Chương 7
She did not finish.
That Beatrice had a reason.
That Vivian had misunderstood.
That Edwin had promised more.
That the chair had slipped.
That the missing page had been misplaced.
That the signature had been copied by a careless assistant.
That harm could remain accidental if Claire delayed naming it.
Daniel drove through the green light.
At home, they discovered Emma had drawn on the dining room wall with a purple crayon.
Their babysitter stood nearby in horror.
“I looked away for maybe thirty seconds,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Emma stared at the floor.
The drawing was a series of loops approximately two feet wide.
Claire looked at her daughter’s lowered head and heard the question from the mansion.
Was I bad?
Daniel crouched beside Emma.
“Purple was an ambitious choice,” he said.
Emma peeked at him.
“Walls aren’t for drawing,” Claire said. Her voice came out sharper than she intended.
Emma’s face crumpled.
Daniel glanced at Claire but did not intervene.
Claire closed her eyes briefly.
“You’re not bad,” she said, kneeling. “You made a choice you’re going to help fix.”
“With soap?”
“With a sponge.”
“It might not come off,” the babysitter warned.
Daniel examined the loops. “Then we own purple art.”
Emma looked uncertain.
Claire brought a sponge. For fifteen minutes, mother and daughter scrubbed while Daniel made grilled cheese. The crayon faded to a pale bruise on the paint.
Emma grew bored halfway through and asked whether worms had families.
Claire answered that she assumed they did.
“Do worm grandmas yell?”
“Probably some of them.”
Daniel coughed to hide a laugh.
It was the first easy sound in the house all week.
That night, after Emma slept in her own bed for the first time since Easter, Claire found Daniel repainting the wall.
“You said we’d own purple art.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You’re teaching her there are no consequences.”
“I made her scrub.”
“You scrubbed most of it.”
“She’s four.”
Claire leaned against the doorway.
Daniel moved the roller up and down.
“You were right,” she said.
He stopped.
“About which incredibly irritating thing?”
“I was relieved to wait.”
He set the roller in the tray.
Claire walked into the room. “I don’t want Beatrice arrested.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“If she did this—”
“She did something.”
“If she forged my signature, and if Mother knew, then I have spent years financing people who were using my name.”
“Yes.”
“Why aren’t you angrier?”
“I am.”
“You look tired.”
“I can be two things.”
Claire looked at the wet rectangle of new paint.
“I keep thinking about when Bea taught me to swim.”
Daniel said nothing.
“I was six. She was ten. Dad threw me into the deep end because he thought fear was a habit. I sank. Bea jumped in wearing her clothes.”
“Your father threw you into a pool?”
“He thought I was pretending not to swim.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That story is more upsetting than you seem to realize.”
“She stayed beside me until I could reach the ladder. Mother screamed at her for ruining a white dress.”
Claire folded her arms across herself.
“Every time Beatrice does something cruel, I remember her in that pool.”
Daniel rested his hands on the roller handle.
“Maybe she remembers it too.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe rescuing you became the first thing she resented.”
Claire looked at him.
He shrugged. “Or maybe she was a good sister that day and a bad one this week. People aren’t required to remain consistent for our convenience.”
The following Monday, Claire received a voice message from Beatrice.
No contempt. No polished edge.
Just exhaustion.
“We need to talk without lawyers.”
Claire listened once.
Then again.
Rachel advised her not to meet alone.
Daniel advised her not to meet at all.
Claire chose a café in the lobby of a downtown hotel and asked Rachel to sit two tables away.
Beatrice arrived twenty minutes late wearing dark glasses and a gray cashmere coat despite the warm day. She looked smaller outside the mansion. Less finished.
She ordered tea and did not drink it.
“You brought Rachel,” she said.
“She’s nearby.”
“Of course.”
“You asked to talk.”
Beatrice removed her glasses.
The skin beneath her eyes was swollen. Claire could not remember the last time she had seen her sister without concealer.
“Mother has not slept,” Beatrice said.
“Emma wakes up crying.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Beatrice looked toward the lobby elevators.
A bellman rolled a luggage cart past them. One suitcase had a broken zipper held together with a red belt.
“I did not push Emma.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You imply things.”
“You blocked me from reaching her.”
“Because you came into the room like a maniac.”
“My child was on the floor.”
“She had fallen. She was crying. You made it into…” Beatrice moved one hand. “This.”
Claire waited.
Beatrice’s fingers closed around the untouched teacup.
“Mother took the bunny,” she said. “Emma grabbed for it. The chair moved.”
“Who moved it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were holding it.”
“I put my hand on the back because Emma was climbing.”
“Emma said she was trying to get the bunny.”
“She was. Both can be true.”
“Did Mother pull the bunny away?”
Beatrice looked at Claire.
“Yes.”
The word was quiet.
“Did she call Emma a liar?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Bea.”
“Mother was upset about the egg. Dad bought it in St. Petersburg.”
“Dad bought it at an auction in Boston.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
Beatrice picked up the tea and put it down without drinking.
“She said Emma had touched it before lunch.”
“Did she?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Then why did you tell the board she had?”
“Because I believed Mother.”
“Over a four-year-old?”
“I believed the adult.”
Claire’s laugh came out without humor. “That has always worked so well for us.”
Beatrice’s face changed.
“Don’t.”
May you like
“Why? Because we’re in public?”
“Because you don’t get to rewrite our childhood now that you control the money.”
