Chương 4
“Everyone saw it.”
“Great.”
“The clip is everywhere.”
“Please don’t say everywhere.”
“Fine. It’s in several places where millions of strangers can access it.”
Mara stared at her.
“You’re terrible.”
“I came to Bellevue in pajama pants.”
“Fair.”
Nina sat beside her.
“Do you believe him?”
Mara looked at the gold locket on the bedside table.
Hospital light made it look cheap.
“No.”
“You think he lied?”
“I think people say things when they’re shocked.”
“He knew your mom’s name.”
“I know.”
“He said he had a photograph.”
“I know.”
Nina was quiet.
Outside the curtain, a nurse laughed at something another nurse had said. A cart squeaked past. Somewhere nearby a man argued about needing a cigarette.
Mara stared at the locket.
Her mother had given it to her three days before she died.
Lydia had been thin by then, cheeks hollow, skin almost translucent around the temples. She had refused hospice until the final week because she believed accepting help was a form of surrender. Mara had spent months negotiating with a woman whose body had already made the decision for both of them.
The locket had been wrapped in an old washcloth.
“Pretty glamorous,” Lydia had said.
Mara had turned it over.
“What is it?”
“Something I should’ve given you sooner.”
“What’s the bird?”
“Falcon.”
“Whose?”
Her mother had looked toward the apartment window.
Traffic moved below them on Queens Boulevard.
“Yours, if you want it.”
That had been all.
Mara had asked about the initials engraved inside.
G.V.
Lydia said she was tired.
Three days later she was dead.
Mara had never pushed.
That failure had lived in her ever since.
Nina touched her knee.
“You went somewhere.”
“I should’ve asked her.”
“You did.”
“I should’ve kept asking.”
“She was dying.”
“That didn’t make her incapable of answering.”
“No. It made you scared.”
Mara looked at her.
Nina shrugged.
“You were both scared. You got very polite at the end. It was weird.”
Mara smiled despite herself.
“That is a cruel thing to say.”
“I know.”
“It’s also true.”
“I know.”
A doctor returned with the imaging results.
No fracture.
Significant soft-tissue injury.
Rest, ice, follow-up.
Mara listened carefully, asked about work restrictions, asked how long soreness might last, and wrote nothing down because Nina said she would.
At two-thirty in the morning, Mara left the hospital through a side exit arranged by security.
There were photographers at the main entrance.
That was when the night became unreal.
Not the attack.
Not Adrian Vale’s face when he saw the locket.
Photographers.
They called her name from half a block away.
“Mara!”
“Mara, is Adrian Vale your brother?”
“Did your mother work for Gideon Vale?”
“Mara, are you pressing charges?”
“Mara, did the Harrow family know who you were?”
Nina grabbed her hand.
“Car.”
They hurried toward a rideshare waiting at the curb.
Mara ducked her head.
One photographer moved closer.
Nina turned on him.
“She was assaulted six hours ago. Back off.”
The photographer stopped.
Not because he was ashamed.
Because a hospital security officer stepped between them.
In the car, Mara leaned against the window.
Her phone vibrated continuously.
She turned it off.
Nina watched her.
“You can stay at my sister’s.”
“Why?”
“Because people know our address.”
Mara turned.
“What?”
“Your employee profile had the neighborhood. Somebody matched an old voter-registration database or something. I don’t know. People online are freaks.”
Mara pressed her fingers to her eyes.
“My mother lived there.”
“I know.”
“It was her apartment.”
“I know.”
“I’m not leaving because some idiot found Google.”
“Mara.”
“No.”
Nina waited.
Mara hated when she did that.
“What?”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m aware.”
“And hurt.”
“Also aware.”
“And you are doing your thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where being terrified turns you into a union organizer.”
Mara looked out the window.
Rain streaked the city lights into long yellow lines.
“I’m not terrified.”
“Sure.”
Mara’s phone vibrated again even though she had turned it off.
She checked.
The screen remained black.
Phantom vibration.
Great.
By sunrise, Adrian Vale had called three times.
Mara did not answer.
At nine, someone from his office emailed.
At nine-sixteen, the museum called.
At nine-forty, a detective called to confirm details from her statement.
At ten-ten, Celeste Harrow’s attorney sent an email through an address Mara had used on an old catering invoice, stating that Ms. Harrow regretted the “unfortunate physical interaction” and asking that all parties avoid inflammatory public comments while facts were reviewed.
Mara read the sentence twice.
Then she forwarded it to the detective.
Nina, standing at the kitchen counter with coffee, said, “That wording is almost impressive.”
“Unfortunate physical interaction.”
“Like you bumped carts at Costco.”
Mara set the phone down.
Her shoulder throbbed beneath the cold pack.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“You said that fast.”
“My sister got hit by a taxi and the driver’s insurance company asked her to sign something while she was on pain medication.”
“That seems different.”
“All things become paperwork eventually.”
Mara looked at the window.
Outside, the storm had passed. The city looked scrubbed and tired.
Her mother had loved mornings after heavy rain.
Everything looks less permanent, Lydia used to say.
Mara had never understood what she meant.
At eleven, the museum placed Mara on paid medical leave.
At eleven-fifteen, a photograph of Celeste Harrow leaving a townhouse on the Upper East Side appeared online.
At noon, Adrian Vale released a statement.
Mara read it because Nina made her.
It was short.
He confirmed that an incident had occurred, said he would cooperate with the investigation, asked the public to respect Mara’s privacy, and stated that his comment regarding their relationship had been made in a moment of shock based on private family information that required verification.
Mara read that last sentence again.
“That’s better.”
Nina raised an eyebrow.
“Better than what?”
“Better than announcing I’m his long-lost sister like we’re on daytime television.”
“Low bar.”
“Yes.”
May you like
Mara scrolled farther.
There was no mention of Celeste beyond the incident.
