The Name He Didn't Know
Chapter 02 - The Name He Didn't Know
Claire did not touch him.
Every part of her wanted to run forward, wrap her arms around the boy and never let go. But something in Eli’s face stopped her.
He looked like a child who had learned that adults reaching for him usually meant trouble.
So Claire stayed three feet away.
“My name is Claire,” she said quietly. “This is my son, Owen.”
“I know.”
Claire blinked.
Eli nodded toward Owen.
“He told me.”
Owen looked embarrassed.
“I also told him you make terrible meatloaf.”
Under any other circumstances, Claire might have laughed.
Instead, she sat on the frozen pavement.
“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight, Eli?”
His eyes dropped.
“Sometimes.”
“Where are your parents?”
“My mom died.”
Claire felt something tighten inside her chest.
“I’m sorry.”
Eli shrugged with the practiced indifference of a child who had discovered that grief made adults uncomfortable.
“What about your father?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Do you remember your mother’s name?”
“June.”
“June what?”
Another shrug.
Owen looked at Claire.
“Mom, he’s freezing.”
Claire knew she should call the police.
She also knew what a frightened child might do if he saw officers approaching.
Run.
Disappear.
Again.
“Eli,” she said, “there’s a diner across the street. It’s warm. Would you come inside with us?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because you need something hot to eat.”
“I have this.”
He held up the sandwich.
Claire swallowed.
“And because I would like to talk to you.”
“That’s what cops say.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“No. You’re worse.”
Despite herself, Claire almost smiled.
“What am I?”
“A mom.”
Owen laughed.
For the first time, Eli’s mouth twitched.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in a booth beside a fogged window.
Eli devoured tomato soup while pretending not to be hungry.
Claire watched every movement.
The way he held the spoon.
The way his left eyebrow lifted when Owen said something ridiculous.
The way he tore bread into four pieces before eating it.
Noah had done that.
Always four pieces.
Never three.
Never five.
Claire’s phone felt heavy in her pocket.
There was one photograph she had kept even after Daniel begged her to stop carrying it.
She opened it.
A three-year-old boy smiled from the screen.
Brown hair.
Gray-blue eyes.
A tiny crescent mark behind his ear.
Claire turned the phone toward Eli.
He stared.
The spoon slipped from his hand.
“That kid looks like me.”
Claire could barely speak.
“He was my son.”
Eli looked up.
“Was?”
“He disappeared seven years ago.”
The color drained from his face.
Claire saw fear again.
But this time, it was different.
Recognition.
Memory.
Eli pushed himself out of the booth.
“I have to go.”
“Eli—”
“Don’t follow me.”
He ran toward the door.
Owen started after him.
Claire caught her younger son’s arm.
Then Eli stopped.
His back remained toward them.
“There was a woman,” he whispered.
Claire stood slowly.
“What woman?”
“When I was little.”
May you like
He looked over his shoulder.
“She used to call me Noah.”
