Chapter 3 - THE COMPASS IN THE BOX
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, pressing my shoulder against the heavy wood of the door. “Who told you it was burned?”
Thomas pressed his hand flat against the doorframe, trying to push his way closer. “Mom, listen to me. If Rebecca finds out you still have that letter, she will tear this house apart to get it back. You have to destroy it.”
“I’m not destroying anything,” I snapped, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You surrendered all rights to this family a long time ago. You don't get to stand on my porch and give orders.”
“Gran?”
Maya’s voice floated down the hallway. It was calm, curious, and completely devoid of fear.
Thomas froze. His hand dropped from the doorframe. I saw a flash of profound shame wash over his face as he realized his daughter was standing just out of sight.
I unlatched the chain and stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind me until it clicked. The damp evening air chilled my arms.
“Why is she here, Thomas?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “After sixteen years of absolute silence, why would Rebecca suddenly care?”
Thomas shoved his trembling hands into the pockets of his wet coat. “She’s running for State Senate. Her campaign is built on family values and resilience. Last week, an opposition researcher found the hospital records from St. Catherine’s. They know she had a baby. They just don’t know what happened to it.”
The pieces clicked into place, sharp and ugly.
“So she’s here to do damage control,” I realized, a wave of absolute disgust washing over me. “She wants to make sure the daughter she threw away stays a secret, or worse, she wants to use her as a prop.”
“She wants the letter,” Thomas corrected frantically. “There’s something in that envelope that could ruin her entirely. She told me she threw it in the incinerator before she left the hospital. If she knows it survived—”
The front door suddenly opened behind me.
I spun around.
Maya stood in the doorway. She was wearing her faded denim overalls, her right hand resting casually on the doorframe. She looked at Thomas. It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on her biological father.
I expected her to be shocked. I expected her to ask who he was.
Instead, her expression was completely unreadable.
“You must be Thomas,” she said. Her voice was terrifyingly steady.
Thomas stared at her. He looked at her face, her dark blond hair, and then, inevitably, his eyes drifted down to her left shoulder. He flinched visibly.
“Maya,” he breathed. “You’re… you’re so grown.”
“That’s generally how time works,” Maya replied coolly. She didn't move to invite him in.
“Maya, go back inside,” I said gently, trying to step between them. “I’m handling this.”
“It’s fine, Gran,” she said, her eyes never leaving Thomas’s face. “He was just leaving.”
“Maya, please,” Thomas begged, taking a half-step forward. “I know you have every right to hate me. But you have to listen. Rebecca is a dangerous woman when she’s backed into a corner. If she finds you—”
“She already did.”
The words dropped into the damp air like stones.
Thomas stopped breathing. I turned to look at my granddaughter, my mind spinning.
“What do you mean she already found you?” I asked.
Maya reached into the front pocket of her overalls. Her fingers emerged holding a heavy, beautifully ornate silver compass. The glass face was cracked, and the metal was tarnished with age.
Thomas let out a choked gasp at the sight of it.
Maya held it up under the porch light.
“A woman with a really expensive haircut came into the library yesterday while I was waiting for you to finish your shift, Gran,” Maya said quietly. “She said she noticed I was reading a book on horology. She gave me this. Said it was broken and asked if I could fix it.”
Maya looked directly into Thomas’s terrified eyes.
“She told me to bring it to the coffee shop on Elm Street tomorrow at noon,” Maya continued. Then, with her single hand, she effortlessly flipped open the back casing of the compass.
Tucked inside, folded into a tiny square, was a glossy photograph.
Maya pulled it out and turned it around for us to see.
May you like
It was a picture taken from across the street. It showed Maya sitting on a bench outside the library. And standing right next to her, smiling warmly, was Rebecca.
“She didn't come for a letter, Thomas,” Maya said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “She came for me.”
