Chương 7
He could see Elena’s silhouette through the glass.
For twelve years he had lived with a dead daughter.
Now she needed legal advice on how to survive meeting him.
He stepped away before she saw him.
In the dining car, Victoria sat alone beneath a brass lamp.
Her coat lay on the seat beside her.
Without it she looked smaller.
Richard stopped at the table.
She did not look up.
“Do you remember Dad’s old rule?” she asked.
He said nothing.
“If you break something, tell the truth before somebody else tells it for you.”
Richard pulled out the chair opposite her.
“I remember.”
Victoria rubbed her palms together.
“I always thought it was funny.”
“Why?”
“Because you never followed it.”
His expression sharpened.
She looked up.
“Mom knew about your affair.”
Richard’s face changed.
Victoria almost smiled.
“There. See?”
He leaned back.
“That has nothing to do with Elena.”
“It has everything to do with how this family worked.”
“You are trying to move the conversation.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
She looked toward the dark window.
“I spent my entire childhood cleaning up feelings nobody else wanted.”
Richard was silent.
“Mom got sick. You disappeared into work. Elena got angry at everything. I kept track of medication and school forms and which nurse was supposed to come on Thursdays.”
“You were twenty-two when your mother became seriously ill.”
“I started earlier.”
Richard looked down at the table.
There were truths that did not excuse anything and were still truths.
Victoria picked at the edge of a paper napkin.
“I took Mom’s money because I thought I could make enough to leave.”
“Leave what?”
“All of you.”
The answer surprised him.
Victoria laughed at his face.
“You thought I wanted more?”
“I thought you liked the company.”
“I was good at it.”
“That isn’t the same thing?”
“No.”
Richard sat with that.
Victoria continued.
“I put money into a fund a friend was running. It went bad. I borrowed more to cover the loss. Then more.”
“Your mother was dying.”
“I know.”
“You stole from a dying woman.”
“Yes.”
The flatness of the answer took some of the force out of his anger.
“You could have asked me for money.”
“I would rather have cut off my hand.”
“Why?”
“Because every dollar from you had a string.”
Richard opened his mouth.
She raised a hand.
“Don’t. Not tonight.”
He closed it.
The train creaked beneath them.
Victoria looked tired enough to sleep sitting up.
“I followed Elena because she had seen the transfer records,” she said. “I wanted her to give me forty-eight hours.”
“And when she wouldn’t?”
“She left.”
“You chased her.”
“Yes.”
“Did your car hit theirs?”
“No.”
He searched her face.
“Did you force them off the road?”
“I pulled alongside. Celia swerved.”
“Because of you.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
Victoria looked at him as if the answer should have been obvious.
“Because I was afraid.”
He sat very still.
“Fear,” he said, “has done remarkably well in this family.”
Victoria’s mouth tightened.
“I called 911. I stayed until I saw the ambulance take someone away. I thought it was Celia.”
“You knew Elena’s car went down the embankment.”
“I knew two people were in it.”
“And then?”
“I saw the body they pulled out.”
Richard looked away.
“I recognized Elena’s coat.”
“But you knew they had taken someone alive.”
“I thought the alive one was Celia.”
“When did you learn otherwise?”
“The next morning.”
“How?”
“I called hospitals.”
The irony almost made Richard sick.
“You called hospitals.”
“Yes.”
“And found Elena.”
“Yes.”
“What did she remember?”
“Not much.”
“What did you tell her?”
Victoria pressed her palms against her eyes.
“You heard.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
She dropped her hands.
“I told her you blamed her for the crash.”
Richard’s throat tightened.
“I told her the police thought she was driving. I told her Celia’s parents wanted her charged. I told her you were trying to protect the family name and thought she should stay away until it settled.”
“Why would she believe I wanted her gone?”
Victoria looked at him.
“Because three days before that, you told her if she dropped out of school you would stop paying her rent.”
Richard stared.
“I was angry.”
“She was twenty.”
“So were you.”
“Yes.”
That ended the argument more effectively than anything else could have.
Victoria folded the napkin into a small square.
“I told myself I was buying time. Then the medical examiner called. They were leaning toward identifying the body as Elena because of the belongings. I should have corrected them.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“You confirmed it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her hands stopped moving.
“Because by then, if Elena was alive, they would ask why I had lied at the hospital. They would ask why I was at the crash. They would look at Mom’s accounts. They would look at everything.”
Richard stared at his daughter.
“So you chose your life.”
Victoria met his eyes.
“Yes.”
He had expected denial.
The answer hurt more.
“What happened after the motel?”
“I gave Elena money. I told her to go to Boston first. She left.”
“You let her go alone?”
“She refused to stay with the person I arranged.”
“You arranged a person?”
“A friend.”
“Who?”
“Someone from college.”
“Name.”
Victoria hesitated.
“Laura Senn.”
Richard took out his phone.
Victoria gave him a look.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing it down.”
“For the police?”
“For myself.”
She laughed faintly.
“You really are becoming thorough twelve years late.”
Richard stopped typing.
He looked at her.
“That was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“Was it true?”
Victoria did not answer.
He finished typing the name.
When the train started moving again, Elena woke from a shallow sleep to the soft vibration of wheels.
Mara sat at the end of the velvet seat, reading a paperback with a bent cover.
Elena blinked.
“How long?”
“Thirty-five minutes.”
“Did I snore?”
“Not impressively.”
May you like
Elena shifted carefully.
Her headache had dulled.
