Page 7 of Hidden Truths

“You remember her?” my dad asks, emotion thick in his voice.

“She worked sound for us on part of the last national tour. Bailey was fun to be around and didn’t want a relationship any more than I did.” I shrug, trying not to be angry that she keptthis from me. There’s no point in being angry with the dead. “I wish she told me,” I whisper.

“It’s okay to be angry,” my dad says, reading my emotions on my face. “But you need to be grateful too. Bailey gave you a gift. This little girl is a gift.”

I nod, unable to take my eyes off my daughter.

“We have bottles and formula we can send you home with. Diapers too. You’ll need to get a car seat before you can take her home. I can also give you a list of suggestions for cribs and other baby essentials you can get when you have a chance,” the nurse offers.

“The car seat should be here. Frank probably has it with him right now. I ordered it to be dropped off the moment I got here.”

The nurse seems surprised but doesn’t say anything. She just hands me a folder with paperwork in it. My dad takes it and skims it over.

“You need to name her,” he says, pulling out the paperwork to register the birth with the city.

“Cora,” I say immediately.

“I like it, but how did you come up with that so fast?” Dad asks, smiling down at his granddaughter. I can see he’s itching to hold her, but I can’t give her up just yet.

“I was looking at names on my phone while I was waiting. I really liked Cora.”

“Cora it is. Any middle name ideas?” he asks, filling out the paperwork for me.

“Cora Bailey Griffin,” I say, and my little girl smiles up at me. From my hours of reading while in the waiting room, I know that it’s probably just gas and not an actual smile, but I decide to ignore that information.

Once the paperwork is filed and the hospital officially discharges Cora, we’re on our way home.

I was taking my daughter home.

Holy shit.

two

HARLOW

My heels clackas they echo through the mostly empty halls of the radio station I’ve worked for since college. This is the last broadcast until we shut down for good. The station declared bankruptcy yesterday and sold off everything so quickly that my head is still spinning.

“Harlow! Wait up!”

I turn to see my best friend Jo running towards me. Her sneakers are nearly silent on the concrete floors. Her blonde hair is whipping in her face since she’s running like she’s being chased.

“I have an idea,” she huffs, out of breath from sprinting to me. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

I raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. She’s had multiple ideas since we found out about our impending unemployment and none of them have been great. She pitched us getting jobs at a circus just an hour ago. She thinks my red hair means I won’t need a wig to be a clown, making the initial investment into our new career cheaper.

“Hear me out before you say no,” she pleads, still trying to catch her breath.

“Only if it’s actually in our skill set this time. Otherwise, I need to finish cleaning out my office.”

“Actually, this one is to your skill set, not mine. But it could be exactly what we need for our goals.” The smile Jo gives me is part smug and part wicked. She waves her phone in front of my face, which kind of makes me want to smack it out of her hand, but I refrain.

I roll my eyes and put my hand out for her phone. Reading over the job posting, I can’t help worrying that Jo has hit her head or something.

“This is a nanny position.”

“I know!” she says with excitement. I scrunch my brows, completely confused. I thought our goal was to have a true crime podcast. No diaper changes involved.

“How is this my skill set?” I ask slowly, trying to gauge her mental state.

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