Chương 12
“Everyone has that chair.”
“I don’t.”
“You are seven.”
He smiled this time.
Then he looked serious again.
“I don’t want him coming here.”
“Okay.”
“You promise?”
“For now, yes.”
“For now is weird.”
“It is the most honest promise I can make.”
He considered that, then nodded.
At eight thirty, after the children were in bed, my phone rang.
I expected Claire.
It was Iris Sterling.
I let it ring four times before answering.
“Hello.”
Her breathing was audible.
“Anna.”
“Yes.”
“I copied everything.”
“That was fast.”
“I used the business center at the hotel.”
Of course she had.
Even catastrophe came with administrative resources in her world.
“I sent the scans to the email address Claire gave me years ago.”
I frowned.
“Claire never represented me years ago.”
Silence.
“Whose Claire?”
I sat straighter.
“Iris.”
“I may have the wrong name.”
“You said Claire.”
“I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
She exhaled.
“I sent them to the lawyer whose card was in your company filing online.”
That was possible.
Claire’s firm was listed as registered counsel on several public business records.
I did not like the mistake, but it was explainable.
“Did Martin object?”
“He threatened an injunction.”
“That sounds like Martin.”
“He also packed a suitcase.”
I said nothing.
“We have been married thirty-eight years.”
Her voice sounded strangely detached.
“I have never seen him pack his own suitcase.”
I did not know what response she expected.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure I am.”
A pause followed.
Then she said, “Luke is still here.”
My spine stiffened.
“Why are you telling me?”
“He read the children’s letter.”
I stood.
“You opened it?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“Evelyn left a copy.”
My anger rose immediately.
“You said it belonged to them.”
“The original does.”
“That is not the point.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“I know.”
I walked into the kitchen.
“What did it say?”
“I think you should read it yourself.”
“That sounds like another family tradition.”
She went silent.
I regretted the cruelty before I could take it back.
Not enough to apologize immediately.
Eventually, Iris said, “She wrote that if Luke had children, she hoped they would never be made to feel responsible for repairing the Sterling family.”
I gripped the counter.
“She wrote that?”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“What else?”
“That money was not an apology.”
I closed my eyes.
“That children were not obligations to be purchased.”
The apartment seemed suddenly too quiet.
“And?”
Iris’s voice dropped.
“And that if Luke ever met them after failing them, he should not ask to be forgiven before he had learned how to be useful.”
I did not speak.
There was something unnerving about receiving practical instructions from a woman dead seven years.
Evelyn had always disliked sentimentality.
At Thanksgiving once, after Luke gave an elaborate toast about family, she had asked him whether he planned to help wash dishes or merely continue discussing values.
I had loved her for that.
I had forgotten until now.
“Anna.”
“Yes.”
“Luke left the estate twenty minutes ago.”
My eyes opened.
“Where is he going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he say?”
“No.”
My phone buzzed against my ear with another incoming call.
Luke.
I stared at his name.
“Iris, I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Martin told me something else.”
The incoming call stopped.
I went still.
“What?”
“He said he did not only lie to Evelyn.”
A cold sensation moved through my chest.
“What are you saying?”
“He intercepted a letter.”
“From who?”
“From you.”
“I never sent him one.”
“Not to him.”
I gripped the edge of the counter.
Iris began crying again, but she forced the words through it.
“You sent Luke a certified letter from the clinic address.”
The room tilted slightly.
“No.”
“You did.”
“I sent one letter to his office.”
“That’s the one.”
I remembered.
Three pages.
A copy of the ultrasound.
The clinic’s contact information.
No accusations.
No threats.
Just Please call me.
“I never got the receipt back.”
“I know why.”
My hand went numb around the phone.
Iris whispered, “Martin signed for it.”
For several seconds, I could hear only the refrigerator humming behind me.
Iris said my name twice before I answered.
“What did he do with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said he signed for it.”
“I know he signed.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
Her voice thinned.
“Anna, I found the receipt in the packet.”
My knees weakened, and I sat at the kitchen table without meaning to.
The edge of one dinosaur cookie box was crushed where Mason had leaned on it.
“Read me the signature.”
She did.
Martin Sterling.
Not an assistant.
Not a receptionist.
Not a mailroom clerk.
Martin.
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead.
Seven years earlier, I had stood at a post office counter with swollen feet and twenty-three dollars left in my checking account.
I had paid extra for certified delivery because I needed proof I had tried.
The clerk had asked whether I wanted return receipt service.
I had said yes.
The green card never came back.
I had checked the mailbox every day for three weeks.
Eventually I told myself Luke had refused delivery.
That explanation had hurt enough to become believable.
“Do you have a copy of the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“The letter?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
My chair scraped against the floor.
“What?”
“There is a photocopy.”
I stood again.
“Of my letter?”
“Yes.”
I could barely speak.
“Why would Evelyn have a copy?”
“I think Martin sent it to her.”
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny in it.
“He gave it to her?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“There is a note attached.”
I gripped the phone harder.
“Read it.”
Iris hesitated.
“Read it.”
She inhaled.
“Martin sent Evelyn a photocopy with a handwritten note that says, ‘This is what I meant about Anna trying to create leverage.’”
The room narrowed around me.
May you like
I remembered every sentence in that letter.
I had written it at my kitchen table with a blue pen because my printer had run out of ink.
