Chương 10
I received the result. I will not contact you again until you ask me to.
Leah read it twice.
Then she called him.
He answered but said nothing.
“I got it,” she said.
“So did I.”
“What are you doing?”
He took a moment.
“Sitting in my car.”
“Where?”
“Outside the cemetery.”
Leah’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Which cemetery?”
“Rosa’s.”
“How do you know where she’s buried?”
“I found the obituary.”
“Are you there now?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go to Claire’s grave?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know whether I had the right.”
“You don’t.”
“I know.”
The answer came without defense.
Leah looked at the locket on the windowsill.
“Rosa is buried beside Claire.”
“I saw.”
“What did you bring?”
He was silent.
“Flowers?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Lilies.”
Leah closed her eyes.
“My mother hated lilies.”
“I remember.”
“Then why?”
“The florist recommended them.”
“You own a hotel with six florists.”
“None of them would take my call.”
A laugh escaped her, sudden and painful.
Julian laughed too, then stopped.
“What did she like?” he asked.
“Daffodils. Cheap ones. The kind in grocery-store bundles.”
“I remember those too.”
“Do you remember everything now?”
“No.”
The honesty steadied her.
“I’m coming there,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
The cemetery lay beyond the city limits beside a road lined with auto shops and low warehouses. Julian’s car was parked beneath a maple tree. He stood beside two graves holding a bouquet of white lilies wrapped in brown paper.
Leah walked toward him carrying nothing.
Claire Bell’s stone was small. Her name, dates, and the words BELOVED MOTHER AND FRIEND had been carved into gray granite. Rosa’s newer stone stood beside it, too clean and sharp among the weathered markers.
Julian had placed the lilies between them.
Leah picked them up.
For one alarming second, he looked as if she might throw them away.
She removed the brown paper and separated the stems. Half went on Rosa’s grave. Half remained in her hand.
“She didn’t hate them,” Leah said. “I exaggerated.”
“Why?”
“Because you remembered.”
Julian nodded as if the answer made sense.
Leah placed the rest on Claire’s grave.
He looked at the engraved dates.
“She was twenty-seven.”
“Yes.”
“How did she die?”
“A car accident.”
“Where?”
“Near Albany. She worked at a nursery after I was born. A delivery truck crossed the center line.”
“Were you in the car?”
“No. I was with Rosa.”
Julian bent his head.
Leah watched him. She had expected tears, perhaps because movies had trained her to distrust quiet grief. He only pressed his thumb against the side of his index finger until the skin whitened.
“Did she ever marry?” he asked.
“No.”
“Was there anyone?”
“Rosa said she dated a man who sold irrigation equipment.”
“That sounds like Claire.”
“You don’t know what sounds like her after I was born.”
He accepted the correction.
They stood between the graves while a groundskeeper drove past on a small tractor. Somewhere beyond the trees, traffic moved steadily.
Julian reached into his coat and removed an envelope.
“I brought something.”
Leah did not take it.
“What?”
“A letter I wrote to Claire after Eleanor told me the baby died.”
“How do you still have it?”
“It was returned unopened. I kept it.”
“Why bring it now?”
“I thought you should decide what happens to it.”
“Did you write about me?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t named.”
“No.”
“What did you call me?”
He looked at the grave.
“My daughter.”
Leah’s throat tightened.
She hated the phrase for arriving too easily. She hated herself for wanting to see it.
She took the envelope.
It had been opened, perhaps by Julian long ago. The paper inside was thin and brittle. His handwriting was controlled for the first two lines, then collapsed.
Claire,
Eleanor told me the baby died before I could see her. She said you did not want me there. I have tried to believe that because the alternative is that someone prevented me from coming, and I do not know what I would do with that truth.
I am sorry I was not beside you.
I am sorry my daughter entered and left the world without knowing I wanted her.
Leah stopped reading.
“That’s enough.”
Julian looked away.
She folded the letter along its existing creases.
“Did Eleanor send it back?”
“I don’t know.”
“The envelope has an Ashcroft office stamp.”
He turned sharply.
Leah showed him the faded mark near the seal.
He took out his glasses. His hands trembled as he adjusted them.
“I never noticed.”
“You weren’t looking.”
“No.”
The anonymous check became less anonymous three days later.
Diana’s internal investigation identified the hotel employee who exported the security footage. It was the young server who had helped Leah pick up her belongings.
His name was Noah Patel. He had worked at the Halcyon for eleven months while studying part-time. He admitted releasing the video because the shorter clips made Leah appear involved in a staged confrontation.
He also admitted sending copies of the check.
Diana called Leah before notifying the board.
“Noah’s mother worked for the Ashcroft family office,” she said. “She died last year. He found old document scans on her personal drive.”
“Why did she have them?”
“We don’t know yet. She was an archive administrator.”
“Did he send the notes?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He says he wanted both families to stop presenting simple versions of what happened.”
“By accusing Rosa of taking money?”
“He believed the check proved she had.”
“It proved she deposited it.”
“I told him that.”
“Is he fired?”
Diana hesitated.
“He violated security policy and guest privacy.”
“So yes.”
“I have suspended him pending the board’s decision.”
“Can I speak to him?”
“He asked to speak to you.”
May you like
They met in a conference room at the hotel after business hours.
It was Leah’s first time inside the Halcyon since the gala. She entered through the front doors instead of the service entrance. A doorman recognized her and looked uncertain whether to greet her. She spared him the decision by asking where to find Diana.
