Part 15
“Had she?”
“No.”
“Did Nora threaten her?”
“Not physically.”
“What did she say?”
“That if Evelyn died without telling you, she would.”
Claire looked at the child in the doorway.
Nora had kept the promise in the most destructive way available: through her seven-year-old daughter at Claire’s wedding.
Anger returned, but it was no longer simple enough to direct at one person.
“Why today?” Claire asked.
Ruth’s eyes moved toward the closed door.
“Because she learned Daniel’s name.”
Claire’s breathing slowed.
“How?”
“The wedding website, probably.”
“No. How did she know the name mattered?”
“I don’t know.”
Paula spoke quietly.
“She had a photograph.”
Everyone turned to her.
The florist looked unhappy to possess another piece of the story.
“What photograph?” Claire asked.
“Nora kept an old picture of her mother with a little boy.”
Daniel.
Claire felt certain before Paula finished.
“It was taken at a park,” Paula said. “Marianne was sitting on a bench. The boy was holding a red airplane.”
Daniel had once shown Claire a childhood photograph of himself with a red wooden airplane. His mother sat beside him, laughing at something outside the frame.
Claire had looked at that image dozens of times. It stood in a silver frame on the bookshelf in their apartment.
“How did Nora have it?” Claire asked.
“She said Evelyn sent it to her after Marianne died.”
“Why would Mom have Daniel’s childhood photograph?”
Ruth did not answer.
Richard did.
“Because she found Marianne.”
Claire looked toward the door again.
Daniel was somewhere in the hallway, alone with the possibility that the woman he planned to marry might be his cousin.
Or might not be.
The distinction was everything and impossible to establish in an afternoon.
Lily’s bouquet slipped from her hand.
The roses struck the carpet without sound.
“I want my mom,” she said.
Paula crossed toward her.
This time Lily allowed the florist to hold her.
Claire watched the child’s face disappear against Paula’s green dress. Restrained crying shook her shoulders. Paula rubbed one hand carefully between Lily’s side braids.
The adults had turned a seven-year-old into the delivery mechanism for a secret generations older than she was.
Whatever Nora feared, whatever Evelyn delayed, whatever Ruth destroyed, Lily had been asked to carry it around her neck.
Claire stood.
“I’m going to find Daniel.”
Ruth looked up.
“What will you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“You don’t know the truth.”
“Then I’ll tell him that.”
She took the locket from the table.
Lily lifted her head.
Claire stopped.
The child looked at the chain.
“I’m keeping it with me,” Claire said. “I won’t let it out of my hand.”
Lily studied her face.
Then she nodded once.
Claire left the room.
The hallway was emptier now. The ballroom doors remained closed, but the music had stopped. Voices rose and fell behind them. Guests were eating, speculating, deciding whether staying was supportive or intrusive.
A server pushed a cart from the service corridor. He saw Claire, hesitated, then lowered his eyes and continued. Silver covers trembled slightly over plates. The smell of roasted vegetables followed him.
Claire found Daniel at the far windows near the staircase.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, looking down at the circular drive. His boutonniere had come loose. The white rose tilted toward his lapel.
Claire approached slowly.
He heard her gown before he turned.
Neither spoke.
She held out the locket.
He looked at it but did not take it.
“Ruth says your mother met mine,” Claire said.
“I heard enough before I left.”
“She says they may have been sisters.”
“May.”
“She asked about the scar before you mentioned it.”
“I know.”
“My mother had a photograph of you.”
Daniel looked out the window again.
Claire waited.
After a while, he said, “My father hated your mother.”
The statement surprised her.
“He knew her?”
“I didn’t know her name. Not until today.”
“What did he call her?”
“The social worker.”
Claire moved closer.
“What did he say?”
“Not much. He said a social worker contacted my mother after my grandmother died. She wanted medical records, photographs, a DNA test. My mother became obsessed for months.”
“Did she take the test?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your mother was one social worker among thousands until ten minutes ago.”
His voice sharpened on the last words, then he took a breath and controlled it.
Claire looked down at the locket.
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“I think several people have built their lives around preventing us from knowing whether it’s possible.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.” He looked at her. “It isn’t.”
She touched the locket’s raised portrait with her thumb.
“Did you know Nora?”
“No.”
“Did she contact you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone contact you before the wedding?”
“About this? No.”
The questions sounded accusatory. Claire heard it and could not stop.
Daniel did not become angry immediately. That was worse.
“Do you believe me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You paused.”
“I’m afraid.”
“So am I.”
“That doesn’t make the questions disappear.”
“No. But it should change how you ask them.”
Claire looked away.
Beyond the windows, two guests crossed the drive toward the parking lot. One carried a gift bag. The other had removed her shoes and walked barefoot across the warm stone.
“Do you still want to marry me?” Claire asked.
Daniel laughed softly, not because the question was funny.
“I don’t know what that question means today.”
“It means exactly what it means.”
“No, it doesn’t. It could mean do I love you, which I do. It could mean do I want to sign a marriage license before we know whether our mothers were related, which would be irresponsible. It could mean am I leaving you, which I’m not. You’ve put all three questions into one sentence so any answer can hurt you.”
Claire stared at him.
May you like
He had done what he always did when frightened: separated the problem into smaller truths.
She had once admired that. Today it felt like watching someone remain dry while she drowned.
