Part 16
“I need you to be less reasonable.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
Daniel looked down.
His hand emerged from his pocket. He had been holding Claire’s wedding ring.
She recognized the narrow platinum band immediately.
He turned it between his fingers.
“I carried this into the ballroom,” he said. “I stood in front of everyone we know with it in my pocket while telling them we weren’t getting married. My brother looked at me like someone had died. Your cousin started crying. The caterer asked whether to serve the fish.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
Daniel continued, quieter now.
“I wanted to come back here and tell you none of this mattered. I wanted to put the ring on your hand because I have pictured doing it for almost a year. Then I looked at Lily, and I realized every person in this story has done something destructive because they wanted one feeling more than they wanted the truth.”
He closed his fingers around the ring.
“So I’m trying to want the truth.”
Claire’s first tear slipped down her cheek.
Daniel did not reach for her.
The restraint hurt and protected them both.
“I accused a child,” Claire said.
“You frightened her.”
“I thought she stole it.”
“She’s seven.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t know when you crossed the hallway?”
Claire wiped the tear away.
“I knew.”
Daniel nodded once.
It was not forgiveness.
She appreciated him for withholding it.
“I haven’t apologized,” she said.
“No.”
“I don’t know how without making her comfort me.”
“Then don’t ask her to.”
Claire looked at him.
The familiar cadence of his voice survived the possibility that everything around it had changed.
“Anna is coming,” she said.
“Good.”
“She may have records.”
“Good.”
“Ruth says they may not be reliable.”
“Also possible.”
Claire exhaled, almost laughing through the grief.
“You really can’t stop.”
“No.”
He looked at the locket.
“May I see it?”
Claire placed it in his palm.
His fingers closed carefully beneath hers.
For the first time that day, the locket passed from Claire to another adult without feeling stolen.
Daniel examined the engraving.
“My mother had a wooden box with this pattern.”
Claire leaned closer.
“Flowers?”
“Exactly like these. Three leaves curling inward. I used to trace them during church because she kept the box in her purse.”
“What was inside?”
“Letters.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know. She burned them after my grandmother died.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Another deliberate destruction. Another person deciding the future could be protected by removing the past.
Daniel turned the locket over.
“The scratch looks intentional.”
“It was made by a sewing needle.”
“How do you know?”
“I watched my mother do it.”
“Why?”
“She was trying to find the clasp.”
“Maybe she was marking something.”
He ran his thumb near the crescent without touching the damaged metal.
Claire noticed that the scratch did not follow the outer curve randomly. It pointed toward the lower edge of the frame where the pale scrap was lodged.
“She left a guide,” Claire said.
“Maybe.”
They opened the locket.
Warm daylight reached the damaged compartments. The pearl fragment glimmered on the left. Daniel stared at the right photograph.
“What?” Claire asked.
He lifted the locket closer but did not remove it from the light.
“That shape.”
“The pale curve?”
“It could be an ear.”
Claire looked.
The fragment was too dark to identify confidently. Along one edge, however, a narrow crescent of pale skin remained. Beneath it was a lighter mark.
A scar.
Or damage to the paper.
“It proves nothing,” Daniel said.
“You sound like Ruth.”
“I’m trying not to become Nora.”
Claire flinched.
He looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re right.”
The ballroom doors opened behind them. Two guests emerged, saw the couple at the window, and stopped awkwardly. Claire recognized Daniel’s aunt and an elderly neighbor of her father’s.
Both women looked at the wedding clothes, the locket, Claire’s tear-streaked face.
“We were just leaving,” Daniel’s aunt said.
Daniel nodded.
“Thank you for coming.”
She took one step toward him, then stopped.
“Do you need anything?”
“No.”
It was not true, but no available answer would fit the question.
The women left.
Claire watched them disappear down the stairs.
“By tonight, everyone will have a version,” she said.
“Yes.”
“By tomorrow, someone will post one.”
“Probably.”
“I spent eight months choosing what this day would look like.”
Daniel held out the locket.
Claire took it.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I want one thing no one can photograph.”
“What?”
“To know what happened.”
Daniel looked at the wedding ring in his other hand.
“We’ll find out.”
The promise frightened her because people in this family had made promises before.
“Don’t say that unless you mean we’ll accept not knowing.”
He met her eyes.
“We’ll do that too.”
They returned to the blue sitting room together.
Ruth had gone.
Richard stood near the door, angry with himself for allowing it.
“She said she needed the restroom,” he explained.
“She left the property?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know.”
Marian, who had returned, touched her earpiece.
“Security saw her enter the east elevator.”
“Where does it go?”
“Guest rooms, the garage, the lower service level.”
Claire looked at the locket.
“What would she want?”
Paula answered.
“The letter.”
“She said it was destroyed.”
“Nora had photographed it. Ruth may think another copy exists.”
“Where?”
Paula hesitated.
“In Lily’s overnight bag.”
Every adult turned toward the child.
Lily sat on the sofa with a plate of wedding cake balanced on her knees. White frosting marked one corner of her mouth. She had eaten around the raspberry filling and left it in a bright red strip.
“My bag’s in the flower room,” she said.
Marian pressed her earpiece.
“I’ll have someone secure it.”
May you like
“No,” Claire replied. “We go together.”
The flower room was on the lower level near the service entrance. Claire gathered the front of her gown in both hands while descending the staircase. Daniel walked one step below her, ready to catch the fabric rather than her. Lily came between Paula and Richard.
