Chương 4
Adrian saw her through the front window standing beside a black town car she had apparently instructed to wait at the curb. She wore dark trousers, a camel coat, and oversized sunglasses despite the clouded sky. Her blonde hair had been pulled into a low knot that made her look older than she had the night before.
He opened the door but did not invite her inside.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
“Then go.”
“I need to tell you what happened.”
“Mila is in the living room.”
Camille glanced past him instinctively, then corrected herself and looked at the porch floor.
“I won’t come in.”
“What happened?”
She removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were swollen, though Adrian did not know whether from crying or lack of sleep.
“Mother planned something. I knew part of it.”
“How much?”
“She told me she wanted a family photograph before the cake.”
“That does not put a child in the garden.”
“No.”
Camille folded the sunglasses in both hands. One of her diamond earrings caught the dull morning light.
“She had the portrait brought out.”
Adrian knew immediately which portrait.
Lydia at seven years old, seated in the formal garden with a cream rabbit on her lap.
The original rabbit had been lost decades ago. After Mila was born, Eleanor commissioned a replica from photographs. Lydia had disliked it. Mila loved it.
“What else?”
“Mother wanted Mila to sit in front of it.”
“For a picture?”
“For a video.”
Camille swallowed.
“She had remarks prepared.”
“For herself?”
“For Mila.”
Adrian’s hand tightened against the edge of the door.
Camille spoke faster now, as though reaching the end might reduce the weight of the beginning.
“It was supposed to be a surprise for you. Mother wanted Mila to say that families can heal and that Lydia would want everyone together. Then she planned to announce that the children’s arts program would be renamed for Lydia and that Mila would be its honorary ambassador.”
“She’s six.”
“I know.”
“You stood beside the cake.”
“I know.”
“You watched her.”
“I didn’t understand at first how frightened she was.”
Adrian stared at her.
Camille closed her eyes briefly. “That sounds terrible.”
“It sounds accurate.”
“She kept saying she didn’t want to do the video. Mother said she was shy. A few guests encouraged her. Someone moved the lights closer. Mila asked where you were. I told her you’d be back.”
“You said one minute.”
Camille looked up sharply.
“Mila told me.”
“Yes.”
“What did she ask you to stop?”
“The recording. The questions. Mother asking her to repeat the line.”
“What line?”
Camille’s voice fell.
“‘Mommy would want Daddy to forgive Nana.’”
For a moment Adrian heard nothing from inside the house, though the television was still playing. His vision narrowed until Camille’s face, the porch column, and the black car at the curb seemed disconnected from one another.
Eleanor had blamed Adrian after the accident.
Not publicly. Eleanor was too disciplined for that. She had done it in the waiting room while Lydia was in surgery.
You knew she was exhausted.
You knew she hated driving in the rain.
You should have gone yourself.
Adrian had repeated those sentences privately for eighteen months. He had never told Mila.
“What did Mila say?” he asked.
“She said no.”
“And then?”
“Mother tried to explain that it was only words.”
“And you?”
“I told Mila we could do one take and leave.”
“You blocked her.”
Camille’s face changed.
“I stood near the doors.”
“You blocked her.”
“I didn’t touch her.”
“That’s what your mother said.”
“I didn’t understand she was trying to get out until she pushed past me.”
“Children should not have to push past adults who claim to love them.”
Camille looked toward the living-room window. The curtain moved, though Adrian could not tell whether Mila had touched it.
“Mara opened the side door,” Camille said. “I thought she was taking Mila to the powder room. Then Mother told the musicians to start because guests were watching. I didn’t go after her right away.”
“Why not?”
Camille’s lips pressed together.
“Because Mother looked at me.”
Adrian waited for something more.
There was nothing more.
A thirty-two-year-old woman in a burgundy gown had remained beside a cake because her mother looked at her.
It was pathetic. It was also, Adrian knew, true.
Camille extended her phone.
“I have the beginning of the video.”
He did not take it.
“Why?”
“One of the event staff sent it to me. Mother asked everyone to delete recordings, but this was on the house system too.”
“Is Mila visible?”
“Yes.”
“Then you do not send it to anyone.”
“I haven’t.”
“Not your attorney. Not your mother. Not Nathan. No one.”
“Adrian—”
“No one.”
Camille lowered the phone.
“Mother is speaking to Warren Pike.”
The family attorney.
“Of course she is.”
“She believes you’re going to cut off contact.”
“I am.”
“She may challenge that.”
“On what basis?”
Camille did not answer.
Adrian felt the shape of the threat before she said it.
“Mila’s education trust,” Camille said. “The medical account. The house loan Lydia’s father arranged.”
“The loan was repaid.”
“Mother says there were modifications.”
“She can say what she likes.”
“She says a lot of things when she’s afraid.”
“Is that an excuse?”
“No.”
“Then stop explaining her to me.”
Camille flinched.
Behind Adrian, the living-room floor creaked.
He turned.
Mila stood in the hallway holding the rabbit. She looked at Camille, then immediately at the floor.
Camille’s entire body softened and stopped at once.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Mila moved behind Adrian’s leg.
Camille covered her mouth with one hand. She lowered it quickly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have opened the door.”
Mila’s fingers curled into Adrian’s sweatshirt.
Camille waited, perhaps expecting an answer because adults were accustomed to apologies producing something useful.
Mila gave none.
“I’m going now,” Camille said.
May you like
That, at least, was the correct thing.
She put on her sunglasses before turning toward the steps. At the sidewalk she stopped.
