Chương 8
Daniel Mercer.
My husband.
Her father.
"And your story required what?"
"That my mother had remarried."
I actually laughed then.
One short, ugly sound.
"Of course it did."
Chloe winced.
"So Lauren found a grave."
My anger vanished.
"What?"
"A woman with the same first name."
"Clara?"
"Yes."
"Same last name?"
"No."
"Then how did you explain that?"
"I told Julian she remarried after abandoning me."
I sat down slowly.
Somewhere in the cathedral, the organ gave a single low note.
A maintenance worker was probably shutting it down.
The sound rolled through the empty pews.
"Did you know that woman?"
"No."
"You used a stranger's grave."
"Yes."
"For photographs?"
Chloe's silence answered.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
For the first time, disgust appeared on her face without restraint.
Chloe saw it.
She shrank into herself.
"Julian wanted proof."
"No," I said.
"Julian wanted to believe the woman he loved."
She looked at me.
"You gave him theater."
Her eyes filled.
"Yes."
"Did Lauren go with you?"
"No."
"Then how was she involved?"
"She found the cemetery record."
Eleanor stood again.
"She accessed records through the foundation."
Chloe shook her head.
"I don't know."
"You just said she found it."
"She searches things."
"Using what?"
"I don't know."
The words came too fast.
Eleanor noticed.
"So now we're back to not knowing."
"I really don't."
"You knew enough to accept the help."
Chloe looked exhausted.
"So did you."
Eleanor's expression tightened.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You accepted everything I told you when it made the foundation look compassionate."
"That is not the same."
"No."
Chloe looked directly at her.
"But you liked the story too."
The cathedral seemed to hold its breath.
Eleanor's face changed.
Chloe continued before fear could stop her.
"You introduced me at that donor dinner as someone who survived abandonment."
Eleanor did not answer.
"You told people my resilience represented the kind of women the foundation wanted to support."
"Because I believed you."
"I know."
"You lied to me."
"I know."
"But you liked having me there because the story made you look good."
Eleanor looked toward the altar.
I watched her struggle against the accusation.
Not because it was entirely fair.
Because some part of it was.
"I believed I was helping," she said.
Chloe laughed quietly.
"So did I."
That was the first moment all morning when I understood that there might be no clean arrangement of innocent people and guilty people.
There was Chloe, who had lied.
Lauren, who had professionalized the lies.
Eleanor, who had benefited from believing them.
Julian, who had loved a version of my daughter she manufactured under pressure he may not have understood.
And me.
I had spent years congratulating myself for protecting Chloe from fear while she had grown up measuring the refrigerator, the mailbox, and my face.
None of that excused what she did.
But excuses and causes were not the same thing.
Eleanor's phone rang again.
This time she checked the screen and frowned.
"It's Rebecca."
The name pulled me backward thirty years in an instant.
A thin nineteen-year-old girl under a hospital blanket.
Dry lips.
A paperback mystery resting unopened on her chest.
She had survived.
Somewhere in the world, she had grown older.
"Answer," I said.
Eleanor did.
"Rebecca."
Her face softened.
Then tightened.
"No."
She listened.
"Yes, something happened."
A pause.
"No, Julian is physically fine."
Another pause.
Then Eleanor looked at me.
"Actually, there's someone here."
She covered the microphone.
"She wants to know why people are posting videos of me kneeling in a church."
I almost smiled.
"Tell her you dropped something."
Eleanor gave me a look.
It was nearly the same look she had given me in a hospital corridor when I refused reimbursement for parking.
Then Rebecca's voice became loud enough that I could hear a few indistinct words through the phone.
Eleanor sighed.
"No, Rebecca."
Another pause.
"Because I'm trying to explain."
She listened.
Then her eyes met mine.
"She heard your name in one of the videos."
I felt my throat tighten.
Eleanor held the phone out.
"She wants to speak to you."
I did not take it immediately.
Chloe watched me.
So did Eleanor.
Thirty years collapsed into the space between my hand and that phone.
Finally I accepted it.
"Hello?"
For a second, there was only breathing.
Then a woman's voice said, "Clara?"
Older now.
Still recognizable.
"Hi, Rebecca."
She started crying.
Not dramatically.
Just one broken inhale she tried and failed to hide.
"You disappeared."
I looked toward the stained-glass windows.
"I moved."
"We looked everywhere."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
Her voice shook.
"My mother hired someone."
I glanced at Eleanor.
She nodded.
Rebecca continued.
"I used to think you left because something happened."
"Something did."
The words came out before I decided to say them.
Eleanor heard.
So did Chloe.
Rebecca went quiet.
"What happened?"
I stared at my daughter in her wedding dress.
The locket pressed against my hip inside my purse.
"I lost the house."
Eleanor's face drained of color.
Chloe stopped breathing.
Rebecca whispered, "What?"
I swallowed.
"I couldn't keep up with the second mortgage after Daniel died."
No one moved.
"I sold before the bank took it."
Eleanor covered her mouth.
"You never told us," Rebecca said.
"There was nothing to tell."
"Clara."
"I made a choice."
"And paid for my surgery with your home."
"No."
I looked at Chloe.
"I paid for a chance."
Rebecca cried quietly on the other end.
Then she said something that changed the room again.
"My mother did repay you."
I frowned.
"No, she didn't."
"Yes."
Eleanor's eyes widened.
Rebecca continued.
"She sent the money years ago."
I looked at Eleanor.
She shook her head slowly.
"I sent it through the attorney," she whispered.
Rebecca heard her.
"Mom, you told me it was delivered."
"It was supposed to be."
My skin prickled.
"What attorney?" I asked.
Eleanor named him.
I knew the name.
May you like
Not personally.
But I had seen it that morning.
