Chương 10
“Okay.”
Eleanor stood.
“I should go too.”
“No.”
She blinked.
I surprised myself.
“You don’t have to.”
Her expression became cautious.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
That almost made Camille smile.
I rubbed my palms against my jeans.
“But I think we should talk.”
Julian looked between us.
“About what?”
“Not you.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Apparently everything is about me today.”
Camille folded the sandwich wrapper.
“That might be part of your problem.”
“Camille.”
“Sorry.”
She did not look sorry.
Julian went upstairs to pack.
Camille followed ten minutes later to make sure, as she put it, that he did not “accidentally organize evidence into oblivion.”
That left Eleanor and me alone in the kitchen.
She sat at the island where she had been looking at Paris hotels the morning before.
Her paper coffee cup was still nearly full.
“You can reheat that,” I said.
“I don’t want it.”
She rotated the cup between her hands.
“I actually did want to go.”
“To Europe?”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean I really wanted to.”
She looked embarrassed by the admission.
“Not because it was expensive.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“I have spent forty years saying I wanted to see Paris.”
She smiled faintly.
“Martin hated France on principle.”
“Why?”
“He went once in 1986 and a waiter laughed at his pronunciation.”
I laughed despite myself.
“That sounds like Martin.”
“He held grudges very efficiently.”
She looked down at the cup.
“I thought Julian had arranged the trip because he remembered.”
“He probably did remember.”
“That makes it worse somehow.”
I understood.
Being used hurts differently when the manipulation is built from something true.
Eleanor rubbed a small spot on the cup lid with her thumb.
“I called my sister yesterday.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you were being difficult.”
I did not react.
She continued.
“I said money had changed you.”
That did hurt.
Eleanor saw it.
“I am sorry.”
I stared at the counter.
“Do you actually think that?”
“I thought you had become controlling.”
“Because I stopped saying yes?”
“Yes.”
Her honesty was becoming exhausting.
I appreciated it anyway.
She sighed.
“When Martin was alive, he paid for everything.”
“That was different.”
“Not as different as I pretended.”
She looked toward the staircase.
“He liked being needed.”
I thought of Julian.
“So does your son.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth tightened.
“And I helped make that look noble.”
I sat across from her.
“Why did you dislike me?”
Eleanor’s eyebrows rose.
“I did not dislike you.”
“Please don’t ruin the progress we’re making.”
That surprised a laugh out of her.
She covered her mouth.
“All right.”
The laugh disappeared.
“I resented you.”
“That I believe.”
“You were better at money than Julian.”
I waited.
She shook her head at herself.
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“It sounds specific.”
“Martin admired competence.”
The sentence sat between us.
“He admired you.”
I had not known that.
Eleanor continued.
“He would ask your opinion and then pretend he had already reached the same conclusion.”
“That also sounds like Martin.”
“He once changed accountants after you pointed out a billing error.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He never told you.”
She folded her hands.
“Julian noticed.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did he say something?”
“Not directly.”
“Eleanor.”
She looked at me.
“He said his father finally had the son he wanted.”
The sentence landed oddly.
Not like an insult.
Like a key fitting a lock I had not realized was there.
I thought of every time Julian had joked that Martin liked me more.
Every time I had laughed.
Every time I had corrected him instead of asking why he kept saying it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What would I have said?”
“That he was hurting.”
“He was thirty-four years old.”
“So?”
She looked away.
“You are right.”
I leaned back.
“No, I’m not.”
Eleanor frowned.
“I spent years thinking if I made things easier for him, he would feel more secure.”
She looked at me again.
“We both did.”
Neither of us seemed to enjoy that conclusion.
Upstairs, a drawer opened.
Camille’s voice floated down.
“No, take the blue shirts.”
Julian answered something indistinct.
She said, “Because the gray one makes you look like you sell timeshares.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“They were horrible children.”
“I believe it.”
“Camille bit him once.”
“How old was she?”
“Fourteen.”
I laughed.
“Why?”
“He cut her bangs while she was asleep.”
I stared at her.
“He what?”
“He was seventeen.”
“That is psychotic.”
“It was very funny after six months.”
For a minute, we were simply two women at a kitchen island talking about a family I had married into.
Then Eleanor’s face changed.
“Sloan.”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to divorce him?”
The question was quiet.
I looked toward the staircase.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
“I won’t ask you not to.”
I studied her.
“Yesterday you told me to appreciate what I had.”
“I was wrong yesterday.”
“People don’t usually change that much overnight.”
“No.”
She looked at the tea mark on my wrist.
“But sometimes they lose the luxury of pretending.”
My throat tightened.
Eleanor looked away first.
Julian came downstairs carrying a duffel bag.
Camille followed with his laptop case.
He stopped when he saw us sitting together.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“Ready?”
Camille asked.
He nodded.
Eleanor stood.
Julian looked at me.
“I’ll send you copies of whatever my attorney says I can share.”
“Okay.”
“And I won’t touch the joint accounts.”
“Okay.”
He shifted the duffel strap higher on his shoulder.
“I transferred the remaining emergency fund balance into the same account yesterday.”
My body went still.
“What?”
He immediately shook his head.
“No, listen.”
“Julian.”
“I panicked after you left.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-three thousand.”
Camille swore.
Eleanor stared at him.
“I was trying to cover the Ridgeway cure.”
My hands began to shake.
“You moved another twenty-three thousand dollars after throwing me out?”
“I didn’t send it to Daniel.”
“That is not the point.”
May you like
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
