Ellie Man

Naomi opened the door with Bella on her hip and the phone still in her hand.

Elliot was on the landing step, Boston dawn behind him, suit wrinkled from the flight. His jaw had a hard line to it. His hands shook once before he shoved them into his pockets.

Bella looked at him, then at Naomi.

“Ellie man?”

Elliot stopped breathing for one beat.

Naomi’s fingers tightened around the doorframe. “Come in.”

The house smelled like toast, milk, and damp wool. A kettle clicked on in the kitchen. Somewhere upstairs a shower ran. Elliot took one step, then another, like the floor might give way.

Bella leaned toward him. She had duckling pajamas on, yellow feet and a maple syrup smear at her cheek. A plastic fork was trapped in one fist.

She held out her free hand and patted his jaw.

“Ellie.”

His eyes closed.

Naomi set Bella down. The child toddled straight to him, unafraid, and wrapped both sticky hands around his leg.

Naomi folded her arms. “She does that when she likes someone.”

Elliot crouched slowly until his face was level with Bella’s. “Hi, Bella.”

Bella studied him. Then she pointed at his chest. “Mine?”

A rough sound came out of him. He looked up at Naomi. “We need to talk.”

“We do.” Her voice stayed quiet. “But not in front of her.”

Before he could answer, a horn sounded outside. One sharp blast, then another.

Naomi’s head turned to the front window.

A black Mercedes eased to the curb, clean as a knife. The plate caught the thin morning light.

Elliot rose in one movement.

“No,” Naomi said.

“I know that car.”

Another car rolled in behind it. Then a third.

Camille did not get out first. Eleanor Vance did.

She crossed the walk in a cream coat, gloves on, her face set like a meeting agenda. Two men in dark suits came with her, one carrying a leather folder, the other a silver case.

Naomi went still. Bella pressed against her thigh and sucked her thumb.

Elliot stepped toward the door.

Naomi caught his wrist. “Don’t let her start talking for me.”

His hand closed over hers. “She won’t.”

The bell rang once.

Elliot opened the door.

Eleanor’s gaze moved from Bella to Naomi to the child’s syrup-smeared fork. Nothing in her face changed.

“Elliot,” she said. “We need to discuss this before it becomes public.”

Behind her, one lawyer lifted the silver case and clicked it open.

Naomi’s arm tightened around Bella. Elliot stood between them and the doorway, shoulders square, as the first page slid free.