Chương 2
Not denial, exactly.
A warning.
Behind her, the medic had arrived and was asking Daniel where he hurt.
Claire heard her son answer in a thin, embarrassed voice.
Her instinct was to turn back immediately, but Richard was already beginning to move away.
She caught his sleeve.
"Don't."
He looked down at her hand.
"Take your hand off me."
"Did you trip him?"
"You're making a scene."
"My son is on the floor."
"And I'm sorry about that."
"Did you trip him?"
His jaw tightened.
"I was trying to stop him."
The sentence was so unexpected that Claire released his sleeve.
For one second neither of them spoke.
"What?"
Richard looked toward Daniel, then toward the watching guests.
Something close to regret crossed his face, but it was not regret for what had happened.
It was regret that he had said too much.
Claire stepped nearer.
"Stop him from what?"
"Not here."
"You just admitted you did it."
"I admitted nothing."
"You said you were trying to stop him."
Richard's eyes hardened.
"Lower your voice."
Claire pressed one palm against the center of his chest when he tried to pass her.
She did not shove him.
She simply refused to move.
"What was he doing?"
"Claire."
"What was my nine-year-old son doing that required you to knock him onto a marble floor?"
Richard looked past her toward Daniel.
That glance lasted less than a second.
It was enough to make Claire turn.
The medic was helping Daniel sit upright.
Beside him lay the small navy backpack Claire had told him not to bring downstairs because this was a formal reception and there was no reason he needed comic books at a donor gala.
The zipper was open.
A white envelope protruded from the top.
Claire had never seen it before.
Daniel saw her looking.
His face changed.
Richard moved.
Claire turned back just as he stepped around her.
She blocked him again.
"What's in the bag?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
The answer came too quickly.
Daniel began crying then, silently at first, wiping angrily at his face with the heel of his hand.
"Mom, I found it."
Richard said, "Daniel, enough."
Claire's head snapped toward him.
"Do not tell my child to be quiet."
"Then control him."
Several people reacted audibly.
Richard seemed to register the mistake at once.
He turned away, reached toward the enormous floral arrangement beside him as though he needed something solid, then struck the pedestal with the side of his forearm instead.
The movement was violent and strangely clumsy.
The tall ceramic vase tipped.
Someone shouted.
Richard grabbed for it too late, and the arrangement crashed sideways, water spreading across the marble as white roses and broken stems scattered beneath the American flag standing near the ballroom entrance.
Nobody spoke.
Richard stared at the wreckage.
Claire had seen her father angry before.
She had seen him dismiss employees, humiliate waiters, cut people from his life with the efficient calm of a surgeon removing damaged tissue.
She had never seen him lose physical control.
That scared her.
"Everybody give them some room," the security supervisor said.
His tone had changed.
He was no longer managing an embarrassed family incident.
Claire turned to Daniel.
The medic was examining his wrist.
"Can you move your fingers for me?"
Daniel did.
Claire crouched beside him again.
"What did you find?"
Daniel looked at Richard.
"Don't," Richard said.
The security supervisor stepped between them.
"Sir, I'm going to ask you to stand over there."
"This is a private family matter."
"Not anymore."
Richard's face went blank.
Claire reached into Daniel's backpack.
He caught her wrist.
"Mom."
"What?"
"I wasn't supposed to see it."
She looked at him.
"Who told you that?"
"No one."
His breathing hitched.
"I was looking for my charger in Grandpa's office upstairs because he said I could use it, and his desk drawer was open."
Richard took one step forward.
The security supervisor stopped him with an arm.
"Sir."
Claire pulled the envelope free.
Her name was written across the front.
Not Claire Mercer.
Claire Vale.
Her name before marriage.
Her father's handwriting.
The paper had been sealed once and opened roughly along one edge.
"Give me that," Richard said.
Claire looked at him.
"No."
"You have no idea what you're holding."
"Then tell me."
His eyes moved toward the phones around them.
"Claire, please."
She had heard her father say please many times.
Usually it was etiquette dressed as generosity.
This sounded different.
For the first time that evening, Richard Vale looked afraid.
Daniel whispered, "There's a picture inside."
Claire opened the envelope.
Richard swore.
The photograph slipped halfway into her palm before she caught it.
It showed Daniel outside St. Matthew's rehabilitation center.
The date printed in the lower corner was from eleven days earlier.
Claire stared at it, unable at first to understand why the image disturbed her.
Daniel had been at therapy that afternoon.
She had dropped him at the front entrance and picked him up fifty minutes later.
In the photograph he was coming through the side doors on his crutches, looking toward someone outside the frame.
A black sedan waited at the curb behind him.
Claire turned the photograph over.
Three words were written on the back in Richard's hand.
HE SPOKE AGAIN.
Her mouth went dry.
"What does that mean?"
Richard said nothing.
"Who did Daniel speak to?"
"Put it away."
"Who took this picture?"
"Claire."
"Why do you have someone photographing my son?"
Daniel stared at his grandfather.
Richard's composure returned in pieces.
His shoulders settled first, then his mouth.
When he finally looked at Claire, the fear was gone behind something colder and much more deliberate.
"You need to take Daniel home."
She stood with the photograph in her hand.
"No."
"Tonight is over."
"No, it isn't."
"It is for you."
Claire almost answered, but Daniel made a small sound behind her.
She turned.
He was staring at the photograph.
Not at himself.
May you like
At the sedan.
"Mom."
