Her maid of honor, Rachel Kim, already had her phone out.
“I did. They’re checking entrances.”
James looked toward Evelyn.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
Maisie immediately protested.
“She’s Mommy.”
James’s eyes returned to Evelyn.
“What?”
“She thinks I’m her mother.”
The child began crying again.
“You are.”
Evelyn felt helpless.
“Maisie, look at me.”
The girl did.
“My name is Evelyn Hart.”
“No.”
“Do you know someone named Nora?”
“My mommy.”
“Where is she?”
Maisie’s face crumpled.
“I don’t know.”
That changed everything.
Evelyn forgot the wedding.
Forgot the ballroom.
Forgot the two hundred guests waiting on the other side of the carved wooden doors.
She put both hands gently around the child’s shoulders.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
Maisie’s breathing became uneven.
“She went away.”
“When?”
The little girl looked around as if trying to find the answer somewhere in the room.
“Yesterday.”
James exchanged a look with Evelyn.
“Who were you with today?” he asked.
Maisie looked at him suspiciously.
“Aunt Bee.”
“Who is Aunt Bee?”
“Becca.”
“Where is she?”
The child pointed vaguely toward the front of the estate.
“She was sleeping.”
Rachel’s face changed.
“Sleeping?”
Evelyn stood.
“Call an ambulance too.”
James nodded.
He was already reaching for his phone when Maisie suddenly grabbed Evelyn again.
“No!”
“It’s okay.”
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Promise?”
The question struck Evelyn strangely.
She looked down at a child she had known for perhaps two minutes.
“I promise.”
Maisie slowly released the fabric.
Security arrived within moments.
The head of security was a retired Chicago police officer named Martin Ellis. He knelt several feet away, careful not to frighten the child.
Within five minutes they knew surprisingly little.
Maisie said her full name was Maisie Bell.
She said she was four.
Her mother was Nora.
Aunt Becca had brought her in a blue car.
They had been going to find someone.
Then Aunt Becca became sick.
Maisie remembered seeing the big white house from the car.
She remembered a photograph.
She remembered her mother telling her that if she ever saw “the lady who looks like Mommy,” she should not be afraid.
That sentence made Evelyn feel as if the air had disappeared from the room.
“What lady?”
Maisie looked directly at her.
“You.”
James stood very still beside Evelyn.
Evelyn touched her own chest.
“Me?”
The girl nodded.