Chương 7
Daniel set down his glass.
“What did he want?”
“He asked if the system saved history.”
Evie stopped breathing.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“Did you?”
Celeste looked at Evie.
“Yes.”
“Why did he ask?”
“He said a guest had accidentally activated something and he didn’t want Daniel complaining.”
Daniel’s laugh was without humor.
“And you believed that?”
Celeste’s face hardened.
“No.”
The answer surprised everyone.
Celeste looked at her husband.
“No. I didn’t believe him.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel stared.
Celeste turned to Evie.
“I did nothing.”
Evie looked at her mother.
The cruelty of that answer was its simplicity.
No secret conspiracy.
No grand betrayal.
Celeste had felt something was wrong.
And done nothing.
She had gone to her hair appointment.
Confirmed table flowers.
Asked whether Evie was bringing lemon cake.
Human failure was often embarrassingly ordinary.
Hale closed the notebook.
“I’ll need your full statement.”
Celeste nodded.
He looked at Evie.
“And yours, when you’re ready.”
“When do I have to be ready?”
“You don’t have to tell the entire story today.”
“But eventually.”
“Yes.”
Evie looked at the evidence bag.
Grant had once told her no one would believe a version of their marriage built from her worst days.
He had said he could show anyone hundreds of photographs proving they were happy.
Trips.
Birthdays.
A weekend in Charleston where he had bought her a bracelet after punching a hole through a closet door.
Christmas at the Mercers’.
A cabin in Montana.
Smiling at weddings.
Smiling at restaurants.
Smiling beside a cake.
Happy people generated excellent evidence.
So did frightened ones.
Hale left before ten.
Daniel wandered outside.
Celeste stayed in the kitchen.
Evie made toast and burned it.
She ate it anyway.
Her mother watched.
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“No.”
Celeste blinked.
“I want you to stop asking what I want you to say.”
Her mother absorbed that.
Then she nodded.
“All right.”
They sat in silence.
Outside, a landscaping crew worked somewhere beyond the hedges. A mower droned steadily, ordinary and irritating.
Evie looked toward the sound.
“I used to hate Saturdays here.”
Celeste frowned.
“Why?”
“The lawn people started at seven.”
“They came at eight.”
“It felt like seven.”
A small smile touched Celeste’s mouth.
Evie almost smiled back.
Then she remembered the access code.
The smile disappeared.
Celeste saw it happen.
“I can’t undo that.”
“No.”
“I wish I could.”
“I know.”
“What can I do?”
Evie thought about it.
“Tell Dad not to destroy Grant.”
Celeste stared.
“That may be the one thing I can’t do.”
“Try.”
“Why?”
“Because if Dad turns this into two men fighting over what happens to me, Grant still wins.”
Celeste looked toward the patio doors.
“You sound very sure.”
“I’m not.”
The admission loosened something in Evie’s chest.
“I’m not sure of anything.”
Celeste folded the corner of a paper napkin.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Evie had seen her do that at funerals.
“I’m afraid,” Celeste said.
“Of Grant?”
“Yes.”
Evie waited.
“And?”
Celeste gave her a tired look.
“You always were annoyingly good at that.”
“At what?”
“Hearing the unfinished part.”
Evie drank coffee.
Celeste looked down.
“I’m afraid of what this says about me.”
There it was.
Ugly.
Honest.
Evie nodded.
“It says you missed things.”
“I didn’t miss all of them.”
“No.”
“That’s worse.”
“Yes.”
Celeste flinched.
Evie hated hurting her.
She also hated the years she had spent protecting everyone from the correct emotional consequence of what they did.
“I’m sorry,” Evie said.
“For what?”
“That it hurts.”
Celeste’s eyes filled.
Evie continued.
“But I’m not sorry it hurts.”
Her mother nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Grant was released two days later under conditions that prohibited contact with Evie and required him to stay away from the Mercer property.
Daniel read the order twice.
“Too weak.”
Evie sat across from him in his study.
“It says he can’t contact me.”
“He can violate it.”
“Yes.”
“It says he can’t come within five hundred feet.”
“He can violate that too.”
“Yes.”
Daniel slapped the paper onto his desk.
“Then what good is it?”
Evie looked at him.
“What do you want?”
“I want him gone.”
“Where?”
Daniel opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Evie leaned back.
“You keep saying that.”
“He hurt you.”
“I know.”
“He trapped you in your own house.”
“I know.”
“He threatened to put you in an ambulance.”
“I was there.”
Daniel walked to the window.
She watched his shoulders.
He said, “I failed you.”
Evie sighed.
“Dad.”
“No. I did.”
“This cannot become your tragedy.”
He turned.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
His face hardened.
“You think I’m making this about me?”
“I think guilt is very interested in being the center of attention.”
He stared at her.
For one second she thought he might become angry.
Then he laughed.
A single surprised sound.
“That sounded like your mother.”
“Don’t insult me.”
He laughed again.
Evie smiled despite herself.
It hurt her lip.
The smile vanished.
Daniel looked at the bruise.
His eyes changed.
She held up one finger.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
He sat.
“What do you need from me?”
She hated the question because she had no answer.
“Money,” she said finally.
Daniel blinked.
Evie almost laughed at his expression.
“What?”
“Money.”
“You have money.”
“I have money connected to Grant.”
Daniel’s face changed.
She continued.
“Our joint accounts. The house. Investments. Credit cards. Even the car is titled through his company.”
“I can give you—”
“I’m not asking you to fix it.”
“You literally said money.”
“I’m asking for a loan.”
His eyebrows rose.
“A loan.”
“Yes.”
“From your father.”
“Yes.”
“To hire a lawyer?”
“And somewhere to live.”
“You can live here.”
“I don’t want to.”
The words hurt him again.
She let them.
Daniel nodded.
“How much?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then find out.”
May you like
Evie looked at him.
He reached for a yellow legal pad, tore off a page, and slid it across the desk.
