Part 3
“We were arguing about cookies this morning,” he said.
Claire looked at him.
“You wanted lemon. I said ginger because ginger was traditional.”
“You said your mother always served them.”
“I was wrong.”
“About the cookies?”
“About making you do any of this her way.”
Claire shifted carefully. “This isn’t about cookies.”
“I know.”
The monitors filled the silence.
He sat in the vinyl chair beside the bed, tuxedo shirt creased, sleeves rolled without symmetry. He had removed the bow tie but kept twisting it around one hand. Grant was usually precise even when tired. His cuff links matched his watch. His shoes were polished before flights. He aligned the handles of coffee cups with the edge of a table without noticing he was doing it. Now the black silk tie looked strangled between his fingers.
Claire said, “What happened before?”
He stopped twisting.
“With Vanessa.”
Grant looked toward the closed door. “She threw a glass at me once.”
Claire waited.
“It didn’t hit me.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Before our wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I told her I wouldn’t pay her rent anymore.”
Claire studied his face. “You told me she moved because the building was sold.”
“She asked me not to embarrass her.”
“So you lied to me.”
“I omitted it.”
“That’s a lie wearing a tie.”
He almost smiled, then did not. “Yes.”
“What else?”
He placed the bow tie on his knee. “She took money from Dad’s account after he died.”
“How much?”
“Not enough for charges.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Thirty-two thousand.”
Claire stared at him.
“She said she thought it was hers. There was confusion over the estate, and she put most of it back.”
“Most?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Grant.”
“I covered the rest.”
“Of course you did.”
“She was not doing well.”
“She is never doing well when someone asks her to be responsible.”
“That’s not fair.”
Claire turned her face toward the monitor. The baby’s heartbeat remained fast and steady. “You’re right. It isn’t fair. I’m frightened, and I’m angry.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t get to say you know. You have been giving me a version of your sister that was safe enough for me to tolerate.”
His shoulders lowered. “I thought she was safe.”
“She hates me.”
“She doesn’t.”
Claire looked at him.
Grant’s mouth tightened. “She resents you.”
“That is not better.”
“No.”
The door opened. A nurse checked the monitor, asked Claire to describe the pain again, and brought a warm blanket. Grant stood aside, holding the IV pole though no one had asked him to. When the nurse left, he stayed near the window.
The hospital room faced another tower. Office lights burned behind glass. A cleaner moved through one distant floor, pushing a cart past empty desks. Claire watched the tiny figure disappear and wondered whether Vanessa was still in the penthouse.
“Did the police call?” she asked.
Grant checked his phone. “The building manager did. They’re preserving the recording.”
“Did they see it?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did Vanessa leave?”
Grant hesitated.
“She left before the officers arrived.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“She used the service stairs,” he said. “Security found the door open on the twenty-ninth floor.”
“Of course she did.”
“They have her address.”
“She won’t be there.”
“She might.”
“She won’t.”
Grant leaned against the windowsill. “You know her better than I do tonight.”
The admission did not comfort Claire.
His phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and went still.
“Is it her?”
He nodded.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. It’s a photograph.”
He showed Claire.
The image displayed the diamond bracelet on a white hotel towel. Beside it lay a handwritten note.
I never wanted it after all.
Claire stared at the photograph. “Can you tell where she is?”
“No.”
“Save it.”
“I will.”
“Not just on your phone. Send it to the detective.”
Grant looked at her. “There isn’t a detective yet.”
“Then send it to the officer. The building. Our lawyer. Someone who cannot lose it because she asks nicely.”
He nodded and began forwarding the image.
Claire watched him. His obedience felt unfamiliar. Through most of their marriage, Grant had made decisions quickly and explained them afterward. He chose hotels, negotiated contracts, moved appointments, and solved minor emergencies before Claire knew they existed. It was one of the things she had loved about him. It had also allowed him to hide how much of his energy went into preventing Vanessa from colliding with consequences.
The baby shifted again.
Claire placed her hand over the movement.
Grant noticed and came closer. “Is that good?”
“Yes.”
“Can I?”
She took his hand and pressed it to the side of her stomach. They waited. The baby kicked beneath his palm, strong enough to move the fabric.
Grant lowered his head.
His breath shook once.
Claire threaded her fingers through his. She wanted to tell him everything would be fine, but the phrase felt careless now. Fine had been the word he used after Vanessa arrived intoxicated at their rehearsal dinner and insulted Claire’s sister in the coatroom. Fine had been the word after Vanessa borrowed their car and returned it with a crushed rear panel. Fine had been the word when she sent Claire a photograph of Grant’s former girlfriend two days before the wedding with the message, Just making sure you know his type.
Nothing had been fine. It had only been absorbed.
“I need you to hear me,” Claire said.
Grant lifted his face.
“You cannot make this disappear.”
“I’m not going to.”
“You’ll want to.”
“I won’t.”
“You already do.”
May you like
He stepped back as though she had touched a bruise.
“You’re sending the photograph,” Claire continued. “You called the police. You’re doing the right things because this is still an emergency. Tomorrow, you’ll start thinking about what a charge will do to her. You’ll remember the worst day of her life. You’ll tell yourself she needs treatment more than punishment. Then you’ll ask me to call it an accident without using those exact words.”
