Chương 4
She had changed the white bonnet but not the dress. The orchid in her hair was beginning to wilt.
Julian turned.
He saw Elena at the end of the hallway.
His eyes moved over the black dress.
“What is this?”
Elena said nothing.
“You changed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the living room.
Julian's jaw tightened.
“I asked you a question.”
“So did your mother.”
That stopped him.
Behind Julian, Chloe shifted her weight.
The baby made a small sound.
Julian rubbed his thumb against the handle of the suitcase.
“What exactly did you tell her?”
Elena looked at him.
“You still think this is about Chloe.”
Chloe's eyes moved to Julian.
He noticed.
“Don't.”
The word came out sharper than he intended.
He softened his voice immediately.
“Elena has had months to build a version of things.”
Elena almost admired the reflex.
A version of things.
Not a lie.
Not the truth.
A version.
“Turn on the light,” she said.
Julian stared at her.
“What?”
“The living-room switch. You know where it is.”
He let go of the suitcase and stepped toward the wall.
His fingers found the switch.
Click.
The room filled with warm light.
For one second, no one moved.
The portrait stood above the memorial table.
White lilies.
Three burning candles.
Incense curling upward in thin gray lines.
The plate.
The coffee.
Eleanor smiling in cream silk.
Julian's hand remained against the switch.
The color left his face slowly.
Chloe looked from the portrait to Elena.
Then to Julian.
“What is this?”
No one answered her.
Julian took one step into the room.
His suitcase tipped.
He reached for it too late.
The black case crashed flat onto the hardwood.
The baby startled awake and let out one brief cry.
Chloe bounced him automatically, murmuring into his bonnet.
Julian did not seem to hear.
His lips parted.
“Mom...?”
The word barely existed.
Elena went to the memorial table.
She lifted the three incense sticks from the ceramic dish, touched their ends to one candle, waited until they caught, then blew out the flame.
The smoke thickened.
She placed them carefully into the ash.
When she turned, Julian was staring at her with a face she had never seen before.
Not grief.
Not yet.
The instant before grief, perhaps, when the mind still believes reality may be negotiable.
Elena said, “You're exactly one hundred days late. Your mother died waiting for you.”
Julian's knees bent.
Not theatrically.
His body simply lost the certainty that had been holding it upright.
One hand caught the back of Eleanor's old armchair.
Chloe stepped away from him.
A small movement.
Half a step.
But Julian noticed.
He always noticed who was moving toward him and who was moving away.
He looked at Chloe as if she might help explain what was happening.
She stared at Elena.
“When?”
“One hundred days ago.”
“No.” Chloe shook her head. “No, he talked to her.”
Julian turned.
“Chloe.”
“You said you talked to her.”
“Not now.”
“You told me she knew.”
“Chloe.”
“You told me she was happy about the baby.”
Julian looked at Elena.
Elena felt something inside her go very still.
That was new information.
Not shocking.
But new.
Chloe's face changed as she understood that Elena had understood.
She tightened her grip on the baby.
“You said she knew about us.”
Julian looked toward his mother's portrait.
“She did.”
Elena spoke before he could continue.
“No.”
His head snapped toward her.
“You don't know every conversation I had with my mother.”
“I know the last six months of her phone records.”
The sentence landed.
Julian blinked.
Elena had not intended to say it that way.
The records were not evidence in some grand investigation. Eleanor had asked her to handle bills and accounts when treatment made it difficult. After her death, Elena kept copies for the estate attorney.
But Julian heard accusation.
His shoulders straightened.
“That's invasive.”
Chloe gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
It was not amusement.
“You're worried about privacy?”
Julian looked at her.
“Please.”
“No. Don't please me.”
The baby began fussing again.
Chloe lowered her voice immediately, rocking him.
Julian turned back to Elena.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
For the first time that afternoon, anger reached her.
It came quietly.
“You were told.”
“I wasn't.”
“I called you.”
“My number changed.”
“You had that number for seven years.”
“I had an international line.”
“I texted you.”
“I was traveling.”
“I emailed you.”
“My office—”
“I called your office.”
He stopped.
Elena watched him search for another defense.
“I left a voicemail,” she said. “I called your assistant. I called again from the hospice nurse's phone because I thought maybe you'd blocked mine.”
Julian looked away.
Chloe's expression sharpened.
“Did you?”
He said nothing.
“Julian.”
“It was temporary.”
Elena closed her eyes for one second.
There it was.
Small.
Pathetic.
Perfectly believable.
He had blocked his dying mother's house because his wife might call.
Chloe stared at him.
“You blocked her?”
“I blocked Elena.”
“Same number,” Elena said.
Julian rubbed both hands over his face.
“I didn't know she was that sick.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. I knew she had cancer.”
“You joined the appointment.”
“For ten minutes.”
“Eleven.”
His hands dropped.
“What?”
“Eleven minutes. You stayed on the phone eleven minutes.”
“Are we counting minutes now?”
Elena looked at him.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Julian seemed to hear himself.
His eyes moved toward the table.
The fresh coffee.
The food.
The lilies.
His mother's smiling face.
“When was the funeral?”
Elena told him.
He flinched.
Chloe closed her eyes.
Julian reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone.
He began scrolling.
“What are you doing?” Chloe asked.
“Checking.”
“For what?”
He didn't answer.
His thumb moved faster.
Elena watched confusion become panic.
“Where are they?”
“What?”
“The messages.”
Elena almost pitied him.
Almost.
“If you delete a thread,” she said, “it doesn't stay there waiting for you to regret it.”
“I didn't delete—”
May you like
He stopped.
Chloe stared.
