Chương 3
It only made leaving hurt.
“Now,” I said, “I take my mother to the hospital.”
Then I followed the paramedics out without waiting to see whether Jason understood that, for the first time in our marriage, what happened next would not be decided around him.
The ambulance ride took twelve minutes, and my mother spent eleven of them arguing that someone else probably needed the vehicle more.
The paramedic with the ponytail finally said, “Ms. Miller, if it helps, we are not allowed to eject you at a red light.”
Mom considered that.
“Well, that seems wasteful.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The sound came out wrong, too sharp at first, and then I covered my mouth because suddenly I was crying.
Not hard.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that my vision blurred and the city lights beyond the rear windows smeared together.
Mom reached across the narrow space and took my hand.
“Bella.”
“I’m fine.”
She gave me the look she had used throughout my childhood whenever I lied badly.
“Apparently that runs in the family,” she said.
I wiped my face with the heel of my hand.
The second paramedic sat near the doors entering information into a tablet while pretending not to hear us.
My phone had been vibrating inside my clutch almost continuously since we left the hotel.
Jason.
Patricia.
Jason again.
Three numbers I did not recognize.
Then Daniel.
Then Jason.
I turned the phone facedown on my thigh.
Mom watched me do it.
“You should answer him eventually.”
“Eventually is doing a lot of work in that sentence.”
“He’s still your husband.”
“He announced otherwise.”
“He announced a lot of things.”
The paramedic beside her adjusted the dressing on her forehead.
“Try not to move your eyebrows.”
Mom lowered her voice.
“I have expressive eyebrows.”
“I noticed.”
For several seconds, the only sounds were the ambulance suspension complaining over uneven pavement and the muted radio chatter from the front.
Mom looked down at her hands.
The broken locket lay inside a clear plastic belongings bag on her lap.
She had refused to let hotel staff throw away even the smallest piece of chain.
“Your father bought that at a pharmacy,” she said.
“I know.”
“Twenty-three dollars.”
“I know that too.”
“He lied and said it was forty.”
“That sounds like Dad.”
“He was terrible with gifts.”
“He once bought me windshield washer fluid for Christmas.”
“You had just bought a car.”
“I was seventeen.”
“You needed windshield washer fluid.”
I smiled despite myself.
She pressed her lips together.
The smile vanished from her face more slowly.
“I shouldn’t have gone today.”
My fingers tightened around hers.
“Don’t.”
“I knew Patricia didn’t want me there.”
“She doesn’t get to decide whether you attend your grandson’s christening.”
“It was supposed to be his day.”
“He is eight months old.”
“He still had a day.”
“He slept through half of it and tried to eat Father Michael’s stole.”
That got another little smile.
Then Mom looked toward the rear doors.
“I don’t like being the reason your marriage ends.”
“You aren’t.”
“Bella.”
“You aren’t.”
I heard the force in my own voice and softened it.
“You were just standing there.”
She nodded without agreeing.
At the hospital, everything became paperwork.
That was somehow comforting.
Names, dates of birth, insurance cards, medication lists, signatures, questions repeated by different people.
Nobody cared who Jason was or what Vance Global owned.
A nurse with purple glasses asked Mom when she had last received a tetanus booster, and Mom spent two minutes trying to remember whether the dog bite at Aunt Rose’s house had happened six years ago or eight.
“It wasn’t her dog,” Mom explained.
The nurse typed.
“I believe you.”
“It belonged to a neighbor.”
“Okay.”
“It was a beagle.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“The breed is probably not medically relevant.”
The nurse smiled.
“You’d be surprised what people think is medically relevant.”
Mom received four stitches.
The CT scan showed no acute intracranial injury, but the doctor wanted someone with her overnight and gave us a list of symptoms that would require immediate return.
I read the discharge instructions twice.
Then a third time.
My mother caught me.
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you read something until it changes.”
“It could.”
“It’s printed.”
“I’m aware.”
“Your father used to do that with tax forms.”
“Mom.”
“I’m just saying.”
It was nearly ten when we stepped outside.
My driver, Anthony, had brought the car around and was waiting near the emergency entrance.
He got out as soon as he saw us.
Anthony had worked for my family for eleven years and possessed the rare ability to make concern look like professional irritation.
“Ms. Miller.”
“I’m not dying, Anthony.”
“I had no intention of allowing it.”
He opened the rear door.
Mom patted his arm as she passed.
“You always were bossy.”
“Occupational requirement.”
The moment I sat down, my phone rang again.
This time it was Leah Grant, general counsel for Vance Global.
I answered.
“Hi.”
“That does not sound like a corporate greeting.”
“It’s ten at night.”
“It also sounds like you’ve been crying.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Then I’ll call back as counsel instead of your friend.”
I leaned against the leather headrest.
Mom was already staring through the window at Manhattan traffic.
“What happened at the hotel is online,” Leah said.
“How bad?”
“Depends what you mean by bad.”
“That sentence is why lawyers have friends only by accident.”
“Several clips are circulating.”
“What do they show?”
“Different things.”
I closed my eyes.
“Leah.”
“The most widely shared one starts after your mother falls.”
Of course it did.
“Jason’s statement is clear on it?”
“Yes.”
“And mine?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Someone edited together the part where Martin identifies you with the part where you call Daniel.”
I swore quietly.
Mom glanced over.
“Sorry.”
“I’ve heard that one.”
May you like
Leah continued.
“There’s already speculation that Vance Global secretly financed Cole Meridian and that you were directing company resources to your husband without disclosure.”
