Chương 16
“You knew it before.”
He looked down. “Yes.”
The admission hurt, but Claire trusted it more than a claim of ignorance.
“What did you think was in the report?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Another relationship. Financial trouble. Something about your father that would make you feel obligated to leave if it became public.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Fear rarely does.”
“You still chose to know without letting me know you knew.”
“Yes.”
Maya watched him from the dresser. “You understand that apologizing correctly does not make the thing smaller.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
Claire gave her a tired look.
Maya raised both hands. “I’m silent.”
She was silent for almost twenty seconds.
Ethan looked at Claire. “I am not asking you to marry me today.”
The sentence caused a quiet physical pain beneath Claire’s ribs.
He saw it. “I don’t mean I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“I mean you should not have to decide while everything is like this.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to the hospital. I’d like you there because Granddad cares about you, not because you owe me anything.”
Claire looked at the folded lace on the table.
“I’ll go.”
Ethan nodded.
He started toward the door, then stopped.
“My mother is downstairs.”
“Of course she is.”
“She wants to ride with me.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He reached for the door.
“Ethan.”
He turned.
Claire looked at him carefully. “Did your grandfather ever tell you he planned to give me the house?”
“No.”
“Did he ever ask what you would think if someone else controlled it?”
Ethan frowned. “At Christmas he asked whether I would ever live there.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’d rather sleep in my office.”
“Anything else?”
“He asked whether I thought the house should remain in the family.”
“And?”
“I said houses don’t know who owns them.”
Claire went still.
“What?”
“That sounds like him.”
Ethan gave a faint, miserable smile. “I thought it sounded like you.”
After he left, Claire stood at the window. Below, black cars waited beneath the hotel canopy. Guests clustered on the sidewalk, some already departing. A florist’s van blocked part of the drive. Ordinary traffic moved beyond them.
Maya came beside her.
“You still love him,” she said.
“Yes.”
“That is inconvenient.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to decide whether love is enough today.”
Claire watched Ethan emerge beneath the canopy. Margaret followed several steps behind, speaking to him. He shook his head and entered a black sedan alone.
Margaret remained on the curb.
Her posture did not change, but she looked suddenly small among the valets and luggage carts.
Another sedan pulled forward for her.
Claire turned from the window.
“Let’s go.”
At the hospital, the wedding followed them.
Not the guests, but the evidence. Ethan’s tuxedo. Claire’s formal makeup above ordinary clothes. Margaret’s charcoal suit and diamonds. Marcus’s brown leather folder. Nurses looked once and then carefully did not look again.
Henry Whitmore occupied a private cardiac room on the eighth floor. The family gathered in a consultation lounge while physicians completed an examination.
Rebecca Shaw arrived carrying a canvas tote and wearing running shoes with a navy pantsuit. She was in her early forties, with cropped black hair and the direct manner of someone who billed for clarity.
“I was at my daughter’s soccer game,” she told Claire. “Marcus said it was urgent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was losing feeling in my toes. This is fine.”
She sat beside Claire and opened a yellow legal pad.
Margaret watched from across the room. “You represent preservation organizations funded by Henry.”
Rebecca looked at her. “Not currently.”
“You have received foundation grants.”
“My former employer received one grant nine years ago.”
“That is a conflict.”
“No, it is history.”
Marcus stood near the window with the folder tucked under one arm. “Rebecca was selected because she has no current relationship with any party.”
“I object to her presence.”
Rebecca uncapped her pen. “You are welcome to object from farther away.”
Maya, seated beside a vending machine, smiled for the first time since the hotel.
Margaret looked at Claire. “You see how quickly strangers become loyal when property is involved.”
Rebecca glanced at the torn red marks visible above Claire’s blouse. “I am not loyal. I am concerned that my prospective client signed a deed without adequate explanation and was then physically attacked.”
“It was a dress.”
Rebecca looked at Marcus. “Is that the phrase she keeps using?”
“Yes.”
“I recommend everyone stop answering it.”
Claire almost liked her immediately, which seemed dangerous in a day full of hidden motives.
Ethan stood when the physician entered.
Dr. Patel was a small woman with silver-framed glasses and no interest in the room’s power dynamics. She explained that Henry had experienced fluid overload related to heart failure. He was responding to treatment. His oxygen level had improved. They planned to keep him at least overnight.
“Can we see him?” Ethan asked.
“One at a time. Short visits.”
Margaret stepped forward. “I’ll go first.”
Dr. Patel looked at a tablet. “Mr. Whitmore asked to see Claire Bennett.”
The room went silent.
Margaret’s face did not move.
Claire stood slowly. “Did he know I was here?”
“He asked the nurse to call her this morning. We told him she arrived.”
“I’m not family,” Claire said.
Dr. Patel glanced at the tablet again. “He listed you as an authorized visitor.”
Margaret laughed under her breath. “Of course he did.”
Ethan looked at Claire. Hurt crossed his face before he hid it.
She touched his arm. “I’ll ask him to see you next.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Henry looked smaller than he had three days earlier.
May you like
Claire had seen him at Whitmore House on Sunday, seated in the library with a wool blanket across his knees despite the June heat. He had complained that the wedding menu contained too much asparagus and asked whether Ethan still pretended to like jazz.
Now a clear oxygen tube crossed beneath his nose. Hospital light flattened the color in his skin. His white hair was combed, though not in the direction he preferred.
