Chương 10
He looked offended.
“I wasn’t planning to leave.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was considering logistics.”
“You were thinking about it.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
She took one of her shoes from his hand and pointed it at him.
“You have two hundred people here who came to watch you pretend you enjoy dancing.”
“That feels hostile.”
“It’s your wedding.”
“I’ve heard.”
Claire looked at me.
“Bring him back.”
“I’ll try.”
“No.”
Her voice went firm.
“Bring him back.”
I understood then that she was not worried about the reception.
Not really.
She had seen Damian on the terrace.
She had seen the way old family machinery worked.
She did not want her husband losing his father into it tonight.
She nodded.
“Good.”
Julian hugged me before I could stop him.
Then he hugged Damian.
That one lasted longer.
Damian stood rigid for the first second.
Then his arms came up.
He pressed one hand against the back of Julian’s head.
“I’m sorry.”
Julian pulled back.
“For leaving?”
“For a lot of things.”
“Pick one tomorrow.”
Damian laughed weakly.
“Fair.”
Claire took his free hand.
“Go.”
We made it halfway to the ballroom doors before Conrad stepped into our path.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not need to.
“Where are you going?”
Damian stopped.
I kept walking.
Conrad shifted into my path.
“Elise.”
I looked at him.
“I’m tired of being summoned by my first name.”
“You are leaving.”
“That is generally how doors work.”
His mouth tightened.
“Do not play games with me.”
“I stopped doing that at nineteen.”
His eyes moved to Damian.
“You too?”
Damian said nothing.
Conrad looked at his right hand.
The key was no longer visible.
Damian had slipped it into his pocket.
For the first time, Conrad’s composure fractured before I understood why.
“Where is the key?”
Damian went pale.
That answered a question nobody had asked.
I turned toward him.
Conrad took one step forward.
“Damian.”
My brother’s face changed.
Not fear exactly.
Something older.
Automatic.
His shoulders drew in a fraction.
He was fifty years old and suddenly looked twelve.
I stepped between them.
“What does the key open, Conrad?”
His gaze snapped to me.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“So the desk does concern me.”
He realized the mistake too late.
Damian whispered, “You knew.”
Conrad looked at him.
“Your mother was not well.”
“That sentence is becoming boring.”
“Elise, stay out of this.”
“No.”
People near the ballroom entrance had begun to notice us.
Conrad noticed them noticing.
His voice dropped.
“Do not make another scene.”
“I’m not the one blocking an exit.”
Damian put a hand on my arm.
“Let’s go.”
Conrad’s attention went back to him.
“If you open that desk, you will regret it.”
Damian froze.
There are threats that become weaker when spoken.
That one became stronger.
Not because Conrad sounded dangerous.
Because he sounded certain.
I looked at Damian.
“Your choice.”
He stared at his father.
The room seemed to hold him there.
Then Julian appeared behind Conrad.
“Dad.”
Damian looked past the old man at his son.
Julian did not say anything else.
He did not need to.
Damian stepped around Conrad.
So did I.
No one stopped us again.
The hotel valet brought Damian’s car first.
A black sedan that smelled faintly of leather, peppermint gum, and golf clubs.
I got into the passenger seat.
He drove for six minutes without speaking.
City lights slid across the windshield.
He missed one turn and swore.
“You always this calm under pressure?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I thought you were going to say something admiral-like.”
“I’ve been retired seven months.”
“You mentioned that.”
“I’m trying to build a personality.”
He laughed.
It startled both of us.
The laugh faded quickly.
At the next red light, Damian drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Did Dad scare you when we were kids?”
“Yes.”
“All the time?”
“No.”
He glanced at me.
“That’s somehow worse.”
“I think that was the trick.”
The light changed.
He accelerated.
“He could be funny.”
“I remember.”
“He used to make pancakes on Sundays.”
“I remember those too.”
“Terrible pancakes.”
“Raw in the middle.”
“He blamed the stove.”
“The stove had six burners and cost more than my first car.”
Damian smiled.
Then his face tightened again.
“I used to think if someone was cruel, they had to be cruel all the time.”
“So did I.”
“He wasn’t.”
“No.”
That was what made families complicated.
Monsters were easier when they remained monsters between breakfast and bedtime.
Conrad had taught me to ride a bicycle.
He had sat beside my hospital bed when I broke my collarbone at eleven.
He once drove two hours in a snowstorm because Damian forgot a science project at home.
Then he threw me out at nineteen and spent decades maintaining the separation.
Both versions existed.
Neither canceled the other.
Damian turned onto a quieter road lined with old trees and large homes set back behind stone walls.
His house stood behind a low iron gate.
Not as enormous as Conrad’s.
Still enormous.
The lights were on downstairs.
“Marlene?”
“She left before us.”
I looked at him.
“You didn’t notice?”
“I noticed.”
He pulled into the driveway.
“She texted.”
“What did she say?”
He parked.
“Don’t come home without opening the desk.”
I liked Marlene more every hour.
Inside, the house was quiet.
Wedding flowers stood in buckets near the entryway, apparently leftovers from some morning arrangement.
A pair of sneakers had been abandoned beside the stairs.
One lace stretched across the floor.
Damian kicked it aside.
“Sophie.”
“Your daughter?”
“You remember her?”
“She was four the last time I saw a photograph.”
He stopped.
“What photograph?”
I regretted the sentence immediately.
“One Julian sent me.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
He stared at me.
“You and Julian have been talking for three months?”
“Yes.”
“And I didn’t know.”
“That appears to be a recurring family experience.”
He flinched.
I regretted that too.
May you like
Not enough to apologize.
Not yet.
