Part 5
Wishes for Mara and Baby Ellison.
Mara closed the book.
A staff member reopened it several minutes later.
She closed it again.
By the third time, the staff member left it shut.
Celeste watched from across the room.
At two forty, Mara found Lydia standing alone near the glass doors.
Outside, the lawn remained empty. Sunlight gleamed on the metal frames. The doors were closed now, though the weather was warm.
“Do you have phone service?” Mara asked.
Lydia looked down at her evening bag. “I haven’t checked.”
“Would you?”
The request surprised her.
She took out her phone.
“No.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“There’s no service.”
“To look at something.”
Lydia held the phone more tightly. “What?”
“Your email.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please.”
Lydia glanced toward Celeste.
That was an answer before she spoke.
Mara lowered her voice. “What did she send you?”
“No one sent me anything.”
“Then you won’t mind showing me.”
“This isn’t an appropriate conversation.”
“What would be appropriate?”
“I came to celebrate your baby.”
“Whose baby?”
Lydia’s face changed.
Behind them, champagne glasses clicked. Someone asked the pianist to play something less melancholy, though the pianist had not yet begun.
Mara waited.
Lydia looked toward the lawn. “There was an email.”
“From Julian?”
“It appeared to be.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Was my name in it?”
“Mara—”
“Was my name in it?”
“Yes.”
The baby moved, a hard roll beneath Mara’s ribs.
She pressed her palm there.
Lydia watched the movement through the gown.
“It said Julian would not attend,” she whispered. “That recent information had caused him to reconsider certain personal commitments. Celeste asked everyone to come anyway so you wouldn’t be alone.”
Mara almost smiled at the precision of it.
So you wouldn’t be alone.
The room was full because Celeste had turned attendance into an act of pity.
“Did it mention paternity?”
“Not directly.”
“What did it say?”
“That the matter of the child would be handled privately.”
Mara inhaled slowly.
“Can I see it?”
Lydia shook her head.
“Why?”
“I deleted it.”
“Before coming?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lydia did not answer.
Mara looked past her. Charles stood near the champagne tower, speaking to three men. He glanced toward them and immediately looked away.
“You didn’t delete it,” Mara said.
Lydia’s mouth tightened. “I don’t want to be involved.”
“You are standing in the room.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
“You don’t understand these relationships.”
“People keep telling me what I don’t understand.”
“Because you don’t.”
The bluntness startled them both.
Lydia lowered her voice further.
“My husband’s company has two contracts tied to Whitmore financing. Celeste sits on the foundation board that funded my sister’s clinic. Julian is not just a man who may or may not arrive at a party. People have to think about consequences.”
Mara felt something inside her settle.
Not calm.
Clarity.
“So do I.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Lydia looked ashamed, which was not the same as being useful.
Mara stepped away.
At the nearest table, a waiter poured sparkling water into a crystal glass. Mara asked for it, drank half, and carried the rest toward the side corridor.
Celeste intercepted her beside the gift table.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
“There is one through the west sitting room.”
“I know where it is.”
“The hallway beyond it is private.”
“I’m not searching your house.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You keep not saying things.”
Celeste smiled at an approaching guest while speaking through her teeth.
“Do not test how much embarrassment I am willing to tolerate.”
Mara glanced at the gift table. A silver rattle lay atop one box, tied to the ribbon as decoration. She touched it with one finger and listened to the tiny, stupid sound it made.
“Why is everyone afraid of you?” she asked.
Celeste’s smile did not move. “Competent women are often described that way.”
“Competent at what?”
A guest reached them before Celeste could answer.
His name was Martin Dorsey. He was broad-shouldered, red-faced, and already on his second glass of champagne. He congratulated Mara and kissed Celeste’s cheek.
“Hell of a turnout,” he said.
“We are surrounded by loyal friends,” Celeste replied.
Martin nodded toward Mara. “You holding up?”
The question sounded almost kind.
“Against what?” Mara asked.
His eyes moved to Celeste.
That movement told Mara more than Lydia had.
Martin drank.
“Pregnancy,” he said. “My wife hated the last trimester.”
“I’m not in the last trimester.”
“Right. Well. All of it, then.”
He excused himself.
Celeste watched him leave. “You are making people uncomfortable.”
“Good.”
“That is not a victory.”
“It’s the first honest thing that’s happened here.”
Celeste’s gaze sharpened. “You could still sign.”
“Did you forge the email?”
The question landed between them without decoration.
Celeste looked past Mara toward the guests.
“Lower your voice.”
“Did you forge a message from your son?”
“There was no forgery.”
“Did Julian write it?”
“You should ask him.”
“I would love to.”
“You may have that opportunity eventually.”
Mara stared at her. “Eventually?”
Celeste reached for the silver rattle and adjusted it on the box.
“His board is discussing a merger that affects thousands of employees. He has more significant obligations today than reassuring you.”
“He promised to be here.”
“Men promise things when women cry.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“Not then.”
The words were intended to make crying inevitable.
Mara refused her the satisfaction.
She walked around Celeste and entered the west sitting room.
The bathroom door stood open. Beyond it, a narrow hall led toward the kitchen and study. A housekeeper carrying folded towels paused when she saw Mara.
“Excuse me,” Mara said. “Is there a telephone I can use?”
The housekeeper looked toward the ballroom.
“A telephone?”
“A landline.”
“There is one in the pantry.”
“Can you show me?”
May you like
The woman’s grip tightened on the towels. She appeared to be in her forties, with tired eyes and a small gold cross at her throat.
“I’m not supposed to leave the upstairs rooms until four.”
