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“Fisher…” I shook my head. “There is no gently. We’re talking about his daughter.”
“Okay. But you need to relax a little, so we can go through all the details. Let’s have some wine, at least. You looked less nervous telling four-hundred guests how you met the bride at the wedding of a woman you’d never seen before.” Fisher poured two large glasses of merlot and sat up straight, his pen ready. He looked very much in lawyer mode. “Let’s get started. When did Evelyn give you this diary?”
“It was a birthday present—around eighteen months ago. I remember being surprised she had gotten me anything, because I didn’t even think she knew it was my birthday.” I thought back. “You’d sent me flowers. When Evelyn saw them, she asked what they were for. I said it was my birthday, and then she went into her room and came out with the diary. It wasn’t wrapped or anything.”
“Is there any indication of years in the diary—from television programs or anything?”
I shook my head. “I read it at least a dozen times from cover to cover over the last few days. I didn’t find any.”
“Okay.” Fisher scribbled down eighteen months on his legal pad and underscored it with two bold slashes. “And when did Hudson and his ex get divorced?”
“He said Charlie was about two. So that would be four years ago.”
“So the diary could’ve been written anywhere from a year and a half ago to a hundred years ago?”
I shrugged. “I guess. But the pages aren’t yellowed or anything, so I don’t think it’s too old.”
“Okay…so the timeline works, but it would probably work for a million other scenarios, too. Let’s move on to names. Your woman’s name was Alexandria. Do we know that’s Hudson’s ex-wife’s name for sure?”
I nodded. “Hudson had only ever referred to her as Lexi, but the other night when Charlie mentioned her full name—I asked what her mom’s name was. It’s Alexandria—and, by the way, she also kept a diary. Hudson once mentioned that in passing.”
“Okay. That’s two names in common. What about Hudson? Does the diary ever say his name?”
I shook my head. “She only refers to him as H, which I assumed while reading stood for husband. But obviously that could stand for Hudson. And the guy she was having an affair with is her husband’s best friend, and she calls him J. Hudson’s best friend’s name is Jack.”
Fisher scribbled some more notes. “There’re thousands of people named Jack. It’s a common name. I bet Alexandria is, too. Again, all circumstantial.”
“But she wrote down her daughter’s name the day she was born—Laken Charlotte.”
Fisher’s brows pulled together. “And Hudson’s kid’s name is definitely Laken Charlotte?”
I nodded.
“Well, that’s not such a common combination, obviously. I’ve never met anyone named Laken, but I’m sure there are quite a few in New York. We have more than eight-million people who live here.”
“There are one-thousand-six-hundred-and-sixty-two people named Laken in the United States who are under the age of thirteen, according to the Census Bureau. I looked it up.”
“Shit. Okay. Well, that’s still more than sixteen-hundred people.”
“But when I put in the first name and the last name—Laken Rothschild—they estimate that there is only one.”
“Estimate? The Census Bureau isn’t sure.”
“They tell you based on old data. It’s more of a statistical-type thing than an exact count. But basically, it’s not a popular name combination.”
“Alright, what else?”
“Alexandria was married at the New York Public Library. So were Hudson and Lexi.”
“Ugh. This isn’t looking so good.”
“Alexandria and H also lived on the Upper West Side, same as Lexi and Hudson.”
Fisher blew out a deep breath. “So there’re definitely a lot of coincidences. But I once read about a set of twins separated at birth. Both were named James by their adoptive parents, and both grew up to be cops and marry women with the same name. They also had kids with the same name, then got divorced and married women with the same name for their second marriages. They didn’t realize any of it until they met later in life. So strange shit can happen.”
I sighed. “I guess. But what do I do? Say, ‘Hey, by the way, I think there’s a possibility your daughter isn’t yours? Oh, and she might be your lifelong best friend Jack’s because he was secretly banging your ex-wife’?”
Fisher shook his head. “Jesus.” He knocked back the rest of his glass of wine. “I don’t think you have any other choice.”
“I could burn the diary and pretend I never saw it.”
“And then what? Never tell the guy his kid might not be his? I know you, Stella. That would eat a hole in your stomach.”
I looked into Fisher’s eyes. “She’s the light of his life. I think I’d rather it eat a hole in my stomach than break Hudson’s heart.”
