Chương 14
The waitress looked at him.
“That all?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“What are you, sad?”
Adrian covered his mouth.
Vincent said, “Coffee is fine.”
“You look like you need pie.”
“I don’t.”
“Nobody needs pie. That’s not the point.”
She walked away.
Adrian laughed until his eyes watered.
Vincent stared at him.
“You almost died and somehow became more irritating.”
“That’s survival.”
“That sounds like something printed on a mug.”
“It probably is.”
The waitress returned with two slices of pie.
Vincent said, “I didn’t order that.”
“On the house.”
“Why?”
“You look sad.”
Adrian bent over the table laughing.
Vincent ate the pie.
It was excellent.
That night he called Rachel.
Not because he needed anything.
That distinction mattered now.
“He was sentenced.”
“I saw.”
“Emily?”
“Doing homework.”
“Does she know?”
“That it’s finished, yes. Not the number of years.”
“Good.”
A pause.
Rachel said, “How are you?”
Vincent almost answered fine.
Instead he looked at the untouched bottle of whiskey on the shelf across his living room.
He had not had a drink since Bellamy House.
Not because doctors told him not to.
Because every amber liquid still brought back a small hand striking a photograph against black leather.
“I don’t know.”
Rachel was quiet.
Then she said, “That sounds more believable than fine.”
He smiled faintly.
“Adrian ate fries.”
“Call the newspapers.”
“And pie.”
“Now it’s news.”
Another pause.
Vincent looked at the whiskey.
“I never told you this.”
“What?”
“Adrian had told me not to send Marcus to the restaurant early that night.”
Rachel said nothing.
“I sent him anyway.”
“I know.”
Vincent frowned.
“How?”
“Adrian mentioned it.”
“Of course he did.”
“He didn’t blame you.”
“I do.”
Rachel sighed.
“You and guilt have made a very committed couple.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No, you’re not.”
He did not.
She continued.
“You made a bad decision with information that did not include attempted murder.”
“That sounds like therapy language.”
“Then stop paying yours and send me the money.”
Vincent laughed.
Rachel smiled on the other end.
Then Emily shouted from another room.
“Mom! Nine times seven!”
Rachel covered the phone badly.
“Sixty-three.”
“That’s cheating!”
“You asked me!”
Vincent listened.
Something eased in his chest.
Rachel came back.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“All right.”
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She groaned.
“Not again.”
He smiled.
“Good night.”
A year after the poisoning, Bellamy House replaced the glass crane.
One wing had chipped during routine cleaning.
Thomas wanted to throw it away.
Emily objected.
She was nine now.
She had grown two inches and become deeply interested in whether adults used words correctly.
“It isn’t broken,” she said.
“It is visibly broken,” Thomas replied.
“It is chipped.”
“That is a kind of broken.”
“No. Broken means it doesn’t work.”
“It’s decorative. It never worked.”
Emily looked at Rachel.
“He shouldn’t manage things.”
Thomas pointed toward the dining room.
“Your daughter is banned.”
“She was already not employed here.”
“Still banned.”
Emily carried the chipped crane carefully to a side table.
She had come with Rachel because Bellamy House was hosting a small anniversary dinner for the Hale family.
Not the anniversary of the poisoning.
Nobody called it that.
It was Adrian’s forty-second birthday.
He had chosen Bellamy because avoiding the place had begun to feel more exhausting than entering it.
Vincent arrived first.
One guard came with him now, not two.
He wore a black dinner jacket.
Emily looked disappointed.
“What?”
“No white jacket?”
Vincent stared at her.
Rachel laughed from across the room.
Adrian entered behind him.
“I told you people hated that thing.”
“One child disliked it.”
“That’s polling.”
Emily held up the pink camera.
“Stand there.”
Vincent looked around.
“Where?”
“By him.”
Adrian stepped beside his brother.
Vincent did not move.
Emily lowered the camera.
“Mr. Vincent.”
“I am standing here.”
“You’re too far away.”
“I can be visible from here.”
“You’ll look weird.”
Adrian grabbed his sleeve.
“Come on.”
Vincent moved half a step closer.
Emily frowned.
“Closer.”
“This is extortion.”
“Vin.”
Vincent moved again.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
Emily lifted the camera.
Then stopped.
“Smile.”
“No,” Vincent said.
Adrian smiled.
Emily waited.
Vincent stared.
Rachel arranged glasses at the table and pretended not to watch.
Emily lowered the camera.
“I can wait.”
Vincent looked at Adrian.
Adrian’s smile widened.
“This is your fault,” Vincent said.
“My birthday.”
“That does not answer the accusation.”
Emily waited.
Vincent finally allowed the smallest smile.
The camera clicked.
A square of film slid out.
Emily caught it.
Nobody touched it.
She placed it facedown on the table.
Adrian reached.
Emily slapped his hand away.
“Don’t.”
He looked offended.
“It develops better if you leave it.”
“That’s apparently a myth.”
Emily narrowed her eyes.
“Who said?”
“Internet.”
“The internet also says sharks can smell one drop of blood from a mile away.”
Adrian looked at Vincent.
“I’m being fact-checked by a nine-year-old.”
“You deserve it.”
They waited.
The image emerged gradually.
Warm light.
Dark leather.
Adrian in blue.
Vincent in black.
No guards visible.
No decanters.
No fear.
Emily picked up the photograph.
Adrian leaned over her shoulder.
“I look good.”
“You blinked.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Vincent looked.
“He blinked.”
Adrian took the photograph.
“You both are terrible.”
Rachel came closer.
For a few seconds, the four of them stood around one small instant picture.
Nothing important happened.
Nobody discovered evidence.
Nobody prevented a crime.
A server dropped a spoon in the kitchen.
Somebody at the bar asked whether the sparkling water was cold.
Thomas argued with a florist about a centerpiece.
Life continued with its usual disrespect for dramatic endings.
Later, after cake, Adrian gave Emily a small box.
Rachel immediately said, “No expensive gifts.”
Adrian looked offended.
“It cost fourteen dollars.”
Rachel paused.
“Continue.”
Emily opened it.
Inside was a simple photo album with pink paper pages.
She looked at Adrian.
“For my pictures?”
“That is usually what people do with photo albums.”
Vincent said, “He researched that for three weeks.”
May you like
“I did not.”
“He sent me six options.”
