Chương 2
Daniel gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“Claire.”
“No one touches him.”
“He assaulted me.”
“He kicked a tray.”
“He broke into the ballroom.”
“And he knew about my hand.”
Daniel bent closer to her, lowering his voice.
“You’re in shock.”
Claire looked at him.
She had heard those words before.
After the accident, when she asked why her legs felt heavier after her evening medication.
When she questioned why the tremors in her hands became worse after dose changes.
When she wanted a second neurological opinion in Boston and Daniel had said travel would exhaust her.
You’re tired.
You’re overwhelmed.
You’re in pain.
You’re in shock.
Words offered gently enough could become walls.
Claire held the vial tighter.
The pills rattled.
Daniel’s eyes dropped toward it.
That movement made her decision for her.
“Call an ambulance,” Claire told the guard.
Daniel straightened.
“For the boy?”
“For me.”
The nearest guests shifted.
Claire heard the first surge of whispers.
Daniel crouched beside her.
“You are not having a medical emergency.”
“I’m refusing my medication until somebody who doesn’t work for us tells me what’s in this bottle.”
“You can’t stop your medication abruptly.”
“Then I suppose someone should identify it.”
“I know exactly what you’re taking.”
Claire looked at him.
“That’s beginning to concern me.”
Evan sat on the marble floor while they waited.
Nobody told him to.
His knees simply seemed to stop holding him.
A server brought a chair. He shook his head.
Another server came with a glass of water. That he accepted.
Claire remained in her wheelchair near the overturned tray, not because the ballroom floor was comfortable or because she wanted six hundred strangers watching her, but because Daniel kept asking her to move to a private room.
Each time, she said no.
The orchestra left the stage.
Guests pretended not to stare. A few actually managed it.
One elderly donor stepped over broken glass to retrieve a handbag and muttered, “This is why I hate galas,” to no one in particular.
Claire almost laughed.
The sound lodged somewhere under her ribs and disappeared.
Daniel spent most of the next seven minutes on his phone.
First security.
Then someone from his office.
Then Claire’s concierge physician, Dr. Martin Bell.
Claire knew because Daniel stood too close and she heard the name.
“Hang up,” she said.
He covered the phone.
“What?”
“Dr. Bell is not meeting me at the hospital.”
“He’s your physician.”
“He can send records.”
“Claire, this is absurd.”
“Hang up.”
His jaw tightened.
For a second, the ballroom disappeared for her.
There was only his face.
A familiar face.
The face that had been beside her when she woke after surgery with a tube in her throat and no memory of the crash. The face that had bent near hers as he said, You’re here. I’ve got you. The face she had searched for whenever a doctor entered the room with results.
Claire hated that she still wanted him to explain everything.
She hated that part most.
“Please,” she said.
Something in her voice reached him.
Daniel ended the call.
The ambulance crew arrived through the service entrance. Claire insisted Evan come with them until the police could determine where he belonged.
Daniel objected.
The paramedic, a compact woman with tired eyes, asked who Evan’s guardian was.
Evan stared at the floor.
“My aunt, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“My mom died twelve days ago.”
The paramedic glanced at Claire.
Daniel rubbed one hand over his mouth.
“What’s your aunt’s number?” the paramedic asked.
Evan recited it.
She called.
No answer.
“Again,” Evan said.
The second call went to voicemail.
The boy’s face closed.
Claire recognized the expression because she had worn variations of it all year: the careful blankness of a person who could not afford one more public humiliation.
“You can ride with me,” she said.
Daniel turned.
“No.”
Claire looked up at him.
It was the first time she had seen surprise on his face that night.
Not controlled surprise. Not irritation.
Real surprise.
The assumption that his answer would matter had been so complete he had not realized it was an assumption.
“I’ll meet you there,” he said.
Claire did not answer.
The ambulance doors shut between them.
Inside, the lighting was harsh and ugly and made everyone look sick.
Claire preferred it instantly.
There were no chandeliers.
No photographers.
No place to hide in flattering shadows.
The paramedic took the vial from Claire with gloved fingers and sealed it in a clear plastic evidence bag after Claire explained where it had come from.
“This may need to go to law enforcement,” she said.
“Good.”
Evan sat on the bench opposite Claire.
He had begun to shake.
Not visibly enough that anyone outside the ambulance would have noticed. His fingers trembled around the paper cup of water.
“Are you hurt?” Claire asked.
He shrugged.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have a bruise on your face.”
He touched it as though he had forgotten.
“Bike.”
“You fell?”
“No.”
The paramedic looked over.
Evan sighed.
“A guy took my backpack.”
“What guy?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know. A guy.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“What was in the backpack?”
“Nothing.”
He looked toward the sealed vial.
Claire said, “Was that in it?”
“No.”
That answer came too quickly.
Evan looked down.
“I kept it in my sock.”
The paramedic stopped writing for a second.
Claire leaned back against the headrest.
An eleven-year-old boy had hidden a prescription bottle in his sock because he expected someone to steal his bag, then crossed half the city to break into a charity gala.
She did not know whether that made his story more believable or less.
“Why tonight?” she asked.
“My mom said you’d be there.”
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before she died?”
He nodded.
“Did she know me?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“Everybody knows you.”
“That’s not true.”
“You have buildings.”
Claire almost corrected him.
The Whitmore name was on buildings. That was different.
May you like
She stopped herself.
“Your mother filled my prescriptions?”
