the phone and punched in a number, asked if Oliver Portman was still there, then hung up. “I’m sorry, ma’am, he left.”

“He left?” I could have sworn I saw his car still parked outside. Unless…oh God, had he been formally arrested? How did I even ask such a thing with the kids listening?

“Yes, right before you came in, actually.”

I had been too late. I shouldn’t have brought the kids, I shouldn’t have come. I felt sick. I turned to leave, rushing for the exit doors, for the fresh air to wash over me. Oliver was going to jail and I was going to be a single mother and technically I was the one who committed the crime and what if the police figured that out and put me in jail too and Sydney didn’t get her kidney transplant and…

“Felicity!”

I stopped mid-step, spun around looking for the man who matched the voice. Coming out of the bathroom was Oliver, jogging to meet me in the middle of the tile floor.

“You’re not in jail,” I whispered excitedly.

“I couldn’t do it, honey. And then I saw your text.”

“So you didn’t—”

“I didn’t say anything.” As he hugged me, Sydney reached for him and slid into his arms. “What’s going on? What did you find out?”

I grabbed his hand and led him outside into the parking lot.

“We’re dropping the kids off at your mom’s, then picking up Cody and heading to the Fields Estate.”

“The Fields Estate? What makes you think Vera’s there?”

“In her Vera-esque way, she practically told me.”

**

Cody had sobered up when we arrived at his house, but his face was badly bruised and swollen. He and Oliver regarded each other silently for a few tense moments before Cody forced a grin and joked, “You should see the other guy.”

“I am the other guy,” Oliver reminded him, and pointed at his own face. “Not a mark. Still pretty.”

Cody snorted. “Right. Well, you hit like a girl.”

Oliver tried not to smile, then laughter burbled up in his throat and came out in a cleansing rush.

Cody laughed too and grabbed him in a bro hug.

“You know,” said Oliver, “you kinda deserved that ass whupping.”
   “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Vera was nothing if not methodical. Had I been listening, I would have heard her calling me to her. Her murmurs were in the ancient newspaper articles she framed that mentioned the hollow-legged desk, in the drawings she rendered of the Fields Estate, in the thoughts she chronicled about her ancestor’s life there. All of it led back to that house. The realization came as a whisper, but it hit me like a hurricane.